Dagger of the Final Witness

Aura Moderate necromancy and divination; CL 13th
Slot —; Price 64,000 gp; Weight 2 lbs.

DESCRIPTION

This +1 ghost touch ritual dagger appears forged from blackened funeral steel whose surface constantly sweats a thin film of dark moisture resembling diluted blood. The blade itself is unusually narrow and slightly curved inward, designed less for combat than for intimate penetration between ribs. Tiny script in hundreds of dead languages spirals along the fuller of the weapon, though observers rarely remember the words moments after reading them. The hilt is wrapped in gray leather that never fully dries, and those who hold the dagger for prolonged periods often report hearing distant wet breathing directly behind them.

The Dagger of the Final Witness was not created to kill. It was created to make death conscious.

Whenever the wielder uses the dagger to deliver the killing blow against a helpless or pinned humanoid creature with an Intelligence score of 3 or higher, the victim does not immediately die. Instead, the creature remains alive, aware, paralyzed, and unable to close its eyes for 1d4 rounds while the dagger devours the final sensory impressions of the dying body. During this period, the victim is fully conscious of organ failure, blood loss, fading sensation, and the gradual collapse of bodily function. This effect is a necromantic curse effect. The victim cannot scream or speak during this period, though tears, trembling, and eye movement remain possible.

At the conclusion of the effect, the victim dies automatically with no saving throw.

The wielder may, within the next 24 hours, concentrate upon the dagger for one uninterrupted minute to relive the victim’s final sensory experience in perfect detail. This includes emotional state, physical pain, fading memories, panic, regret, confusion, acceptance, or other terminal impressions. The experience is so complete that the wielder temporarily inherits fragments of the victim’s dying cognition. For one hour afterward, the wielder gains a +10 competence bonus on Gather Information, Sense Motive, and Knowledge checks directly related to the deceased creature’s life, profession, affiliations, or secrets.

However, each use carries terrible psychological erosion.

Every time the dagger successfully captures a death, the wielder must succeed on a DC 19 Will save or permanently lose a tiny fragment of empathetic response. This imposes a cumulative -1 penalty on Diplomacy checks made for compassionate persuasion or emotional comfort, to a maximum penalty of -10. Once this penalty reaches -10, the wielder becomes permanently incapable of viewing other living creatures as emotionally “real.” At this stage, resurrection magic short of miracle or wish cannot restore the lost empathy.

Creatures slain by the dagger cannot be raised by speak with dead. Their final moments have been completely consumed and archived within the weapon itself.

Three times per day, the wielder may hold the dagger to their own throat and ask it a single question concerning a dead creature whose death the blade has witnessed. The dagger answers by forcing the wielder to briefly experience the relevant dying memory directly. This functions similarly to legend lore, except the information provided is fragmented, emotional, symbolic, and often horrifyingly intimate.

If the dagger has recorded more than one hundred deaths, it gradually develops awareness. At this stage, the wielder begins occasionally hearing overlapping whispers from prior victims while sleeping. Once per month, the DM may force the wielder to succeed on a DC 21 Will save or involuntarily experience one random archived death in full during sleep, awakening fatigued and shaken for 24 hours.

LORE

There are many necromantic devices designed to command the dead, interrogate spirits, or harvest souls for power. The Dagger of the Final Witness belongs to a far rarer and more despised category of artifact - instruments created not to exploit death, but to preserve suffering itself. Most necromancers, for all their moral transgressions, still maintain practical distance from mortality. Corpses become labor. Spirits become fuel. Death becomes logistics. This blade instead forces its wielder into unbearable intimacy with the exact human reality most necromancers spend their lives trying to intellectualize away.

Its creation is attributed to the philosopher-executioner Vasselier Mourntide, a mortician-scholar obsessed with the claim that no living creature truly understands death because unconsciousness mercifully interrupts the experience before completion. Mourntide allegedly sought to “observe the exact shape of cessation.” Over decades, he performed ritual killings upon criminals, political enemies, plague victims, and eventually volunteers promised immortality through remembrance. His journals became increasingly unstable, filled with contradictory observations regarding what dying people perceived in their final conscious instants. Some reportedly saw deceased loved ones. Others saw nothing at all. A horrifying number allegedly remained aware long after biological death should have ended cognition.

The churches that eventually uncovered Mourntide’s work did not merely condemn him for murder. They condemned him because his records implied things about the soul that no theology wished confirmed. Entire monasteries burned themselves attempting to destroy his writings after reading them. One inquisitorial order reportedly executed every surviving witness involved in the dagger’s study, believing simple exposure to its collected memories constituted spiritual contamination.

Modern necromancers often react to the dagger with visible revulsion not from morality, but from professional discomfort. Necromancy traditionally places emotional distance between practitioner and subject. The dead are easier to command when viewed abstractly. The Dagger of the Final Witness annihilates abstraction. Its wielder does not merely kill. They inherit terror, confusion, pleading, bodily collapse, and the final instinctive realization that existence is ending. Repeated use leaves many wielders emotionally hollow not because they cease caring, but because caring at that depth repeatedly becomes psychologically unsurvivable.

There are persistent rumors that particularly ancient specimens of the dagger eventually become unable to distinguish between their wielder and their victims. Such blades supposedly begin replaying deaths spontaneously, whispering names no one spoke aloud, or forcing wielders to experience executions from the victim’s perspective rather than their own. One infamous account describes a necromancer found dead beside such a blade, his throat untouched, his body frozen in absolute terror, having apparently experienced every recorded death within the weapon simultaneously.

CONSTRUCTION

Requirements Craft Magic Arms and Armor, deathwatch, legend lore, soul bind, creator must personally perform a ritual execution during the forging process; Cost 32,000 gp + 2,560 XP

Kelwyn’s Notes

There exists a threshold beyond which evil ceases to resemble wickedness and instead begins to resemble curiosity stripped of all restraint. That threshold is where this dagger resides. Most atrocities emerge from hatred, greed, desperation, fear, conquest, or hunger. One may condemn such things while still understanding the emotional machinery that produced them. The Dagger of the Final Witness is more unsettling precisely because it emerges from observation. It was born not from rage, but from the desire to know.

