Pockmarked Mól short sword
A broad hand-and-a-half blade out of a bugbear's chest, still sharp after seven centuries
The chest in the Valley of Doom cave held rotted leather and a rack of ruined weapons: swords proportioned for arms longer than any man’s, grips cut wide enough that a big hand closes on them comfortably and a hobgoblin’s would not. One of them came apart when it was lifted.
This one did not. It has a different design from the rest and a divot worked into the crossguard, and it still held an edge, which the party learned by nicking a hand on it, having reached in expecting seven hundred years of rust like everything else in there.
Three of the cave’s Mól weapons went to a smith at Loshev to be cleaned and authenticated. This was not one of them, and what became of it after the day it came out of the chest was never written down.