Dawnstar
Extended set containing 2 of every dice except for a single D4
Blues, soft as morning haze, melt into lavender. The gradients are slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world to arrive. Flurries of glitter drift just above the surface, catching light the same way breath fogs on cold glass. Gold numbers rise cleanly above it all, warm and steady.
They sit in the highest room of a forgotten tower—no windows, but the light still gets in. Not bright, just present. Enough to keep the dust from settling. No one knows who brought them there, only that they’re always arranged in a loose spiral, like someone was halfway through asking a question and then changed their mind.
You can pick one up, if you want. It doesn’t hum, or glow, or burn.
But the sun will follow only your shadow, your whim, until they rest again.
Extended set containing 2 of every dice except for a single D4
Blues, soft as morning haze, melt into lavender. The gradients are slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world to arrive. Flurries of glitter drift just above the surface, catching light the same way breath fogs on cold glass. Gold numbers rise cleanly above it all, warm and steady.
They sit in the highest room of a forgotten tower—no windows, but the light still gets in. Not bright, just present. Enough to keep the dust from settling. No one knows who brought them there, only that they’re always arranged in a loose spiral, like someone was halfway through asking a question and then changed their mind.
You can pick one up, if you want. It doesn’t hum, or glow, or burn.
But the sun will follow only your shadow, your whim, until they rest again.
Extended set containing 2 of every dice except for a single D4
Blues, soft as morning haze, melt into lavender. The gradients are slow, like they’ve got all the time in the world to arrive. Flurries of glitter drift just above the surface, catching light the same way breath fogs on cold glass. Gold numbers rise cleanly above it all, warm and steady.
They sit in the highest room of a forgotten tower—no windows, but the light still gets in. Not bright, just present. Enough to keep the dust from settling. No one knows who brought them there, only that they’re always arranged in a loose spiral, like someone was halfway through asking a question and then changed their mind.
You can pick one up, if you want. It doesn’t hum, or glow, or burn.
But the sun will follow only your shadow, your whim, until they rest again.