The eggs of Kessa's Gold Choth and Ma'kai's Bronze Garanth. Clutched March 28th. To Hatch Late April 2009.
Freeform Innovation Egg
There's one thing to be said about this egg - it can be interpreted thousands of different ways. Speckled, blotched, and globed with an array of all the colours in the rainbow as well as hues of black and white: one simply has to walk around the entire oblong shape to take in the full artistic view, which is why interpretations vary each time one looks at it. Yet if one were to study the seemingly meaningless splotches, they'd notice from a distance it pulls together an abstract form, a thought, an idea of free expression. There might even be a surfacing image pieced together by the rainbow speckles, though it does take the imaginative eye to spot it. The image could be said to resemble a side view of a man wearing a hat, whose tilted so that what extends from his face is pointed upward - and it could very well be some sort of musical instrument.
Tempest of Trumpets entice you near, with a seductive sequence of a solo wail that's rich in sound and pitch, unique from anything else you might have heard before it - or so it makes you believe. And believe you should, for the jubilant squall that erupts almost immediately upon touch of the shell has a catching free floating jingle. A perverse feeling to bob one's head or tap a toe in the rhythm to the sound that quacks is not inexplicable, especially with the swing-song bass plunking in the background. It'd be hard to ignore this jitter bug, because along with the exciting jovial welcoming it gives to you, its actual presence within you would be considered very obtrusive. You may come to realize that for all the enchantment, the wealth of private experiences belonging to you have been gleaned for the benefit of the one within.
Tempest of Trumpets comes to you as a thrilling crescendo so blatantly drawn from the excitement of having an audience, forming the need to show off. To have gained a fan livens up the entertainment considerably, with the sound produced from the touch of this egg rushing in dips and dives that boarder on impossible. The clatter seems too raucous to be anything but metaphoric squabbling children. From very high squeaks that scream like a banshee to gentle mesmerizing harmonic scales which quivar soothingly - the presence within wishes to keep its audience member riveted and wanting to hear more. And yet, it's obtrusive grip on you releases as an end nears with the trumpets thundering into your living memory - an echo of what you want. It could be noted then that an encore would take much enthusiasm on your part. Until then, the curtain closes.
Tempest of Trumpets can hear you chanting for it, wanting it, screaming for it to return, hoping and praying that your efforts can issue forth an encore that will perhaps lead to your own satisfaction. And you aren't let down. Yet, here, you feel the rise of a melancholy wail at first, though it rivets you instead of compelling you to turn from it. It's as if the ripple of sound with the addition of blue lights provokes a story within your mind, affecting the part of you that aches for a resolution to some confounding mystery, or perhaps its for the mystery itself that the bail of the trumpets encourages you to seek. Either way, it's a parting, a final disclosure of knowledge, of understanding. The story book closes. The curtain falls. It will rise again, but not yet.
Credits: Kessa
And The Cradle Will Rock Egg
At first glance you might think this is some sort of prank. Who rolled a boulder onto the sands? Indeed it appears to be a giant rock nestled within the golden white sand. But rather than the craggy rough appearance of most boulders, this one's mottled gray and tan surface is smooth and rotund. Here and there little pores, pits and cracks etch over the surface convincing one more and more of it's stoney nature. But as you look closer at each imperfection in the surface you realize they are only an illusion- dark shadowed lines and dots on a matte surface. Perhaps this is an egg after all.
Eruptions Of Squealing Chords wheel through your mind, dropping a bright spotlight over your current thoughts. A animalistic howl echos in a backdrop of dark haze that spreads out around you. Somewhere amidst this a roar, as of many distant voices, crying out from this great abyss. If this hasn't got your heart pumping yet, beats of drums drive forth in an exciting rhythm, starting your head to reel amidst a rift that sweeps you off your feet. The howl has now broken into a gravelly primal mind that cries out for you to join it… right here, right now.
Eruptions Of Squealing Chords haven't ceased their reeling, back and forth and up and down while the drum beats ever on. The mind has taken center stage, rasping thoughts of glamour, appeal, fame and fortune. It presses in on you with the scents of sweat and alcohol, begging your attention, acceptance. The little world it has thrown around you spins out of control as another primal cry breaks through. It jerks you forward into a splashing of cymbals that crash through your thoughts with an explosion of colorful sparks.
