There's Always Another Castle Egg
Subtle pastel tones of cream, peach and pink swirl in a languid design across the top of this squat egg, making it look like the tip is encased in a uniform layer of bulbous fluffy clouds. Hints of palest blue peek out from the blanket of cottony perfection, tiny flecks of gold accenting some of the plump curves. Swaths of bright grassy green rise up to meet the paler colors halfway along the shell, cutting across the median in a strangely even line. Oddly shaped blobs of moss jut upwards from below like fake shrubs, the proportions of them pleasantly rounded, oblong and almost completely identical. Bright domes of red, their surfaces covered in splotches of white, bloom amongst the green like strange flowers. Jutting up in the middle of this cheerily colored image is a structure of silver and grey, its sharp angles and pointy spires making it look majestic and graceful in its simplicity. Rising from the center is a thin line of black with a ribbon of red streaming away from its tip, the undulating streak of color almost seeming to beckon silently for someone to retrieve what is hidden within.
Pixellated Flames smolder and spark to life, every soft crackle and pop accompanied with a brief flash of grainy orange that lights the darkness of your mind. A bone-deep rumbling begins to course through you, the sound almost pure vibration as it begins to flow over your body in stuttering waves. The fiery colors bubble and churn like lava, the steady rumbling soon turning into a deep laugh that reverberates with its intensity. There's a certain smugness to the noise - a carefully developed and oversized ego that can barely be contained by the egg. The heart of red-orange begins to burn brighter, the mind within radiating strength and deviousness in waves of pixelly flame. Restrained power bubbles and swirls in the mass of bright color, the presence just giving a taste of what it can truly accomplish. Something is being held back, however. Something precious and protected in the heart of the fire of egotistical smugness. Tongues of heated yellow-gold encircle it and draw it in closer in a protective and possessive manner. Mine. Mine. Mine. A final rumble, sounding more like a growl, echoes in your head before the presence fades into darkness again.
Pixellated Flames returns with a fiery plume of brilliance, the tiny mushroom of reds and oranges expanding to illuminate your mind. A deep yet amused rumble erupts from the depths of the heat, the vibrations causing tiny gouts of grainy yellow and gold - it's almost as though the presence finds it funny that you dared to intrude upon its lair again. Brave yet foolish! Curls of pixelly smoke begin to rise from the pool of molten fire, the rumbling laugh radiating power and cockiness. Curious and bursting with ego, it licks at your mind with flickers of flame, searching through your thoughts for something. Something to help it in its plan to rule more than just its egg-shaped kingdom. Something truly worthy of its cunning and power. It soon gets frustrated with the sheer amount of memories to search, though, and withdraws with a fiery snort of flame after only a few seconds of light perusal of your mind. A roaring rumble shakes down to your bones and the presence rushes out in a noisy huff of irritation and a bright corona of red-orange flame. There's a sudden mental slamming of a door and the connection cuts off abruptly into darkness.
Pixellated Flames flicker and crackle, the colors fading and dimming to deeper shades that meld into the darkness around it. A faint rumble shivers through you, the noise rising and falling like a monstrous yawn. Slowly the fiery core burbles and smolders a bit brighter, the strong presence regarding your intrusion with a derisive snort. 'You again?' it almost seems to say with its usual egotistical attitude. Still curled protectively about the bright spot at its core, it feigns disinterest for several seconds. Then, when you still linger within its fiery lair, it lets loose with a rumbling laugh and a gout of flame that engulfs your mind in heat. Feelings and emotions rush over you from the presence - strength, cunning, possessiveness and smugness. There's a deep need for power, loyalty and obedience that flare up in bright colors of red, yellow and orange. Just before the momentary touch of fire is broken, a fleeting want passes across your consciousness that seems out of place - the need to be loved and understood. Sharply the feelings retreat, every trace of flame drawn back into the molten core with a rush and a rumbling growl. Something within the presence shifts uneasily as though it has revealed too much to you in that brief exchange. There's one final gruff rumble and the flames fade back into the darkness, every last trace of fire snuffed out in one fell swoop.
