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Rightwingreligiousfanatic's story of G'nad the Magnificent reminded me of a peculiar manuscript I picked up at a library used book sale. It seems the new head librarian deemed it a bunch of demented ramblings that belonged in a psychiatrist's file and since he couldn' t locate the estate of the author....it went on sale in the bargain bin. I thought the leather bindings uinque and the dull embossing was refreshingly non mass-produced but the handwritten script was archaic and hard to read....

The healers can find no cure for me and while the Istari search, I fear that even they have no hope. At their suggestion I write this account. They believe that merely writing my story may ease my mind. So I begin though writing corrie-fisted is harder labor than working the forge.
My name is Dain Stormfoot now known as the Poisonhand. Grimshod Stormfoot, original owner of the famous foundry, was my father and Gordin Copperhelm (later known as Threadkiller) is my cousin. I did not begrudge cousin Gordin. He was ever better at blades and armor than I. My delight is the fine crafting of toys for the children of Men, filigree for the Elven armor, and musical flute whistles. I came late to the art of blade making with the onset of the Troll Wars.
It was I who picked up G'nad the Magnificent after that fateful battle with the Eessennet. G'nad's blade forged from the last Eerf Cilbuper steel by the master resisted the bile where no other substance would. To keep the blade from harming innocents, I took it with me back to the foundry. No cloth, leather, or water would wipe or wash the blade clean of that foul bile and it formed an acid steam that seared the lungs when it dripped into the forger's fire. However....when dripped on hot metal made a blade wondrously light and tough. Tough enough to cleave boulders. Tough enough to cleave Troll hides.
So need for the new blades was great, and I, foolishly, would allow no one else near G'nad the Magnificent for the bile of the enemy is treacherous until burned into metal. So it was that I worked late at the forge, my thoughts more on home than on the blade in my hands when the bile of the Eessennet thickened and splattered on my right hand, burning it, searing it even as it did Cousin Gordin. And so, I am known as Dain Poisonhand.
But still, I am content. The Trolls are beaten back and I am not isolated like poor Cousin Gordin. I run the foundry and my forge again crafts the beautiful objects as before. However, all is not quite right for my hand drips the noxious bile into my craftwork and while all are as beautiful as my skill can make them, I hear that if ever a child plays with those toys, or musician plays my flute whistles, all playmates leave off playing and all other instruments fall silent so that child or musician plays alone.
As for G'nad. It is hidden safe against the day when it may be needed again. I would not risk such injury to a friend.

That's all I've been able to make out so far. The handwriting is rather erratic.