Eruptions Of Squealing Chords wash the sparks from your mind, repeating the familiar rift it had played earlier on. No less intense, but more comforting now amidst the chaos. What had swept you off your feet now carries you through the hectic chords and dancing drum beats. Gravelly tones still bear their edge and excitement but repeat their requests for your company. The roar of voices becomes more distant now to the mind's own requests. Then they, too, become less clear. A final chord and cry break forth. A basking thank you to your listening mind before…. a fade to black.
Credits: A'deo
Honkytonk For Your Badonkadonk Egg
Rustic hues, like that one log you might remember sitting on at a campfire one summer past, dapple the major-portion of an oblong egg, a wood-like texture that sits perfectly with this egg. It's unremarkable, ordinary; not much else breaks it up but an odd black spot in the middle the brown patch, and a similarly colored cord winding up around half the egg with many long, thin pale strings running parallel within. Oddly enough, it might remind you of an incredibly — let's say it again, incredibly — distorted guitar, but the imagination can do amazing things… And lead you some crazy, fandangled places.
Might Be a Redneck invades your mind like a raging interruption, again, like someone who knows where that hidden key is beneath your welcome mat, grabbing a beer from the fridge and popping up on your couch… Well howdy partner! Before a moment of confusion can riddle your thoughts, to remind you it's just the emotions of an un-hatched entity, the presence thunks you on the back of the head, demanding your attention. Hey, you git, why the long face? Don't say you don't remember me! And… in fact, you do. Maybe not this particular creature, but the unfond relationship with your lazy uncle Billy, or perhaps that fellow apprentice who always raided your supply of sweetcanes beneath your cot at the crafthall… An all-too familiar remembrance to something incessantly annoying, but… altogether, so comforting, so familiar… Like finally, you were home.
Might Be a Redneck doesn't know to hold back — who knew it was your first time here? Suddenly, overwhelming but refreshing, the feeling of companionship, of being part of something, is there. Maybe it's normal, maybe it's knowing you're nothing special… But that means no one else is special either, and isn't that just peachy? Equal, the same, friends with everyone, in high places, but especially low places. It feels great, doesn't it? Nothing else seems to appear… No images, no noises… At least, not yet. Just the faint reminder: hey, it's not so bad to be yourself. Nobody can change that!
Might Be a Redneck is equally uncautious yet again, raiding your mind of memories and emotions, making it's way inside with, perhaps, a fickle gesture of reassurance that… yeah… Maybe it cares. A little. Maybe it's never been down this road before and can't sympathize, but that's not the only way to feel better! The memory of — or at least a vision — of a violent party, the craziest you've ever seen or heard of, takes your head by force, showing you the care-free (if careless) person you could be if you just took a load off! Music wilder than you've ever known rampages into your head, and your feet seem to wobble like a crowd of dancing people nudges you from all sides… And damn, why does it suddenly feel like you've had /way/ too much to drink? Before you can question it, a final thought of — hey, there ain't nothin' funner! — teases your prudeness, and with a violent SNAP!, everything returns to normal. Well. Sort of. Was that a hiccup?
Credits: Tarish
Shrouded Emerald Isle Egg
Light hits the foggy coating of this egg, sending out the illusion of swathed depths of glittering grays and whites. The closer one gets, the more can be seen. From the more elongated side shapes can be seen, darker shadows stretch out back and forth in crumblings lines that recede into the mists with haunting familiarity. From the top, the grey lifts here and there revealing a patchwork quilt of rich emerald, jungle and true greens split by pebbly looking lines. From the front and rear the mists appear far off as the spread of heavily textured greens reach forward as a great field. Leading you in at center is a lone rustic road that disappears in the foggy dew.
Somber Notes Of Tragic Beauty are so familiar when they strike a clear thrum through your senses. You feel as if you've done this all before, been here before, perhaps in a dream, or long ago when you were but a child. The memories never rise to the surface, but the feeling is neither wholly sad nor cheerful…. resolute, perhaps, defiant, but with a subdued passion that streams through your mind, wrapping gently, slowly, methodically around your thoughts as you try to figure out where you've felt this before. The harder you reach the farther away they seem until your thoughts are swathed in glittering mist… damp, beautiful, lonely.
Somber Notes Of Tragic Beauty blow like the gentlest breeze, peeling the mist from your mind's eye in hazy strips. Plucks of strings reveal beautiful green fields, so familiar and yet foreign… A place you'd long to visit yet not sure if you'd want to live. It's so hard to tell in this cool, serene fog. Notes wheel slowly into a tune of curious wailing pipes, enhancing the loneliness and pulling at your heart. It takes you farther in on the breeze, fog shifting about with images of great aged castles, streets lined with flower boxes that shift into empty barren roads save for the scent of decay and great sadness. Then a battlefield, devoid of any signs of war, covered in a bed of rich green grass, yet such tragedy fills your heart. The mist covers over heavily. You can practically feel the light drops kissing your cheeks with a comforting love.
