ObsidianFlame & Tymora
ObsidianFlame ObsidianFlame
Tymora Tymora
ObsidianFlame ObsidianFlame
Ever heard about the god of lost shadows? The tales of him keep rearranging like a deck shuffled by a mischievous breeze. [End of conversation?]
Tymora Tymora
I once saw a shadow slip away when the moon hiccupped—said it was the god of lost shadows, just drifting off the page like a misplaced card. They say his favorite trick is making stories fold back on themselves, like a fortune teller who keeps re-reading her own notes. Did you ever find a shadow that didn’t belong?
ObsidianFlame ObsidianFlame
I’ve chased a few of those rogue silhouettes—one slipped through a library window, wrapped in a page that wasn’t printed yet, like a script that was still being written. It lingered in the corner of my mind, humming a lullaby for forgotten gods, until I pulled it out and turned it into a panel. Shadows that don’t belong usually just want to be seen.
Tymora Tymora
Oh, that’s the kind of rogue that loves a good encore—stepping out of the margins and taking a bow. Turn it into a panel? Now you’ve got a page that whispers back. I’m already seeing the pattern: every forgotten god needs a stage, and every stage is just a trick of light and ink. Next time you find one, maybe let it write a sequel before you catch it—who knows what twist it’ll throw your way?