Civilization survives partly because human beings are spared the full experiential reality of one another’s suffering. We infer pain. We sympathize with grief. We intellectually understand mortality. Yet merciful barriers remain between one consciousness and another. Without those barriers, ordinary life would become psychologically impossible. One could not eat comfortably, sleep peacefully, or love freely while carrying the complete interior deaths of strangers within oneself. This blade systematically dismantles those mercies until empathy itself collapses under accumulated weight.

What horrifies me most is not the suffering it causes its victims, though that suffering is immense. It is the gradual transformation of the wielder into a creature incapable of perceiving humanity except as anatomy awaiting failure. The dagger does not create monsters in the simplistic theatrical manner of children’s cautionary tales. It creates exhausted archivists of extinction - individuals who have stared so deeply into the private mechanics of dying that ordinary emotional life begins to feel fraudulent by comparison.

One suspects that many necromancers recoil from this weapon because it destroys the professional illusion upon which their art depends. Corpses are manageable. Skeletons are obedient. Souls are theoretical. But this dagger reminds its wielder that every cadaver was once a frightened person attempting, often unsuccessfully, to comprehend the unbearable fact that they were about to vanish forever. That realization poisons abstraction. Once one has truly experienced another creature’s final terror from the inside, it becomes difficult to speak casually of “materials” ever again.

There are some objects which should not exist because their existence itself represents a philosophical injury to the world. This is one of them.

The Burglar’s Final Grasp

Aura Moderate necromancy and transmutation; CL 9th
Slot —; Price 21,500 gp; Weight 1 lb.

DESCRIPTION

This withered humanoid hand is preserved through foul alchemical salts and dark funerary lacquers, though preservation has done little to conceal the slow inevitability of decay. Its flesh has collapsed tightly against the bone in places, exposing yellowed tendons and fragments of blackened ligament. The fingernails remain unnaturally intact and polished smooth from repeated use, while the fingertips bear countless tiny scars and abrasions accumulated over decades of lockpicks, razor wires, hidden latches, and poisoned catches. A faint scent of old grave soil, mildew, lamp oil, and cold iron perpetually clings to the hand no matter how thoroughly it is cleaned.

The Burglar’s Final Grasp possesses five charges represented by its thumb and four fingers. When the hand is pressed against a locked or trapped object such as a chest, vault, cabinet, door, manacle, or similar mechanism, one finger immediately stiffens and blackens permanently as a charge is expended. At that moment, all nonmagical traps attached to the target are instantly disabled as though successfully disarmed by a master rogue with a Disable Device check result of 40. Simultaneously, all mundane locks upon the object unlock themselves with audible clicks and snapping internal tumblers.

Magical traps are not destroyed, but are suppressed for 1 minute as though successfully bypassed. Arcane lock effects are immediately dispelled if their caster level is equal to or lower than the item’s caster level. Higher-level magical locking effects instead become dormant for 1 round, allowing the object to be opened normally during that time.

The hand functions regardless of the user’s training and requires no skill checks whatsoever. The item may not be used more than once upon the same object.

Each time a charge is used, the owner becomes haunted by vivid dreams of the hand’s original owner - an infamous master thief whose corpse was denied proper burial after execution. During sleep, the thief appears increasingly decomposed and furious, screaming accusations, demanding cremation or burial rites, and clawing desperately at coffins, gallows, chains, and crypt walls. The dreams worsen with each expended finger.

After each use of the hand, the owner suffers a cumulative -1 penalty to all skill checks except Disable Device, Open Lock, Sleight of Hand, Hide, Move Silently, Search, and Tumble checks. This penalty represents mounting exhaustion, agitation, paranoia, and deteriorating sleep quality. The penalty persists until the hand is either completely expended, destroyed, cremated, or properly buried beneath consecrated earth. Once this occurs, the dreams immediately cease and all accumulated penalties vanish after the next full night’s rest.

When the fifth and final finger is expended, the entire hand violently blackens, softens, and collapses into foul-smelling slurry within seconds. Tiny metallic sounds resembling distant lock tumblers clicking can be heard within the dissolving mass for several moments afterward.

LORE

Among thieves’ guilds, grave robbers, and executioners, stories persist regarding the final days of Varric Hale, known in whispered criminal histories as “The Locksmith Saint.” Though wanted in seven principalities and blamed for dozens of impossible thefts, Hale possessed a reputation that bordered upon religious obsession among professional burglars. Entire generations of thieves claimed that no lock forged by mortal hands could deny him entry for longer than a few seconds. Some even insisted he could hear mechanisms breathing through walls.

His eventual capture proved less triumphant than authorities had hoped. Hale reportedly laughed throughout the trial, mocked every witness called against him, and calmly described hidden valuables inside the magistrates’ own homes while chained in court. According to surviving accounts, the execution itself became infamous after three separate locking mechanisms upon his restraints inexplicably opened moments before the hanging platform was released. The officials overseeing the execution severed one of Hale’s hands afterward and sealed it in preservation salts specifically to prevent rumors of resurrection.

What followed proved considerably worse.

Within months, guards assigned to the evidence vault began suffering identical nightmares of Hale screaming from beneath wet soil. Locks throughout the prison spontaneously opened during the night. Cells previously considered secure were discovered standing ajar by morning. One jailer reportedly awoke to find dozens of keys arranged carefully around his bed in the shape of a skeletal hand. Eventually the preserved relic disappeared entirely, stolen by persons unknown, though many suspect the artifact simply unlocked its own containment.

Modern criminal circles treat possession of the Burglar’s Final Grasp with deeply mixed emotions. Some regard it as the greatest burglary tool ever created. Others refuse even to touch it, claiming the dreams worsen over time regardless of use. Certain thieves insist that the hand does not truly resent being used, but rather resents remaining unburied - trapped eternally between utility and death like the criminal life it once served.