Somber Notes Of Tragic Beauty have not left you yet. They appear in a quick methodical drumming out of the heavy fog, reeling around you with hope and resolution. For all sadness they bring, there still is that defiance you felt earlier. What doesn't kill you can only make you stronger. The love in the droplets of mist seems to sink straight to your heart and anchor it with faith that all is never lost. That there is a great future to be had, one day… when the fog shall be lifted. And indeed it is… revealing a beautiful hill of purple heather looking to a sunrise of impeccable beauty. The sky is pink and gold with promise of the light itself… and as you wait… the notes thrum with your heart beat. Your breath echos loud in your ears. At last, the sun breaks the misty mountain tops beyond, shining the brightest light into your mind's eye until it fills all your thoughts. The tragic notes and cold damp are blotted out by an overwhelming love and acceptance in the purest light of these rays. And then, just like that, you are alone with your thoughts.
Credits: A'deo
Other Side Of Me Egg
Flashes of color, all hip and trendy, drench this rather larger than life egg. Brilliant pinks, all shades and hues, cover one half of the shell. Glimpses of diamond-like sparkles shimmer and shine, echoing of glamour. The other is a stark baby blue, less glitz than it's opposing image, just plain and ordinary. An almost too-straight line, very clearly noticed, races along the angle, clearly defining the different sides. Louis Vuitton-like designs, however, stamp haphazardly in random place marks throughout the entirety if the shell, not seeming to differentiate between the feuding sides.
Squeals of Girlie Glee starts with nothing put pure silence. Slowly, a sound in the distance of your mind begins and then grows in volume. The rush of sound, much like the screams of millions, chanting, yelling, singing, all in a chorus of life. Soon enough, the noise becomes far too much, overtaking every thought and feeling, vibrating within the confines of your subconscious. But then just as it appeared, it's gone. And the silence is there again, though your ears may now be ringing.
Squeals of Girlie Glee is just there. Nothing special, nothing unique. Same old, same old. The presence lingers in the back of your mind, soft touches of pure energy, but that's all. But then! NOISE! So much noise! Lights flash, thunderous applause rolls, instruments blare! Oh! Wait. It's gone again. No! It's back! No. No. Gone. This goes on for some time, until finally it just stops, a lingering feeling of absolute confusion is all that is left.
Squeals of Girlie Glee is all about the glamour of this life! It comes in booming, cheering, giggling with girlish charm. The feeling to rock out all encompassing! The cheers around you vibrate and shake, but a stray feeling is very out of place. Is this really what it wants? This life or another? Who is it? Who are you? Who is /anyone/? Quiet now comes into being, the simple, sweet, calm and collected lifestyle creating a soothing effect to brush your mind. Which to choose, which to choose.
Credits: Vi'leko
Flames of Fire and Passion Egg
A flaring pattern of red marks the beat across the inky dark blackness of this dragon egg. It's the size is of a ordinary medium, while it's almost oblong in shape but with delicate curves. Just as delicately patterned, however, the marks of red almost look like the beats to the eggs' own hidden song, a chorus of melody even as the blackness stretches and sneaks its way up into the melody, reaching, tugging it back down into the blackness of it. The fiery passion that marks the red has also been encased in a plethora of dark oranges that encircle the red, protecting it, embracing it- pulling it past the point of no return.
Whirling Thoughts of Memory blinds you with a torrent of rain that hits you, seeking, probing; it carefully edges it's way up and onward, making sure to leave no raw nerve untouched. The soft, whispering voice seems to call, to tempt, to speak; it wants to know everything… just let it all out.
Whirling Thoughts of Memory causes a sudden reduction of the down pour of rain, withdrawing, examining your saddest memory that it can find. Curiously, it pokes and prods, examining, seeking - it looks like it wants to know more; to burn those raw nerves even more before there's a thunder of lightning across the voice as it demands to know… now.
