The armored blacksmith scans Theobald from head to toe. He thinks, I used illegal teleportation magic to travel to a nearby star, and spent thirty years, in constant fear of explosion and incineration forging the world's smallest crossbow, and he has the nerve to take a shitty child's toy instead! Clearly, effort is not the path to winning this competition.
He heads off, wondering how to best prepare this unassuming lichcel to conquer the world. He spends hours rummaging through his workshop, knowing that a weapon would probably fail to pierce even leather armor in the hands of this four-eyed nerd. Eventually, he comes upon an artifact of great disimport, wondering where he even got such a useless item. He knew it was the solution to his problem, however, and after several treatments to render it both shiny and glistening, it was ready. On his way back to the grounds, he remembered how the item came into his possession, and decided not to tell the "next Dark Lord" how it was given to him by a sad virgin. Instead, a new backstory would do, one more relatable to the the Dark Lord.
Suddenly, the plate-coated powerhouse snapped back to reality, and realized that he had wandered right into the center of the presenting plaza.
"Hello ladies and gentlemen, and uh, gentleboy, on the horse. Um, I think there's some horse hair between your teeth. Man, those are some real cho--oh, right, my item."
From behind his back, he procures |Malkalack's| |Gold| |Chalice| |Quenched in the blood of unicorns|. The creation blurs the line between cup and bowl, and seems almost comically large: the key word being almost, because the armored smith decided not to mess with any comically sized items after the last round.
After taking a moment to allow the rays of light to reflect off the shining goldware, with much the same effect as a disco ball (not that anyone in Skalreach knows what that is), the smith clears his throat and begins: "This magnificent item was procured in a suitable way to you, and enhanced to reach your standards for world-conquering and whatnot. I can see that you are capable with weaponry of the slicing and smashing variety, but this weapon is an unstoppable force of evil! To start off with the most basic aspect of this piece, it's that it's gold. Now, we know that money is the root of evil, and this thing is probably Skalreach's biggest gold piece. Therefore, as I see you're not quite full-on Dark Lord yet, this should help you transition to quite an intimidating person. Now, a Dark Lord needs several elements: ruthlessness, cunning, magic, and maybe some other things. This chalice provides all of the above. If you are in need of some extra ruthlessness, simply drink some fine vintage and watch your inhibitions about human rights melt away. If you need some cunning, simply lower your opponents' mental capacity by daring them to drink out of it. Any adventurer, king, or hero of other sort will jump at the opportunity, and quickly become as inebriated as, uh, something very inebriated, I guess. Maybe a turtle. Now, this chalice is plenty magical, and better yet, this magic is as evil as can be. Due to being permanently coated with unicorn's blood, it is not only scarring to any good-hearted individual, but also to any magical beast or spell that tries to stop you. The blood, in conjunction with its large size, allow you to ricochet all sorts of spells and smiting blows and whatnot. Now, as you are all undoubtedly wondering, I will explain who Malkalack was, and how this fellow's attachment to this artifact will make it that much more powerful. Malkalack definitely did not fit into the typical worldly stereotypes: he wasn't the coolest, or the strongest---a Chad, as you might say---but he got pussy in droves. Therefore, simply owning this chalice will channel some of Malkalack's vag-vacuuming into your, ahem, vessel. Now, as one final bonus, you can easily exact revenge upon the Chads and Stacies by clobbering the Chads with this unholy implement, and then fitting it into the Stacies', ahem, prolapsed anuses. Those were, uh, Malkalack's words, not mine."
After a few seconds of thinking over what he just said, the smith sets the chalice down and goes to find somewhere to wash his hands off, frowning. It's not the unicorn blood so much as the concept of holding a potentially phallic object. Blegh. Maybe the slight perversion will play to my strength, however.