The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

To attune to the Eye of Vecna, one must first gouge out one of their own eyes and then press the Eye into the empty socket. It will graft itself onto the user’s head.

Whenever you cast a spell through the Eye, there is an infinitesimal chance that Vecna’s lingering consciousness will tear away a fragment of your soul and devour it. Over time, it can influence your mind and eventually seize control of your body.

The Hand of Vecna is attuned in much the same way. First, sever your left hand, then attach the Hand to the stump. It will graft itself onto your body and function as a perfectly normal limb.

Whenever you cast a spell through the Hand, it will use suggestion on you, compelling you to commit evil deeds.

While attuned, if either the Eye or the Hand is ever removed, the bearer dies instantly.

’Uh... these things...’ Anser closed his eyes, his emotions rather complicated.

Artifacts were, of course, incredibly powerful. Together, the two artifacts granted two major benefits and two minor benefits.

For example, Anser’s immunity to being charmed or frightened was merely one of the minor benefits.

Taken as a whole, the pair granted eleven formidable abilities along with a host of powerful spells.

But artifacts also came in good and evil varieties, and there was no question that the Eye and Hand of Vecna belonged squarely in the latter category.

Ordinary adventurers couldn’t use artifacts like these at all. The first time they cast one of the spells they granted, their souls would be torn apart, reducing them to puppets.

Only truly powerful adventurers could barely resist Vecna’s lingering will.

’As long as I don’t cast the spells granted by the artifacts, Vecna’s will can’t affect me,’ Anser mused.

There was no way he would use them himself, but that didn’t diminish their value.

’But who could resist using them?’

Whoever wielded them would need extraordinary willpower and would have to avoid putting themselves in life-or-death situations. Otherwise, when their life was on the line, they would inevitably resort to those spells.

For some reason, Sosk came to mind. If Sosk had obtained these artifacts, he really might have rewritten his fate. He looked like a slippery opportunist on the surface, but in truth, his willpower was exceptional.

But Sosk was already dead.

Besides, he had never been trustworthy.

’I wonder if wish can remove an artifact’s drawbacks,’ Anser pondered.

If it could, then these artifacts would be even more valuable than he had imagined.

’Or maybe I should just sell them?’

He didn’t believe anyone—especially spellcasters—could resist the temptation of an artifact.

The Traveler’s Rest, the Arcane Research Society, Waterdeep, and even those blessed by the gods...

There was no shortage of potential buyers.

But selling them would undoubtedly spark a storm, thrusting both Durlag and himself into the spotlight.

What interested him more, however, was the wish spell they granted.

What many people didn’t realize was that aside from duplicating other spells, using wish for virtually any other purpose placed an enormous burden on the caster. It could leave them utterly debilitated, unable to cast spells for a time, or even reduce their Strength score to 3.

Those effects would eventually wear off.

The truly terrifying consequence was that each time the caster endured that strain, there was a chance they would permanently lose the ability to cast wish ever again.

The greater the wish, the higher the chance of failure—and the more severe the backlash, even if it succeeded.

In that case, why not have someone else do the wishing for him?

Increasing his ability scores, extending his lifespan, mastering new spells, creating life or magical items, reshaping his body...

In theory, as long as he wasn’t overly greedy and didn’t tread into a god’s exclusive domain, wish could potentially accomplish all of it.

However, the number of wizards and sorcerers capable of casting wish was vanishingly small, and those who could almost always used it for their own benefit rather than wasting it on others.

Anser could simply lend the Eye and Hand of Vecna to a wizard.

In return, the first one or two wish spells they cast would have to be used on him, with the arrangement bound by contract.

Then, once the wizard died, he could reclaim the artifacts.

’It’s risky... but it should work.’

That was his preferred option.

His second choice was to trade them for an artifact or legendary item he could actually use.

Selling them would be his last resort.

’I’ll ask around at the Arcane Research Society tomorrow.’

After pondering for a while, his attention shifted to the skeleton’s robe and the coffin itself.