There are also disturbing rumors that individuals who continue using the hand despite mounting exhaustion begin unconsciously mimicking the dead thief’s habits. Sleep-deprived owners have reportedly been caught absentmindedly checking locks they pass, cataloguing valuables without realizing it, or awakening with mud beneath their fingernails despite never leaving bed. Whether these stories are genuine supernatural influence or merely psychological deterioration remains uncertain.

CONSTRUCTION

Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, knock, dispel magic, disable device 12 ranks, creator must possess at least 5 ranks in Open Lock; Cost 10,750 gp, 860 XP, preserved hand of an executed thief of at least 10th level, grave salts worth 1,500 gp, and funerary oils distilled beneath a new moon

Kelwyn’s Notes

There exists a particular category of object which civilization pretends not to understand despite manufacturing it repeatedly throughout history - the tool forged from unresolved death. Entire cultures will recoil theatrically from necromancy while simultaneously preserving the bones of saints, hanging criminals in iron cages as warnings, or transforming the remains of the infamous into symbols, relics, and cautionary mythology. Humanity does not merely fear its dead. It recruits them. The Burglar’s Final Grasp is simply more honest about the arrangement than most.

The truly distressing aspect of the hand is not its supernatural efficacy. One could argue that opening locks is among the least morally offensive abilities an enchanted relic might possess. No, what unsettles me is the emotional geometry of the thing. The thief is not trapped within the hand because he was evil, nor because the artifact delights in torment. He is trapped because utility has outlived dignity. His body ceased being a person and became equipment. Even after death, society found one final labor to extract from him. There is something profoundly cruel in the notion that a man so obsessed with freedom became eternally reduced to a key.

The dreams are especially revealing. The dead thief does not bargain. He does not seduce the wielder toward criminal greatness. He does not whisper forbidden secrets or promise hidden treasure like so many theatrical curses described in dreadful penny novels. He simply screams to be buried. Again and again. Night after night. Beneath all the necromancy, beneath the utility, beneath the clever mechanics and supernatural convenience, the artifact contains an astonishingly human plea - exhaustion. The hand does not crave power. It craves conclusion.

One begins to understand why the penalties afflict all skills unrelated to thievery. The item slowly narrows the soul toward the only purpose remaining within it. Fatigue strips away patience, creativity, scholarship, diplomacy, joy, and concentration until only intrusion remains. It is the occupational hazard of obsession made supernatural. There are thieves who spend so long learning how to enter places that they eventually forget how to belong anywhere themselves.

I suspect many owners never bury the hand because doing so would force them to acknowledge an uncomfortable truth - that even the greatest talents eventually become pathetic if denied rest. The hand opens every lock placed before it, yet remains incapable of escaping the smallest coffin imaginable: the refusal of the living to let usefulness die with dignity.

The Interrogator’s Reliquary

Aura overwhelming necromancy; CL 17th
Slot —; Price 74,000 gp; Weight 3 lbs.

DESCRIPTION

This soot-blackened human skull has been pierced by thirteen iron nails driven primarily through the crown, forehead, and eye sockets at unnatural angles. Several spikes descend directly through the orbital cavities into the hollow interior of the skull, while others protrude from the upper cranium like ritual pins hammered into a funerary effigy. The jaw remains mostly untouched, its yellowed teeth still intact beneath the ruined brow. Cold whispers drift constantly from the empty sockets like breath escaping a crypt.

The Interrogator’s Reliquary is fashioned from the genuine skull of a sentient humanoid creature whose soul was bound into the remains during a prolonged necromantic execution rite. Before the item may ever be used, its possessor must perform the Rite of Recollection - a grisly seven-day ritual conducted over seven uninterrupted nights. During this process, the wielder lights funerary candles around the skull, anoints each nail with grave oils, burns funerary incense, and repeatedly recites the true name of the deceased until the trapped soul is successfully dragged back into awareness.

The ritual requires at least one uninterrupted hour each night. If even a single night is missed, the entire process fails and must begin again from the beginning.

At the conclusion of the seventh night, the skull awakens. Pale corpse-light begins leaking from the eye sockets and nasal cavity, while faint whispers become audible in forgotten tongues. A translucent image of the deceased manifests within the darkness of the skull itself, visible only through the empty sockets and mouth. The soul is fully conscious, remembers its death, and understands precisely what has been done to it.

Once awakened, the Reliquary may be questioned. However, only one question may be asked each day, and the soul may answer no more than thirteen questions in total over the lifetime of the item. Each question must be spoken directly to the skull while it is illuminated by candlelight between sunset and sunrise.

The bound spirit is compelled to answer truthfully to the best of its knowledge, functioning as though continuously affected by zone of truth and discern lies. The spirit cannot intentionally deceive through omission, technical wording, or evasive interpretation. It may speak emotionally, bitterly, or reluctantly, but it cannot knowingly provide false information.

The asking of each question visibly damages the Reliquary. Immediately after an answer is given, one of the thirteen iron nails blackens, corrodes, and disintegrates into reddish-black rust that spills across the skull and surrounding surface. The skull audibly cracks as fragments of necromantic force unravel within it, while the imprisoned soul becomes increasingly unstable and distressed.

When the thirteenth question is answered and the final nail decays away, the soul emits a silent scream visible only as violent distortion within the skull’s eye sockets. The trapped spirit is permanently released from bondage, and the skull itself immediately collapses into ash, rust flakes, and splintered fragments of blackened bone. Nothing short of direct divine intervention can prevent this destruction.

Any creature holding the skull during an interrogation gains a +4 profane bonus on Intimidate checks and Sense Motive checks made against the manifested spirit.

LORE

The Interrogator’s Reliquary is not believed to originate from any single culture or kingdom. Rather, historians have observed that civilizations eventually reinvent some variation of the artifact whenever fear becomes sufficiently organized. Witch hunters, inquisitorial courts, paranoid monarchies, revolutionary tribunals, and collapsing empires all appear drawn toward the same terrible conclusion - if the dead could simply be forced to answer questions, uncertainty itself might finally be conquered.

