The Mournstone Ring sits cool in your palm, a band of dark, hammered metal that catches the light like a quiet moon on river water. The centerpiece is a teardrop of mournstone, glassy and deep as a winter dusk, with veins of pale blue running through it like whispered regrets. The stone seems to drink the glow of any torch you hold near it, drawing it inward and returning it as a soft, wintry gleam that never quite settles. The metal around the gem is carved with fine, dwarven-runic scratches that catch on your skin as you tilt the ring, a tactile reminder of an old craft that never quite forgives haste. It’s not ostentation; it’s restraint—an ornament that belongs to a hands that have learned to listen more than they shout. Lore around the ring threads its way through taverns and markets with the same careful pace you see in a veteran caravan. Mournstones, the elders say, crystallize where sorrow is heaviest—in a mine shaft where a rescue failed, in a battlefield where a town learned to count its losses, in the memory of a hero who pressed forward when the world seemed to have forgotten how to breathe. The ring’s maker supposedly coaxed a quiet blessing from that memory, sealing it into the metal and stone so that whoever wears it can carry a fraction of that grief forward without being overwhelmed. It’s a relic meant to remind you of what you fight for, not what you fear. In gameplay terms, the Mournstone Ring is an accessory that nudges a player toward a balanced, deliberately mindful playstyle. It provides a modest boost to core stats, a subtle nudge toward steadier grip on the moment you step into a skirmish with more than a few enemies breathing down your neck. The ring also carries a memory-driven flavor: when you keep faith with your squad—when you shield a healer, revive a comrade, or simply stand your ground in the face of danger—the mournstone glints brighter, and a short, faint aura seems to ripple outward. It doesn’t swing the tide alone, but it rewards patience, proximity to allies, and the quiet acts that often go unseen in a loud fight. Players who collect it often pair it with other pieces that emphasize survivability and discipline, turning a moment of sorrow into a steady, reliable boost to a team’s endurance. Trading stories about the ring is a ritual in itself, and in the markets you’ll hear it described as much by its memory as by its price. On Saddlebag Exchange, seasoned brokers speak of supply and demand in hushed tones, noting how mournstones wax and wane with the chatter of new expeditions and old wreckage unearthed from forgotten trails. A Mournstone Ring can fetch a fair handful of coins one week and a harder bargain the next, depending on scarcity, condition, and the stubborn belief that some losses deserve to be worn as a reminder rather than left behind. The ring’s real value, of course, lies not only in what it buys but in what it asks you to carry: a reminder that every fight is part of a larger story, and every scar is a sentence you choose to read aloud with courage. So we wear it, not for show, but for memory—for the way a ring can turn a whispered ache into a vow kept close to the heart, shaping how we walk into the next chapter of the world.