Knight's Darksteel Dagger rests on the edge of the table, a strand of night folded into steel. The blade is a ribbon of obsidian shine, its surface catching lamplight and bending it into a midnight rumor. A pale fuller runs lengthwise, like a seam of frost across a lake, and the edge is so finely honed that it seems to whisper when it leaves the sheath. The grip is wrapped in weathered leather, bound with copper wire that has aged to a soft green patina, and the crossguard is a miniature knight’s helm carved from dark steel, eyes pinpricks of cold blue that glow faintly as the weapon leaves the holster. The pommel bears a small crest: a knight’s shield braided with thorn-thin ivy, a vow pressed into metal rather than ink, a history you can feel humming in your fingers. Lore threads through the knife in a way you can hear spoken only in corners of taverns and at the edge of a moonlit wall. It is said to have been forged in the iron-smell of an abandoned chapel, beneath the watchful gaze of siege-stains and banners long since faded. A master smith forged it for a knight who walked the line between oath and necessity, a guardian who chose speed to save a life rather than ponder the slow, heavier weight of a sword. Some tell how the blade remembers the missions it carried: a silent courier, a blur between two doors, a decision kept under cloak and oath. Whether true or myth, the dagger seems to carry a quiet gravity—one that makes a thief think twice and a defender weigh a choice before drawing it. In the heat of combat, the Knight’s Darksteel Dagger is a fluent instrument of motion. It favors the quick, the precise, the dancer’s cadence that makes a fight feel almost choreographed. For a Thief, it is a partner in flux—slipping past guards, threading through gaps, delivering a crisp strike that opens a flank for teammates who are watching the clock. Its edge rewards condi­tion generation and rapid cycles, letting a player weave in bleeding and poisons with the same ease as stepping around a shield. The blade’s lineage—that sense of a knight’s quiet duty—culminates in moments where a fight ends not with spectacle, but with a clean, unwavering finish. In a world full of bright, loud things, the dagger’s virtue is restraint—a reminder that craftsmanship can be as decisive as power. The market breathes with the scent of leather and oil when the dagger surfaces on the stalls of Saddlebag Exchange. A buyer will trade in glints of interest and small notes of gold, while a collector might wait as prices drift on the sway of events and rumors. It’s not unusual to hear a price muttered in copper and gold, then watch as the line of trade bends with a festival or a surge of caravans. The Saddlebag Exchange, with its quiet rhythm and crowded rows, is where a blade like this finds its balance between desire and necessity—where a collector, a rogue, or a guardian can decide how the blade will write its next chapter in the city’s pulse. And so the Knight’s Darksteel Dagger continues its path, not merely as a tool, but as a quiet rumor carried in a palm, a reminder of vows kept and paths chosen. In the hands of the right person, it moves like a whispered promise, ready to cut through the noise and leave a clear mark on the night.