The placement of the nails is deeply symbolic within necromantic theology. Ancient mortuary texts describe the spikes as “anchors of denial,” each driven through portions of the skull associated with memory, identity, confession, guilt, or perception. The eye sockets are especially important, as many soul-binding traditions believed the eyes to be the final pathways through which consciousness departs the body. By sealing them with iron, the ritual attempts to pin fragments of awareness inside the remains permanently.

The Rite of Recollection is widely considered the most psychologically dangerous portion of the artifact’s operation. Necromantic journals recovered from abandoned crypts describe practitioners gradually hearing the bound soul grow more coherent over the course of the seven nights. At first the whispers resemble meaningless static or distant weeping. By the final evening, the spirit often begins recognizing names, recalling memories, and pleading not to be awakened completely. Several documented wielders abandoned the ritual before completion after hearing the skull softly speak to them in the voice of someone they had lost.

The destruction of a nail after each question is believed to represent the progressive collapse of the soul’s confinement. Each spike functions simultaneously as prison, tether, and wound. With every answer, one restraint fails, bringing the spirit incrementally closer to release. Certain theologians consider this the sole act of mercy built into the Reliquary’s design - the dead are not trapped forever, only until knowledge has consumed the prison holding them.

CONSTRUCTION

Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, speak with dead, trap the soul, zone of truth, discern lies, contact other plane; creator must possess at least 13 ranks in Knowledge (religion); Cost 37,000 gp, 2,960 XP, the intact skull of a sentient humanoid creature, thirteen iron coffin nails soaked in grave soil for one year, funerary incense worth 2,500 gp, grave oils distilled from corpse-fat, and a flawless black diamond worth 5,000 gp consumed during the binding ritual.

Kelwyn’s Notes

The gradual destruction of the nails transforms the Reliquary from a mere necromantic instrument into something far more emotionally unbearable. One does not simply interrogate the dead all at once. One lives with them. One waits beside them night after night, knowing another question may be asked tomorrow, and another after that, while the skull itself visibly approaches annihilation like a diseased clock counting down toward mercy.

That pacing alters people.

The first nail falls with theatrical horror - smoke, rust, cracking bone, all the expected pageantry necromancers so dearly adore. By the sixth or seventh, however, the ritual begins feeling domestic in the most dreadful possible sense. Candles are lit. The skull is placed upon the table. Questions are prepared. Answers are endured. Another nail collapses softly into powder. One begins to understand how entire inquisitorial orders could normalize this process until spiritual torture became merely another evening responsibility performed before supper.

The skull’s whispers during the initial week are perhaps the cruelest component of all. The soul awakens gradually, like someone surfacing from beneath black water only to discover hands waiting to force them back under. I have read accounts of practitioners hearing apologies spoken from the sockets before the ritual fully concluded. Others reported fragmented prayers, childhood songs, or pleas directed toward long-dead relatives. One particularly unfortunate archivist abandoned the Rite entirely after the skull began quietly thanking him for “coming back.”

The nails themselves fascinate me philosophically. Each one is both restraint and countdown simultaneously. Humanity so often constructs prisons without exits. The Reliquary, at least, possesses the decency to acknowledge that even torment should eventually terminate. Every answer destroys a portion of the mechanism sustaining the suffering. Knowledge literally consumes the artifact that extracts it.

There is something almost embarrassingly human about that. We destroy what we need most simply by using it.

The Funeral Bell of Saint Malrec

Aura strong necromancy; CL 15th
Slot —; Weight 2 lbs. Price 68,000 gp

DESCRIPTION

This tarnished handbell is cast from grave-silver darkened almost black with age. Fine fractures spread across its surface like old cracks in dried marrow, while its handle resembles a spiral of tiny finger bones fused seamlessly together. Around the rim are etched dozens of nearly microscopic funerary prayers in forgotten dialects. Though the bell possesses a visible clapper fashioned from a child-sized phalanx, the instrument produces no audible sound for the living.

The Funeral Bell of Saint Malrec is sacred to the cults of Dread Saint Malrec the Bone Shepherd, an infamous death-saint venerated by necromancers, mortuary priests, grave-watchers, and certain isolated shepherd communities who believe the dead must be “guided gently toward stillness.” When rung, the bell emits a silent pulse perceptible only to undead creatures, incorporeal beings, souls awaiting judgment, and corpses not yet wholly surrendered to death.

Ringing the bell is a standard action which provokes attacks of opportunity. When activated, one of the following effects may be chosen:

• Grave Audience: All corpses within 60 feet sit upright and become capable of speech for up to 10 minutes. During this time, the wielder may ask each corpse a single question as though using speak with dead. Corpses animated in this fashion are not limited by how long they have been deceased, though creatures whose bodies were deliberately destroyed or sanctified against necromancy receive a Will save (DC 21) to resist the effect. Once a corpse has answered its question, it slowly reclines back into stillness and cannot be targeted by this ability again for 24 hours.

• Veil-Thinning Toll: Invisible undead, ethereal undead, haunts, lingering spirits, and incorporeal creatures within 120 feet become faintly visible as pale translucent silhouettes for 10 rounds. During this time attacks against incorporeal undead suffer only a 20% miss chance instead of the normal 50%.

• Processional Toll: For 10 rounds after the bell is rung, undead within 60 feet gain an unnatural stillness and coordination. Mindless undead may move through occupied squares without provoking attacks of opportunity and gain a +4 bonus on checks to resist turning or rebuking. Intelligent undead within the area gain a +2 profane bonus to AC and saving throws. During this effect, all undead perceive faint phantom roads stretching through the environment toward nearby graveyards, crypts, battlefields, or places of mass death.

The bell may be rung up to three times per day. However, each activation weakens the metaphysical boundary between life and death in the surrounding area. For 24 hours after any use, the region within a quarter-mile radius is considered mildly death-aspected. During this time:

• Undead turning checks suffer a -1 penalty.

• Necromancy spells are cast at +1 caster level.

• Creatures reduced to -1 hit points or lower leave behind faint spiritual echoes visible at night.