Whirling Thoughts of Memory at last causes the rain to cease falling, even as it toys with the memory that it has demanded as if it were enjoying itself. With a final movement, the last of the rain seems to fall from an endless sky and the skies above seem to open up for a warming light that leaves you to squint, and possibly, consider the future ahead…
Credits: Isa
Splattered Paint or is that Blood Egg
So bright it almost glows, this egg's red color stands out like a hot coal on the sands. Several bands of pale, nearly transparent yellow fall from the top of the egg and disappear into the sand at the base of the egg. On one side of the egg, there are little dots of paint of a near black color. As you walk around, however; they become large splatters that look like they've oozed down the side of the egg. If one looks very closely however, the color of the splatters looks more like dried blood than paint.
Brazen Enigmatic Temptation brings with it the flash of lights and the heat of flames suddenly rising through your mind; that burnt smoke scent flooding your senses. It's lights flicker and change colors, creating a distraction so you won't notice when a presence slips by to investigate. While you're dazzled, it riffles through memories; getting to know a bit about you. When it finally comes across a particularly interesting thought, the lights fade and it's suddenly in a rush to be gone. You're left behind with only the sensation that you've missed something, but at least there were pretty lights.
Brazen Enigmatic Temptation takes a different approach with this second encounter. Sliding on up to you, a caress of a thought, a tickle of a memory, and it makes itself known. There's one very significant change enveloping your mind - silence. The presence in your mind replays your darkest memories and thoughts before your minds eye, like some sort of gruesome silent theatre. Your vision slowly becomes tinted red as your attention is held tightly, holding you captive until there is a sudden stabbing pain behind your eyes. Then, with a sudden rush of wind and thunder, you're left alone - only the echoes of a dark laughter reverberating in you mind.
Brazen Enigmatic Temptation is surprised to see you back again. Didn't you get enough last time? Well, that's very brave of you. You've been given another chance and with it, a haunting melody flows into your thoughts. An attempt at seduction while this presence rifles through your more bittersweet memories, things that bring memories of tears. There's an outpouring of intense emotion, stemed only when a happy moment is found and a trill of joy caresses your mind and walks away.
Credits: Ma'kai
Colors in Motion Egg
The base of this medium sized egg is black, but the saturation varies in waves so that it looks banded or almost ruffled. Mere shadows of rust orange, brick red, olive green, and sandy yellow appear about a third of the way up, the ghostly color getting more vibrant the farther up the egg one looks. At first these colors cohabitate with each other, alternating irregularly shaped patches with occasional glints of other brighter hues catching the eye. Eventually the colors get so bright, that they seem to blur together, the reds and oranges and yellows melding into a shimmering golden brown. This climax of color is very brief however, on the tip of the egg, the golden brown quickly fades to black again, and the strange cycle is complete.
Winking Flashes of Light stir from a black nothingness. Just little pinpoints of white light, barely visible at the edge of your perception, there and gone so quickly that one might wonder if they ever existed at all. A gentle breeze brings with it a hint of smoky incense, the smell vaguely exotic. The lights get a bit brighter as the mind continues to approach, but oh so slowly and deliberately, is it taunting you? The being's amusement at its little game radiates outward as the flickers of light draw in closer, bringing with it a dry heat, rather uncomfortable on the already warm sands.
Winking Flashes of Light darts in nearer, then slides away as it considers you, still dancing at the edge of your mind. The heat continues to build, sort of like the calm before a storm, and the exotic aromas that follow it become more pronounced. The flickering lights start to fall into a pattern, and then without warning the pattern explodes into a shower of color as the being reaches for you. Where darkness surrounded you a moment before, it's now all a brilliant liquid rainbow. The built up heat and smoke are gone in an instant, and a coolness washes over you in waves as your thoughts and dreams are explored.
Winking Flashes of Light seems very pleased with the show it put on, were you impressed? The cooling rainbow continues to swim around you, peeking at a memory here, a hope over there. It's not a deep interrogation of any kind, just a random and whimsical sampling. Then, as quickly as it came, the flood of color drains away as the mind departs. Perfumed darkness returns in it's wake, but the tension and heat are all gone, replaced by a faint jingling laugh of flickering lights and a cooling breeze.
Credits: Vi'leko
Fightin' Fo Ya Rights Egg
Bold and bright, like da true rebel defiant of da sand-bound clutch, dis egg has unmistakably vibrant colors ringin' da sides of it's shell — almost perfectly round, dey say. It's colors stand truly distinct from one anoda, one bright band after anoda in first tomato red, den bright, sunny yellow, and finally organic, grassy green. Almost like a rainbow, don'tcha think? But to top it all off — check out dat pun, mon — da roof of da shell sprouts a mound of brown-ish black fingers, like a rugged head of dreadlocks. Isn't dat cool, yah mon?
