Details: A heavy, solid silver band, smooth with rounded edges, oxidized to a bluish-grey hue, worked into the stylized form of a spirit of the Wind.
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There's little enough I can tell you about the origins of this remarkable ring. It is the work of an individual whom people call The Artificer. I have never met him myself, nor have I met anyone who has. I do not know if he is man or woman, or even whether he is human at all. In my line of work, he is simply one more figure shrouded in a cloak of mystery among many.
It is said that he makes his home somewhere in the vast expanse of the Cornish Wastes, but I've no idea whether or not it's true. If one were trying to conceal their true location, I see few better ways to do it than to spread rumors that they inhabit a vast, unmapped wilderness, fraught with peril and riddled with dark secrets. I cannot even be sure that he is still alive. The Artificer is prolific in his work. It can be found in every unlikely place you might think of, every distant corner of the world. It is entirely possible that what we find now are merely the echoes of a voice now fallen silent.
What I can tell you is that this is some of his early work. A Blustering, he named it, after the wind. See the form it takes: a wind spirit. The Greeks called them the Anemoi, the Romans the Venti. I have dealt in other pieces of the Artificer's handiwork. No few of them, in fact; and over the course of his career I have observed that he developed a remarkable faculty for binding primal forces to his creations. Smotherings. Witherings. Smolderings. Shiverings. All these and more.
No, there can be no doubt that this Blustering was made by him. But compared to his later work it is crude. Unrefined. Literal. It sits heavy in the hand. And I cannot be sure this rough circlet encases a wild, fettered elemental, railing to get free—or whether it is simply an homage. A tribute to a force of nature which he had not the skill to snare at the time he made it. It takes a certain sort to make use of his creations, while to all others they are as lifeless metal. Perhaps the one to find the truth is you.