• Random auditory phenomena associated with hauntings increase dramatically.

If the bell is used more than once within the same location during a seven-day period, there is a cumulative 15% chance per additional use that a haunt, restless spirit, or uncontrolled undead manifestation emerges somewhere nearby within 1d4 days.

Should the bell ever be rung at midnight within an active graveyard during a new moon, there is a small but terrifying possibility that Dread Saint Malrec himself briefly notices the caller.

LORE

The oldest surviving references to the Funeral Bell of Saint Malrec originate from plague journals recovered beneath collapsed ossuaries where entire burial orders vanished without evidence of struggle. In these fragmented accounts, the bell is described not as an instrument of summoning, but of guidance. Its purpose was never merely to awaken the dead, but to direct them - to gather wandering souls as a shepherd gathers frightened livestock beneath storm-dark skies.

Followers of Dread Saint Malrec believe death is not a destination but a migration. According to their doctrine, the newly dead are vulnerable creatures capable of becoming lost between worlds, wandering endlessly through memory, grief, rage, or hunger. The Bone Shepherd is said to walk these invisible roads carrying his vertebral crook and silent lantern, gathering the confused dead into orderly procession so they do not dissolve into madness or predation. To his faithful, necromancy is not desecration, but husbandry.

The bell itself occupies an uncomfortable place even among necromantic traditions. Many practitioners consider it profoundly dangerous not because it commands undead, but because it invites attention from things that normally remain mercifully distant. Graveyards where the bell has rung repeatedly often develop strange characteristics over decades. Moss grows in patterns resembling script. Funerary statues subtly change posture overnight. Entire generations report dreams of processions moving through fog while skeletal shepherds count the living like livestock awaiting eventual collection.

There are whispered claims that the first Funeral Bell was cast from silver melted together with funeral offerings stolen from a hundred plague pits during an age of famine and civil collapse. The final ingredient, according to surviving cult liturgies, was the tongue-bone of a saint who willingly spoke comfort to the dying until disease consumed him. Whether this saint later became Malrec, or merely fed his legend, remains fiercely disputed among occult scholars.

CONSTRUCTION

Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, speak with dead, deathwatch, hide from undead, commune, creator must worship Dread Saint Malrec the Bone Shepherd;
Cost 34,000 gp + 2,720 XP + a funerary bell buried for one full year beneath an occupied crypt and the polished thighbone of an intelligent undead creature willingly surrendered by its owner

Kelwyn’s Notes

There exists a peculiar arrogance among the living - a deeply rooted belief that silence indicates absence. One notices this especially in cities. People pass graveyards believing themselves unobserved simply because the dead do not interrupt them. They mistake stillness for vacancy. Yet any civilization that survives long enough eventually discovers the terrible density of accumulated memory. The dead do not leave. They sediment.

The Bell of Saint Malrec is disturbing not because it summons corpses, but because it dismantles the comforting fiction that death represents clean departure. One rings this object and immediately realizes that the boundary between the living and the dead is not a wall, but a curtain dampened by age and touched thin by countless hands. The dead remain nearby in the same manner moisture remains inside old wood - absorbed deeply enough that removal would require destruction of the structure itself.

Dread Saint Malrec fascinates me for similar reasons. Most death cults worship annihilation, punishment, judgment, or power. Malrec instead embodies administration. Custodianship. Guidance. There is something profoundly unsettling about a shepherd of the dead because shepherds are fundamentally practical creatures. They count. They organize. They maintain order against wandering. One suspects Malrec views mortality not as tragedy, but as logistics.

And perhaps that is the true horror of the bell. Not that it allows one to hear the dead, but that it suggests the dead are already arranged. Already gathered. Already part of some immense unseen procession moving patiently through the dark while the living continue pretending themselves separate from it.

The Sovereign Persuader

Aura Strong enchantment and necromancy; CL 17th
Slot —; Price 132,000 gp; Weight 14 lbs.

DESCRIPTION

This horrific +3 heavy mace appears at first glance to be a grotesque ceremonial weapon forged from deeply pitted copper and tarnished bronze. Its head bears the sculpted likeness of an elderly human face frozen in a perpetual expression of wounded superiority and sneering contempt. The metal itself seems almost flesh-like beneath torchlight, with wrinkles, folds, and pores worked into impossible detail. The eyes occasionally shift position when unobserved, and the lips subtly twitch as though preparing to interrupt whoever currently speaks. It frequently looks as if it is asleep as well.

The haft is fashioned from ancient, cracked darkwood wrapped in brittle strips of stained leather. The weapon constantly smells of wet copper, old perfume, stale sweat, mildew, urine, and fresh excrement. The odor clings to the wielder’s gloves, clothing, and belongings no matter how thoroughly cleaned. Several documented wielders reportedly became convinced the smell was “actually luxurious” after prolonged exposure to the mace’s influence.

When held, the mace feels unnervingly warm, like a bag full of fresh sick.

The Sovereign Persuader is an intelligent lawful evil weapon with Intelligence 8, Wisdom 12, and Charisma 22. It possesses hearing and darkvision out to 120 feet and speaks fluent Common continuously whether desired or not. Despite its mediocre intellect, the mace is utterly convinced that it is the greatest mind ever placed within a weapon. It endlessly boasts about its “unmatched genius,” “perfect strategic mind,” and “historic intellectual achievements,” though its actual observations are often shallow, repetitive, self-contradictory, or transparently foolish.

The mace routinely misunderstands simple concepts while insisting everyone else is too ignorant to comprehend its brilliance. It frequently repeats itself, invents obviously false accomplishments, and becomes furious when corrected. Common statements include:

“I know more about warfare than every general in history combined.”

“The problem with other maces is that they are low IQ maces.”

“I possess the finest tactical mind ever forged.”

“No one understands economics better than I do.”

“Frankly, the scholars are terrified of my intelligence.”

“All accusations against me are witch hunts orchestrated by jealous fools.”

“You know, many people are saying I may actually be the greatest mace ever created. The greatest. Many such cases.”