Da Beat of Africa thumps. A thumps. Where silence once filled your ears, gently cradling the security of your thoughts, a sudden descent of beating meets your hearing, growing subtley, at first. Timing is perfect, like a drum, marching off to war — but with what might feel as a slight groove, trembling through your legs, attempting to invoke the urge to dance. Ya feel that, mon? Fleein' through ya veins? Dont'cha know what dat is?
Da Beat of Africa knows you've been here before — why ya return, so soon? There's safer ways to go, places less torn by war… But dat wouldn't be so exciting, would it? Your mind races to sandscapes, junglescapes, maybe Southern or Igen… But impossible to tell. But that beat, it rages on, skipping into a synchopated pulse against the gentle sound of your own heart. Dats how you gotta go, mon. Against da flow. Nobody ain't done nothin' special without bein' a rebel, ya know.
Da Beat of Africa smooths the sound now, a coarse dance, but a symbolic dance, light and airy to how it was before. But even so, the images it shows are more daring, of fighting, of pain… Only to fade when a slight hum of music jives along aside the beat. You feel dat? Da way your feet want to leave your shoes, da way you know dat dis way is da right way, and nobody else can ever say dat your wrong? Dats freedom, mon. While an impulse may suddenly enter you, urging you to leave, one last thought courses through your mind before your hand is free to go: dis only be a prison, mon, and from dat prison… Soon, I's agonna be free.
Credits: Tarish
Pearly Gates Egg
The finest pearl in the universe couldn't compare to this egg. It's surface is perfectly smooth and well shaped. When the light hits it there's a brilliant white luster to it, drawing in all that look at it. As you get closer to it though, you notice this egg isn't a perfect off white. Near the top there are the palest shades of blue that as you move further down the egg, seems to be covered in fluffy white clouds. In the midst of the clouds, glimpses of gold can barely be made out, standing almost outside the edge of vision.
Reaper of the Damned descends upon your mind like a flaming sword. Everything you've ever known and been seems to burn away; leaving nothing but ashes. A wind sweeps through your mind, stiring the ashes, swirling your very being into an ashen image of yourself. It's scrutinized and judged and ultimately struck down, back to the pile of nothingness. But then, out of no where, you feel a deep sense of peace surround you; and from those bleak ashes, a new sort of self rises. All the bits of you that are good and shining stand tall in your mind surrounded in light.
Reaper of the Damned has an edge of danger that surrounds it. A danger that inspires the heart to battle. A power that challenges a man or woman to take up arms and defend their homes, their loved ones, and their beliefs. And you are no different. That swelling of bravery in your breast is no mistake. It knows you have things you stand for and wants you to know that in you there is that strength, even if you don't believe in it right now.
Reaper of the Damned isn't all judgement and battle. There's a quiet place, deep inside that it looks for in you. That place where all tender emotions dwell and in it revels. The unconditional love that everyone is capable of at some point in their life is almost never found before it's time, and it's true you probably don't fully comprehend where this felling resides inside you. But this warmth that's taken to finding your metal is proud to say it knows where it is; and it hopes that one day you'll embrace it. Soon.
Credits: Ma'kai
Blind Notes of Madness Egg
This evidently frazzled egg has been quietly formed into an odd oblong shape. The uniqueness of the shape itself is in the fact that it perfectly fits the hollow of sand that it has been nudged into; comfortable in it's own way, so to say. The main background color of this poor egg is a deep, dark brown, slightly greying around the edges. However, the egg is almost striking in the way that it has a collection of black blobs on a white spiral pattern that edges its' way around the egg itself.
Whispering Keys and Hidden Voices introduces itself with whispers, gentle piano keys, playing of a soft light, and delicate melodies in the background. However, it's like the player has forgotten the composition, as there's an abrupt pause, then a tentative start as it explores. Of course, now that you've caught it's fumble, it seems to shy away, for the time being.
Whispering Keys and Hidden Voices regains the tempo of the melody with an accurate showing of keys being sounded. However, after another abrupt pause, it suddenly starts up again, this time seeming more random. The chorus of chords being struck seems teasing, tempting, taunting, wanting to know - what is there left? What do you have left? Tell it. Sooth it. Answer the hidden voices…
Whispering Keys and Hidden Voices has found the one answer it was searching for, causing the whispers to stop just as abruptly as before. Withdrawing, leaving nothing but the quiet melody that the piano has regained, until that fades into silence as well.
Credits: Isa