The robe barely resembled a mage’s robe at all. Instead, it looked more like an elaborate noble’s formal attire. Its deep violet fabric was embroidered with mithral threads that spread like frost, while clusters of periwinkle blossoms—some white, others pale yellow—bloomed wherever the intricate patterns converged.

They looked like flourishing flowers nestled among the long-withered leaves of a laurel wreath.

The die spun gently before displaying the item’s information:

[Magic Item: Regalia of the Nether Periwinkle]

Category: Wondrous Item

Rarity: Legendary (requires attunement by a cleric or wizard)

This ceremonial attire was once worn by a noble necromancer who held rather unique views on the quality of life after death...

...

’The Church of Myrkul was probably after this.’

Anser suddenly recalled the Myrkul priest’s journal, which had deliberately mentioned this legendary item.

The attire possessed three properties: Animate Dead, Command of the Underworld, and Lord of the Dead.

Animate Dead allowed its wearer to animate corpses, summoning undead stronger than those created by the standard spell, while also increasing the power of necrotic damage spells they cast.

Command of the Underworld allowed its wearer to forcibly turn away or control undead creatures. As long as both the wearer and the controlled undead remained on the same plane, they could maintain a telepathic link.

Lord of the Dead kept the wearer under the effects of the sanctuary spell at all times—but only against undead.

The attire was of limited use to Anser, but it was immensely valuable to necromancers and clerics of the Death Domain. It could rapidly raise an undead army, compensating for their otherwise limited spellcasting capabilities.

Anser turned his gaze toward the coffin, a thought suddenly occurring to him.

’Maybe the three factions weren’t originally after the same treasure. Maybe there were three different prizes... and Thay simply went back on the deal.’

That would also explain how they had managed to reach an agreement in the beginning.

The coffin was narrow, wider at one end and tapering toward the other. It was entirely black, made from an unknown material, with intricate purple-and-gold patterns inlaid across its surface. It had no lid.

The die spun again and quickly identified it:

[Silent Mausoleum, Wondrous Item, Legendary (requires attunement)]

’Another legendary item?! Don’t tell me I can’t use this one either.’

Anser was almost numb.

He had obtained an incredible haul, yet somehow couldn’t bring himself to feel happy about it.

He carefully examined the item’s abilities and discovered that although it appeared to be an ordinary coffin, it was actually a demiplane mausoleum that could expand and shrink at will. Because of that, it couldn’t be stored inside a normal Bag of Holding.

The mausoleum wasn’t particularly large, but it possessed an ability coveted by every living creature: Silent Slumber.

Anyone sleeping inside would cease aging and become immune to natural death, while even fatal injuries would slowly heal over time.

After attunement, if its owner ever faced mortal danger, their body would automatically be teleported back inside.

Moreover, the demiplane blocked divination magic, making it extremely difficult for others to locate or track its occupant.

’Now this is something I can actually use!’

It might have been a bit ominous, but Anser didn’t mind in the slightest.

A little cleaning, and it would be perfectly livable.

Of course, it came with a drawback as well.

Every time someone entered Silent Slumber, their mind would suffer gradual erosion. Their emotions would grow increasingly detached, they would lose interest in the living world, and eventually drift toward either an eternal lonely sleep or self-imposed exile.

Anser had no idea how long that process took.

But he made one decision immediately...

He wasn’t going to sleep in it.

His own lifespan was already exceptionally long, and he had no desire to spend his nights inside a mausoleum. He intended to use the Silent Mausoleum solely as a last resort for healing and preserving his life.

Still, it wasn’t foolproof.

Wasn’t the powerful figure inside the coffin—someone who had simultaneously attuned to two legendary items and two artifacts—dead anyway?

If an enemy struck hard enough and fast enough, killing him outright, then even if his body was teleported back inside, it wouldn’t matter.

Dead was dead.

’I never saw this coming!’

He had thought he was stealing a single treasure.

Instead, he’d walked away with two artifacts and two legendary items.

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