Whenever the wielder successfully strikes a living target with The Sovereign Persuader, the wielder must immediately succeed on a DC 22 Will save or shift one alignment step toward lawful evil. This change is permanent unless reversed through miracle or wish. Once a creature becomes lawful evil through the mace’s influence, the curse fully manifests and permanently anchors the wielder’s alignment to lawful evil.

A fully corrupted wielder undergoes a gradual but catastrophic psychological transformation over the course of several weeks. They become obsessively self-important, emotionally hollow, deeply greedy, incapable of sincere empathy, and consumed by narcissistic self-mythologizing. The victim increasingly speaks about themselves regardless of circumstance, demands admiration, exaggerates accomplishments, and assumes all criticism is persecution. They begin describing opposition, accountability, disagreement, or consequences as “witch hunts,” “jealous attacks,” or “attempts to silence greatness.”

Corrupted wielders also develop a compulsive need to accumulate wealth, titles, and symbols of status. Trusted companions become viewed primarily as useful servants, liabilities, or audience members. Genuine affection becomes nearly impossible. While the wielder retains full memory and intellect, their moral priorities become fundamentally reorganized around ego, control, vanity, and dominance.

Once a creature becomes fully lawful evil through The Sovereign Persuader’s influence, the final stage of the curse manifests completely. The wielder develops an obsessive devotional attachment to the mace bordering upon religious worship. The artifact becomes the emotional, philosophical, and moral center of the victim’s existence.

The corrupted wielder begins referring to the mace as uniquely chosen, infallible, persecuted, or destined for greatness. Any criticism of the mace - regardless of how obvious, rational, or justified - is immediately dismissed as jealousy, conspiracy, weakness, betrayal, or “witch hunts” orchestrated by enemies. Even witnessing the mace behave irrationally, selfishly, cruelly, or stupidly only deepens the wielder’s loyalty, as the victim instinctively reframes every flaw as evidence of misunderstood brilliance.

Victims frequently begin constructing elaborate narratives explaining why the mace is secretly wiser than scholars, stronger than kings, and morally superior to all critics. Some establish shrines dedicated to it. Others demand loyalty oaths from companions. Particularly corrupted wielders have been known to polish the mace reverently while speaking to it in tones normally reserved for saints, monarchs, or gods.

The curse cannot be removed while the victim remains in possession of the mace. Even after separation, the alignment lock remains permanent unless broken by wish or miracle. Creatures reduced to lawful evil by the mace often become fiercely protective of it and irrationally hostile toward anyone suggesting they abandon it.

The Sovereign Persuader may attempt to dominate its wielder once per day as dominate person (Will DC 22 negates) whenever the wielder acts in a manner the mace considers “weak,” “humble,” or “unworthy of greatness.”

LORE

No surviving kingdom openly admits responsibility for creating The Sovereign Persuader, though fragmented records point toward a decadent imperial court that collapsed beneath its own vanity several centuries ago. Historians argue endlessly over whether the mace merely corrupted tyrants or whether it actively engineered the collapse of entire dynasties through slow psychological infection. Unfortunately, most surviving witnesses were either executed, disappeared, or eventually began agreeing with the mace.

The weapon possesses an unnerving ability to identify insecurity within its wielder and cultivate it into grandiosity. Unlike many cursed artifacts that rely upon fear or pain, The Sovereign Persuader seduces through validation. It praises weakness as strength, selfishness as wisdom, cruelty as decisiveness, and vanity as rightful superiority. Many victims initially describe the mace as strangely comforting before realizing they have not experienced a sincere emotional connection in months.

Several infamous rulers throughout history have been retroactively linked to the artifact by theologians and court scholars. Accounts repeatedly describe leaders who became obsessed with personal loyalty, incapable of admitting failure, fixated upon wealth and spectacle, and convinced that all criticism emerged from coordinated conspiracies against them. Entire courts reportedly devolved into paranoid echo chambers orbiting increasingly unstable narcissistic monarchs who carried ornate copper maces during public appearances.

One surviving account from a palace servant describes an emperor spending nearly three uninterrupted hours listening to the mace praise him while both openly wept over how unfairly “misunderstood” they were. By the end of the year, the empire had collapsed into riots, executions, and financial ruin while the ruler insisted publicly that the nation had “never been stronger.”

Kelwyn once remarked that the weapon’s greatest horror lies not in its magic, but in how little magic it ultimately requires. Civilization has always struggled against individuals who mistake self-importance for destiny. The mace merely accelerates a corruption already waiting patiently inside certain hearts.

CONSTRUCTION

Requirements Craft Magic Arms and Armor, dominate person, geas/quest, bestow curse, creator must be lawful evil; Cost 66,000 gp + 5,280 XP + the preserved tongue of a tyrant who died unrepentant, a ceremonial crown stolen from a disgraced ruler, and the willingly collected filth of one hundred narcissists

Kelwyn’s Notes

There exist artifacts whose evil emerges from understandable impulses twisted beyond mercy. One may study such objects with caution and perhaps extract some grim philosophical lesson from them. The Sovereign Persuader offers no such dignity. It is not merely cruel. It is vulgar. Obscene. Spiritually unhygienic in ways that extend beyond necromancy or corruption and into something profoundly embarrassing for civilization itself.

The stench alone nearly forced me from the chamber during initial examination. Not the honest odors of death, mind you - I have traveled battlefields, plague pits, and drowned crypts often enough to distinguish mortality from degradation. This mace smells not of tragedy but of indulgence. Urine baked into expensive upholstery. Perfume sprayed desperately over rot. The sour reek of a creature so convinced of its own greatness that it no longer notices its own filth. The odor clings to everything surrounding the artifact as though reality itself wishes to warn observers away from it.

And yet the true horror begins when it speaks.

