Six gruesome blades forged from dwarven blood in the pits of ancient bol-Pakash. Six knives the dwarves wish never existed.
Maddoc sat amid a pile of unrecognizable corpses. Men, Dwarves, Orcs, you couldn't tell. He periodically took a stab at one with his new knife and screamed, "STOP LAUGHING AT ME!"
A dark dagger of song, forged for vengance. It shall have that vengance.
A dagger that makes the user think that he is invisible.
A plague has hit the local area.
In humans it affects only the most vulnerable, the children and the very old, and even than it's little more than a summer cold. 24 hours of sniffles and then it's gone, barely noticeable really.
To sheep however it is fatal and the whole economy of the area is in serious trouble. If this keeps up the area could well be facing famine.
Somebody (enter the PCs) must find the rare herbs needed to make a cure.