>>5404646“A dagger?” you ask.
You try to lean forwards, and prop yourself up upon your elbows to examine it more closely, but the severity of your injuries precludes this. From what you can see, though, it is a crumbling, grey-purple dagger of peculiar lustre but no obvious value.
“Not… quite,” the Throat-singer replies.
He hums his thrumming song. The dagger shifts in uncanny ways, unfolding and expanding, and an oozing slime surges forth from within to fill the gaps. Again, you feel the urge to move—this time, to leap back—but you cannot. Whatever her feelings may be towards you, the Novice is not so attached as to throw herself between you and the possible threat, either; she instead leaps to the side with an undignified shriek and thump.
No assassin’s blade strikes, however. Instead, the ‘dagger’ balloons into a sword—so large that even YOU would need to wield it two-handed, too large for the Throat-singer to continue to hold aloft. He drops it before you, staggering back, as spines, teeth, and protoplasmic eyes bubbles and ripple across the oily-metallic surface of this oblong weapon. Eventually, the slime-coatings eems to smooth the jagged and uneven metal (is it even metal?) into something approximating a cutting edge, and then to harden.
“What is it?” you ask, to break the uneasy silence which follows.
The Throat0singer shakes his head. He has no answer.
“Powerful,” he replies.
You all continue to stare at the shoggoth-sword. It, to you dismay, stares back… But it does not move, neither to shrink or flee nor to lunge and kill.
What do you do?
>Accept the blade, to one day wield… Maybe>Destroy the monstrous thing—it is shoggoth!>Attempt to attune to the blade, through concerted effort>Offer the cursed-looking implement to the elves>Write-in 