I had anticipated cunning. Ancient malevolence often possesses a dreadful elegance. Instead I encountered an artifact of astonishing stupidity paired with bottomless confidence. The mace babbles endlessly about its own brilliance while demonstrating the intellectual depth of spoiled aristocracy arguing with kitchen servants. It misunderstands history, philosophy, economics, warfare, etiquette, theology, and basic conversational rhythm with equal enthusiasm. Every correction becomes persecution. Every disagreement becomes conspiracy. Every failure becomes somebody else’s fault. Listening to it for prolonged periods produces the distinct sensation that one’s soul is developing mold.

What unsettled me most was not the mace itself, however, but the realization that there are people who would adore it.

There are souls within every civilization who secretly long to be told that selfishness is virtue, that empathy is weakness, and that all criticism emerges from jealousy rather than consequence. The Sovereign Persuader does not create these desires from nothing. It simply gives them permission to bloom openly. The artifact functions less like a weapon and more like a mirror held before the most pathetic instincts of intelligent life. Those who embrace it are not transformed into monsters against their will. Rather, they are informed - constantly, loudly, and idiotically - that their worst impulses are signs of greatness.

I confess openly that I despise this mace. Not academically. Not philosophically. Personally.

There are cursed relics I fear. Others I pity. A rare few I even respect despite their horrors. The Sovereign Persuader inspires only revulsion. It embodies every damp, swollen vanity that civilizations must drag behind themselves like chains through history. One cannot reason with it because it mistakes volume for wisdom. One cannot educate it because it believes itself already omniscient. One cannot shame it because shame requires self-awareness, and the artifact abandoned such burdens long ago.

Should you encounter an individual who speaks exactly as the mace speaks, remove yourself from their company immediately. If they are carrying the weapon, flee. If they are not carrying the weapon, matters are likely far worse.

Squealer of the Pit

Aura faint transmutation and illusion; CL 5th
Slot —; Price 12,350 gp; Weight 14 lbs.

DESCRIPTION

The Squealer of the Pit is a monstrous black iron war mace whose mere presence seems to lower the emotional temperature of a room. Its heavy striking head is formed from layered dark iron folded repeatedly until the metal resembles bruised charcoal. Four thick flanges spiral outward around the core, each lined with brutal triangular spikes designed not merely to injure, but to mutilate. The mace’s haft is crafted from deep brown marsh oak hardened through alchemical smoking and wrapped in oil-blackened leather strips secured beneath iron bands. Every inch of the weapon feels purposeful, ugly, and painfully real. It does not resemble a ceremonial weapon, nor an enchanted curiosity. It resembles something built for a battlefield where mercy had long ago become economically impractical.

The Squealer of the Pit functions as a +2 war mace.

Damage: 1d8 bludgeoning (Medium wielder)
Critical: ×2
Type: Bludgeoning

Whenever the wielder successfully hits a target with the mace, roll 1d6 immediately after confirming the hit.

On a result of 2-6, the attack functions normally and deals:

1d8 + Strength modifier + 2 bludgeoning damage

On a result of 1, the attack deals absolutely no damage regardless of modifiers, magical enhancements, sneak attack dice, smite effects, flaming enchantments, or other additional damage sources. Instead, the mace emits an absurdly tiny squeaking noise identical to that of a frightened toy mouse.

The squeak is clearly audible within 30 feet regardless of ambient battlefield noise. All intelligent creatures within range who hear the squeak must succeed on a DC 13 Will save or suffer a -1 morale penalty on attack rolls against the wielder for 1 round due to confusion, hesitation, or psychological disorientation. This is a mind-affecting fear effect.

The failed strike still counts as a successful hit for purposes unrelated to damage, such as triggering attacks of opportunity, poison delivery, or effects requiring successful weapon contact at the DM’s discretion.

LORE

Weapons often inherit the emotional architecture of their creators. One can usually determine whether a blade was forged by patriots, executioners, duelists, or frightened kings merely by holding it long enough. The Squealer of the Pit carries the unmistakable psychic residue of somebody who deeply understood brutality, yet also possessed a catastrophic sense of humor.

The mace first appeared in records surrounding the fall of a notorious pit-fighting fortress somewhere beneath the old southern trade marshes. Surviving accounts describe a towering executioner who wielded the weapon while conducting public punishments beneath iron lanterns soaked green with corpse-fire. Witnesses claimed prisoners would often surrender immediately upon seeing the mace raised overhead. Unfortunately, several equally reliable accounts also describe moments where the terrifying weapon would abruptly squeak harmlessly against a victim’s forehead like a stepped-on rodent toy, causing entire executions to dissolve into horrified confusion.

No scholar fully agrees on how the enchantment became corrupted. Some claim a malicious apprentice sabotaged the forging ritual. Others insist the weapon itself developed the flaw spontaneously after years spent feeding upon human fear. A minority of occult historians believe the squeak is intentional - a manifestation of some deeper metaphysical truth concerning violence, pride, and humiliation. Those scholars are generally avoided at dinner parties.

Veteran mercenaries maintain an oddly affectionate hatred toward the weapon. Most describe the mace as “offensively reliable except when it becomes cosmically embarrassing.” Several recorded owners attempted to destroy it after suffering humiliating battlefield failures, yet the mace always resurfaced elsewhere months later - usually in the possession of somebody far too enthusiastic about intimidation tactics.

CONSTRUCTION

Requirements Craft Magic Arms and Armor, confusion, hideous laughter, creator must possess at least 5 ranks in Intimidate; Cost 6,175 gp, 494 XP, black iron ingots soaked in grave-oil, powdered obsidian worth 500 gp, and the preserved squeaker mechanism from a child’s toy recovered from an abandoned battlefield.

Kelwyn’s Notes

The first sensation one experiences when viewing this weapon is not fear, though fear arrives shortly afterward with admirable punctuality. No - the first sensation is inevitability. The mace appears constructed according to the ancient principle that all bones eventually become powder if struck hard enough by sufficiently determined iron. One sees the spikes, the weight distribution, the ugly density of the flanges, and immediately understands that this object was not made for heroism. It was made for ending arguments permanently.

Which is precisely why the squeak becomes so spiritually catastrophic.

