Weapon (dagger), very rare (requires attunement)
This weapon is made by purifying a mourningsteel stiletto, the spirits within now laid to rest. You gain a +2 bonus to attack and damage rolls made with this magic weapon. Immediately after making a ranged attack with this weapon, it flies back to your hand.
During combat, a special mote of holy energy encircles the blade at the start of each of your turns, up to a maximum of four motes. If any hostile fiends or undead are within 60 feet of you, the blade gains two motes at the start of your turn instead. When you hit a creature with the weapon, you can choose to expend 1 or more of its motes as part of the attack: when you do, the target takes an extra 2d4 radiant damage from the attack for each expended mote, and each friendly creature within 10 feet of the target gains a number of temporary hit points equal to that amount of radiant damage. These motes and temporary hit points remain for 1 minute.
Away from the din of the party, a half-orc approached a tired man. She bore a gift: a dagger, returned to him anew. The once black malice that plagued the blade was now replaced by warm silver and gold; it was a complete turnaround from what it once was. Her eyes remained on the blade as she handed it to him, watching the shadows dance on its metal from flickering firelight.
After a pause, she spoke up. "I don't expect ya ta stick around—most sane people wouldn't, I know—but we'd welcome ya all the same, if ya did."
She didn't give him a chance to answer, of course, and instead clapped him on the shoulder before turning to rejoin the party.
She was right: he didn't want to stay. He wanted to go home, back to his home on the coast, where he would be safe from all this danger. The group was insane for pitting themselves against this impending darkness. He could simply choose to be safe.
'...But for how long?' he caught himself thinking.
He continued to turn the dagger about between his fingers, his brow furrowing. He was touched, by the gift, and perplexed how this could be the same weapon that he had given her. It surely was, and yet...not? But, looming amidst the nice feelings, he was also frustrated that such a gesture could override his normal sense of self-preservation.
It couldn't be helped. With a resigned grumble, he called out to the retreating half-orc, "Now, hang on there, big girl!"
He caught up to his...his friend, wagging the weapon at her all the while. He forced his usual cocky smile back into place and said, "If yer gonna to go and make the damn thing all pretty for me, yer gonna hafta teach me how to use it proper. You owe me that much, so I guess I'll stick around to make sure ya do."