Deceptive Intelligence Egg
A completely white egg, large and ovoid. But it seems to have an irregular shape, and it looks like it might be very clumsy and wobbly on the sands. Two big, dark red circles seem to have been drawn on the surface of the egg, right next to each other, almost like a pair of glasses. And through them it looks like two distorted eyes peer owlishly. But on the other side of the egg, two more dark circles appear, like a pair of angry-looking eyes. And oddly? When viewed from this angle, the egg doesn't look nearly so wobbly. It looks almost perfectly shaped from this side. Fact, it might even look a little angry that it's being looked at. Hmm…what kind of surprise may lurk inside it?
Sensuality Behind Glass is there. you just can't feel it. Well, actually you can. It's always been there. The muted rose pinks and lavender purples that appear so fluidly that it feels like they've always been there. A smooth entrance, as it were. But it's not at all what it seems. Stumbling, clumsily searching /you/, as if staring at what it can see of your true self with owlish glasses before dark, liquid brown eyes. No threat from this one, unless it's of falling on its metaphorical face and breaking something. Guard fragile memories!
Sensuality Behind Glass seems to be getting more comfortable with itself. And, it seems, with /you/. Less clumsy, more relaxed. Could it only have been nervous? Rose pink and lavender darken to mauve and violet, glowing with something just out of reach, but still compelling. Now there's less a feeling of helping a clumsy young weyrbrat how to walk, and more the feeling of being carefully, carefully read, like a book. Never too much, never prying too far. It's a kind of practiced, almost contrived facade. The feeling of being watched is strong. Like liquid brown eyes distorted by the glass, reflecting your feelings back within your own soul.
Sensuality Behind Glass casts that glassy facade away, and its true nature is revealed. And with that facade gone, the whole demeanor changes. Everything changes! Hiding behind that glasslike surface the whole time were exotic reds and deep velvet purples that seek — and offer! — knowledge of a more…"worldly" kind. Liquid brown now is sensually dark klah-colored, and seems to look deep within as if searching for the innermost secrets of your being. It's shown you what lies behind its own facade, won't you return the favor? This scrutiny is short-lived, however. In the next instant, the red and purple and darkly-colored klah sashay away, taking its glassy fascade with it, to cover its splendor again. Until it finds another worthy of seeing its true self….
Correct-a-mundo Egg
This egg is particularly long and skinny. Just sort of… brown. Not that that is a bad thing. But it definitely is not anywhere near ginger. Brown, brown brown. Or IS it brown? From some angles, the color seems to shift, like chameleon silk, to that of a uniform navy blue. Regardless of the light, the faintest hint of very thin stormcloud-blue stripes run from apex to vertex, at regularly spaced intervals. The only thing that breaks it up would be the slash of maroon, swirled through with navy blobs, that starts near the top of the egg and widens a little as it flows down.
Wants to Know Everything awkwardly collides with your mind, as if it does not quite understand how this works. And it does not realize its own bumbling, inelegant contact for what it is. This first attempt is an introduction of the half-formed mind, of the graceless, shadowy impressions of an intellect with enormous potential that is hampered only by the perceptions of those around it. There is an inept attempt to pull up memories of things you have smelled and tasted and touched and heard, and particularly those things you have seen. Unfortunately for you, the unskilled stumbling across your mind is painful, and an instant headache pounds through your skull.
Wants to Know Everything approaches more cautiously this time, apologetic for having caused you pain. The mind is shy, now, and bashfully touches lightly on just the thoughts floating on the surface of your consciousness. So feather-soft is the contact that each picture you think of is only handled for a fleeting instant. Curiosity trails behind the exploration like stardust in the trail of a comet, blazing bright and impossible to ignore. What is this thing called color? What does it mean to feel pleasure or pain? Loneliness, though… this concept the mind is already grasping, and for a moment you are united tenuously, and the loneliness is gone. Only for a moment, however, and in the next instant the mind is gone, withdrawn once more into its introverted shell.
