"Well hello everyone," a familiar voice called from deeper in the cabin.  Aaron the Dungeon Master stepped out.  He wore black robes, his face barely visible.  He carried a scepter that glowed a menacing red.  "Are you reeeaddy to diiiieeee," he asked in a deep voice that actually was a little spooky.  "Everyone roll a saving throw...oh, how many hit points did you say you had?"  Then he laughed.  "Hey, check out this arrowhead I found out behind the cabin."<br/><br/>He reached into the robe's pocket, and carefully pulled out a small plastic container.  "This thing is sharp, and when I say sharp, I got this when I picked it up."  Aaron turned his hand over to reveal a wicked-looking cut on his second finger.  "Son of a bitch bled for fifteen minutes."  The arrowhead itself was about two inches long, about an inch wide at the base, and an iridescent, gun-metal grayish-blue in color.  "There's some sort of inscription on it...and whatever it is can scratch iron and aluminum...and, obviously, people too."  He held it out for everyone to view.