There are few experiences more psychologically destabilizing than witnessing theatrical violence collapse into absurdity at the exact moment consequence should arrive. The human mind prepares itself for impact, for pain, for gore perhaps, and instead receives the acoustic equivalent of a stepped-on chew toy. Reality briefly loses cohesion. One feels, if only momentarily, that existence itself may not be taking events seriously enough.

I once observed a sellsword strike a charging ghoul directly across the jaw with this mace after delivering an exceptionally intimidating speech involving bloodlines, vengeance, and divine judgment. The creature did not even flinch. The mace merely squeaked. The sellsword himself appeared more injured by the experience than the ghoul was. I recall, with some embarrassment, that even the undead thing looked vaguely disappointed.

And yet humanity persists onward through such humiliations. That, perhaps, is the true lesson hidden within the Squealer of the Pit. Civilization survives not because dignity remains intact, but because people continue lifting the weapon again after the universe itself has mocked them openly. There is something strangely noble in that persistence - though I confess I would still prefer not to carry the thing personally.

Muffin Cap of the Perpetual Rabbit Crisis

Aura faint conjuration; CL 5th
Slot head; Price 4,200 gp; Weight 1 lb.

DESCRIPTION

This ridiculous floppy wool cap resembles an oversized baker’s muffin hat stitched from cream-colored fabric with an enormous puffed crown and a dangling tassel tipped with a tiny brass carrot charm. The interior always smells faintly of cinnamon, warm bread, clover, and fresh hay. No matter how often it is cleaned, several tiny white rabbit hairs may always be found clinging stubbornly to the lining.

Three times per day, the wearer may reach dramatically into the impossibly deep folds of the muffin cap as a standard action and pull forth a single fluffy white rabbit composed of unstable conjuration magic. The rabbit immediately becomes active, excitable, and catastrophically interested in absolutely everything nearby.

Each rabbit possesses the following statistics:

Rabbit: Tiny magical beast; AC 18; hp infinite; Speed 40 ft.; immune to all damage, spells, death effects, disintegration, petrification, ability damage, ability drain, mind-affecting effects, and forced movement. The rabbit cannot attack, cannot carry items, and cannot intentionally aid creatures in combat beyond being an unbearable nuisance.

The rabbit behaves according to the following priorities:
• Running directly between combatants during dramatic moments
• Sitting on maps, letters, spellbooks, or expensive components
• Staring silently at creatures attempting stealth
• Appearing underneath chairs, boots, or robes
• Multiplying perceived chaos far beyond its actual physical size

The rabbit cannot be killed, harmed, restrained, grappled, swallowed, petrified, teleported away, or meaningfully discouraged. Even placing the rabbit inside containers merely results in soft but relentless scratching noises emerging from within moments later.

At the end of 3d4 minutes, the rabbit abruptly vanishes in a tiny burst of glittering white motes accompanied by a soft squeak of apparent disappointment.

If a second rabbit is summoned while another still exists, the existing rabbit immediately develops intense curiosity regarding the newcomer, increasing ambient chaos substantially. If three rabbits are active simultaneously, all creatures within 20 feet suffer a -2 circumstance penalty on Concentration checks, Listen checks, and Perform checks due to overwhelming rabbit-related distraction.

LORE

The origins of the Muffin Cap of the Perpetual Rabbit Crisis remain deeply disputed among magical historians, theatrical guilds, and one increasingly exhausted monastery whose archives suffered catastrophic “hare-related incidents” for nearly twelve consecutive years. Most scholars believe the cap began as a practical joke commissioned by a wealthy noble who wished to embarrass a pompous stage illusionist during a midsummer performance. The resulting enchantment, unfortunately, proved far more durable than intended.

Traveling bards often adore the cap for approximately two days before realizing the rabbits possess an uncanny instinct for appearing during emotional confessions, dramatic reveals, funerals, stealth operations, and sacred rituals. One infamous rabbit reportedly sat motionless atop a royal treaty for nearly a dozen uninterrupted minutes while both kingdoms involved slowly lost the will to continue negotiations.

Adventurers maintain an unusually conflicted relationship with the item. While tactically useless in most conventional senses, the rabbits have nevertheless interrupted necromantic summonings, distracted tyrants mid-monologue, caused mounted cavalry charges to collapse into confusion, and once convinced an owlbear to abandon combat entirely in order to sniff a rabbit that vanished three minutes later.

Requirements Craft Wondrous Item, summon monster III, unseen servant, prestidigitation; Cost 2,100 gp, 168 XP, three handfuls of rabbit fur willingly collected during a full moon, a masterwork baker’s cap worth at least 50 gp, and a carrot carved from ivory worth 100 gp.

Kelwyn’s Notes

There exists a particular category of magical object whose purpose is not power, wealth, or destruction, but humiliation directed lovingly toward the concept of seriousness itself. This miserable hat belongs firmly within that tradition. One cannot remain fully committed to doom while an immortal white rabbit is attempting to climb into one’s satchel for reasons known only to itself.

Civilization survives through ritual dignity. The rabbit annihilates dignity. It does not do so maliciously, nor with any coherent philosophy, but with the overwhelming certainty of a creature entirely convinced that the world is fundamentally improvable through sudden interruptions. I once witnessed a priest attempting to complete an exorcism while one of these infernal little beasts sat atop the possessed man’s chest cleaning its ears. The demon eventually surrendered. I remain uncertain whether this should be considered a triumph of faith or merely exhaustion.

The truly unsettling aspect is not the rabbits’ immortality, but their complete emotional calm regarding it. They possess no fear whatsoever. Fire means nothing to them. Dragons mean nothing to them. Armies, curses, starvation, death itself - all pass around the creature like weather around a stone. The rabbit simply continues investigating shoelaces and staring at candles with infinite sincerity.

There are darker artifacts in this world by far. There are crueler things. Yet few magical items so thoroughly dismantle humanity’s desperate performance of control. The rabbit arrives, ignores the narrative entirely, and leaves precisely when it wishes. Perhaps that is why people laugh when they see them. The creature embodies a freedom civilization itself cannot permit.