Wants to Know Everything is frankly astonished that you have come back for more. But this time, it is ready with a warm friendly presence that envelopes you like a soft blanket. The sheepishness of your prior encounter is put off, and the bumbling of the original brush of minds has been learned from. Again, endless questions are asked. What does a hug feel like? What is cold? What does water taste like? What is the purpose of shoes? Why does music exist? What is space like? Who ARE you? And as each of these questions is asked, Wants to Know Everything pulls memories dealing with them, to examine in great detail, as quickly as thought. There is no pain this time… but the dragon is not even new-born, and tires quickly. No more than a few seconds pass, and it withdraws its warm presence, and you are once more alone.
View From Above Egg
Cerulean and cobalt merge and swirl over the surface of this egg, capped easily in light, frothy crowns of pale samite. Tiny motes of color, mostly blacks and dark blues, dot the blue-green portions of the egg's surface, sometimes solitary, sometimes in groups, but always there if you look hard enough. Rising up out of the blue expanses are several large masses of green and brown, tiny motes of blue dotted in them, as well. Light fellis green mottles over some of the raised portions, others the deeper green of southern plants. Some areas are even the deep yellow of Igen's crest, or a paler yellow, like desert sands. And along the tallest ridges that rise from this shell are deep browns and even blacks, sometimes tipped in the purest white. The ridges and dips of the green and brown regions fall in sharp contrast to the perfectly smooth blues. Superimposed over the rest is a thin grey line encircling the entire surface, intersected only once by a small red mote, nearly circular, but with a small ridge around its center and a small gout of red orange like flame bursting from one end, seemingly to drive it onwards along the grey path.
Grinding Machinery echoes laughter around you. MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA! No, wait, that's not right, it's more of a ruhruhruh. In the background is the harsh grinding sound of metal on wood and the faint burning smell that accompanies heating wood. More. More. The sensations are nearly over whelming. Spinning. Twisting. Turning. Tossing. Flailing! And all underscored by the harsh smell of woodsmoke and harsh, biting grind of a power saw. It seems that it hasn't even noticed you, wrapped up as it is in itself. No, wait… it /has/ been rifling through your mind like some do, just so subtly as to be missed at first. Until it happens upon a particularly unpleasant memory, drawing it to the fore like an angry father drags a child. This. This is wrong. This is bad. There's a loud whirr of a motor and a bright flash slicing through the memory until it's in tatters. Now it's gone. All gone.
Grinding Machinery moves in more boldly this time, forgoing the memories for the you. All you. Big grin! It's almost like it's… sniffing you. Wuffle wuffle. All trying to find out who you are. What you are.There's a sensation like a big wet tongue across your mind. Are you tasty? Ther's a sensation like a shrug and the whirr of the motor begins again. Let's just crack this open and see what's inside. Load bearing walls? Who cares about those? RUH-ruhruhruuuuuh! WHIRRR!!! Bright lights in all colors flash and blend, the smell of woodsmoke growing stronger with each passing moment as it dives again into your mind. Deep, deep down into the very heart of you. Then is gone again without warning.
Grinding Machinery is back again. Bigger and louder this time. There's an overwhelming sense of- what's the best word? Boom. Yes. There's an overwhelming sense of BOOM! The bright burst of an explosion colors your vision, leaving tiny white-purple blotches in its wake. But the sense is clear. It likes it. It /loves/ it. More boom! More boom! The egg itself is almost twitching with excitement. More! More! Bigger! Better! BOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!! Another explosion rattles across your mind, shaking loose the dust and cobwebs of the oldest bits of your self, not that it takes but a moment to examine them before retreating again, tired now. Bored now. Leaving naught but a woodsmoke scented yawn in its wake.
Curbing Catastrophe Egg
The base of this egg is a cacophony of verdant greens, snaked, knotted, and entwined in layers of lazy loops and curls. The green all too quickly gives way to a climb of a barren tapestry of taupe. The clarity of the colors on the shell of the ovoid becomes muddled about halfway up by a dark smoky haze. Even the haze is not enough to dampen the glow of orange crowning the top of the egg. The color is an eye-sore, not in that it's unattractive, but rather in that it is so intense that it mightn't be wise to look at for too long, like looking at Rukbat or molten metal fresh out of the coals of the smithy. Fortunately, it's only certain angles that reveal the tiny flares that particularly vivid color, while the rest of the top simply radiates an intense copper through the sooty miasma.
