Rare are the times one would consider an object or article of clothing a creature unto itself, but rarer still are the moments when such a thing presents itself as peer among those who might wield or wear it. Such is the case-of-occasion for the Robe of the Grand Magus, a thick woolen garment wiser in the ways of weaving wonders than many meaty magicians. Once worn by the Grand Magus herself- a storied and secretive sage and sorcerer whose thread on the weave of fate was frayed- the Robe was found among her personal affects when her solitary tower was broken into by a messenger alerted by an absent reply to his knock. Local spellcasters heard tale of the Grand Magus’s disappearance- and nary a trace of her was anywhere to be found- but when the gawkers gathered at her gateway they were greeted by the Robe itself, risen and fully-animate.
The Robe of the Grand Magus is a curious thing, believed to have soaked the magical aura of the Grand Magus herself the way it would blood and sweat. The Grand Magus’s essence is deeply woven in the fibers of the old cloak, and the Robe remembers many of the gestures needed to invoke ancient acts of the arcane. The Robe of the Grand Magus doesn’t speak, but instead communicates by gesture of its hood and sleeves, floating about as though it were draped around the body of its former owner. The Robe radiates power, and more than a few would-be usurpers have attempted to don the Robe for themselves, but each met a gruesome, ashen end as the Robe drew the life and knowledge right out of their bodies, leaving naught but fragile husks behind. The Robe of the Grand Magus doesn’t show any outwardly aggressive tendencies, but it defends itself readily, its repertoire of skills expanding with each fallen fool.