Frostforged Dagger Skin glints with a pale, frost-laced edge, two blades like twin icicles folded into shadow, their surfaces etched with a lattice of crystal runes that catch light the way lanterns catch frost on a winter morning. The texture feels cold to the touch, a whisper of chill if you trace the blade with a finger; the edge is razor-thin, yet surprisingly smooth, as if the metal remembered months of quiet snowfall before it was made to cut. The hilt is wrapped in matte blue leather, worn at the grooves where fingers grip, and the pommel narrows to a tiny snowflake that seems almost in motion, catching your eye and then letting it go with a shiver down your spine. When you swing it, you don't hear a scream of metal so much as a sigh of wind skating across a frozen river, a reminder that beauty can be lethal. In the old stories, this skin is linked to frost-forged smiths who vanished into blizzards and reappeared years later with weapons that carried the memory of a storm. Some say the daggers were tempered in glacial caves where ice itself sang, and that the runes carry the breath of the North. Others insist they were a gift to scouts who learned to move as quietly as snow, tools that glowed faintly in moonlight and left a chill on anything they touched. Whether truth or legend, the Frostforged Dagger Skin has always felt like a story you can wear, a whisper you can carry on your belt. Gameplay-wise, it remains a pure cosmetic, a badge of style that tells a quiet tale while keeping the core mechanics your dagger already brings to the table. It changes the silhouette, the mood of a strike, the way light catches at the blade when you dodge through a crowd. You can pair it with a thief’s shadowy aura, a ranger’s steely cool, or a wanderer’s frost-bitten resolve, letting the skin narrate your approach as you slice through a tense encounter or glide past a vigilant guard, letting the skin narrate your approach as you draw it. Prices drift through the market like cold air over a harbor, and that’s where Saddlebag Exchange walks into the frame, a bustling hub where traders swap stories as much as wares. I watched a dealer trade gliders and skins in quick, practiced breaths, naming the Frostforged Dagger Skin with a smile that suggested both reverence and a steady math. The tag swung between a few silver and occasional gold, depending on who wandered by, what other frost-themed items were nearby, and how slowly the night crawled toward dawn. It’s not rarity that decides its worth, so much as memory—the memory of a storm you carry with you, the way a blade can feel like a cold handshake, signaling your next move before you even draw it. Stay ready.