Primal Perceptions has a touch that can be summed up in a single word: wild! Verdant vines wind out immediately upon sensing the intrusion of your mind on its natural world. A percussive pulse spurs the undulating vines as they wrap around and through your mind, following its irresistible urge to explore that which is new and different. It might feel rude and intrusive at first, but suddenly the rhythmic drumming slows to a single beat repeated. Abruptly you are mentally face to face with Primal Perceptions, though the form is one that cannot be defined and thus is blurry around the edges, and through the middle. From one angle, it wrapped in furs, and another, dotted in leafy patterns, and yet a third more frightening face is streaked with paint. Sudden stillness accompanies the steady lone beat, and in that moment, Primal Perceptions turns the full force of its steady judgment on you, seeming to weigh as much of you as it has discovered, contemplating your worthiness to penetrate the defensive wall of green tangles and see more of its hidden world.
Primal Perceptions has weighed and found you worthy, but worthy for what? The vines have suddenly become constricting and your feel trapped, suddenly swept away into the lush foliage of the primitive world. Scenes of natural wonder only imaginable hurry through your mind as though you were being carried up mountain trail, past sparkling waterfall, streams of sunlight splashing onto your face only to be replaced by shade faster than you can blink. The beat of the drums have increased and as you spiral further into the wilderness their volume increases. Suddenly, it is not only the drums that feel your ears, but a tumult of voices. At first the sound seems jumbled and discordant, whoops and whistles and shouts all conflicting. Then instantaneous and glorious harmony as the voices rise, energy building with a whooping excited chant. The grip Primal Perceptions has not weakened, though an effort of will might offer you escape, unless you dare trust it to carry you onward, upward, and inward towards it's glowing essence.
Primal Perceptions tightens its hold on you and excitement thrums within its core, adrenaline rushing and shared with you. Mental jungle suddenly gives way to grey peak and you zoom up through a hazy grey set of switch-backs. Your senses are assailed with the sickening smell of sulfur and blazing heat. Everything glows orange and your perception is tipped forward, pitching your mental self into a precarious position hanging from the tangle of vines over a glowing magma melt, blinding in its brightness. Your eyes close in an instinctive effort to shield yourself from an onslaught feeling, smell, and sight. The heat increases as vertigo hits, Primal Perceptions withdrawing its touch, leaving you to fall through time and space for what feels like forever, heat intensifying until it vanishes into nothing and you're left just as you started: safe on the hatching sands.
Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis Egg
The Exoterran Gargantuan Genesis, or more fondly termed 'E.G.G.', is an average sized ovoid object. Constructed of the finest lumber, chewing gum and string one can find it presents a uniquely encumbered device upon the sands. As if conjured overnight from thought to deed, it has been designed as the ultimate in incubation technology. Notice the curving surface which cleverly deflects any attempt at penetration, and the mottled browns that have been dyed upon its outermost layer camouflaging it among the others upon the sandy grounds. Too close a look and one can just barely trace the seams which fit each of the pieces together, but however it was constructed it looks hardy enough to keep intact no matter what might be thrown at it.
The Spark of Genius glows with inspiration as it brushes your thoughts. It's idling mind stirred with possibilities, the faded ember suddenly flaring to life. The ember sputters, glows bright and then sends off a shower of golden sparks which suddenly light the way. Growing industrial flames push back the dark of oblivion and fuel a unique fire that lies at the heart of the odd egg you rest upon. Immeasurable intelligence seems to trip over its own thoughts in its excitement, the beginning of something to which its all will be given and the end product will… hopefully not destroy the Weyr… if we're lucky. If not… well there's always tomorrow to rebuild right? It fades a bit from your thoughts as it sets to its task.
The Spark of Genius is busily constructing its machinations in the background as you reenter its world. Fiery warmth envelopes you in amber, red and flickers of hot blue. A metallic and smoky tang fills the air which is oddly pleasant and somehow fitting. It's so focused on its task that it takes a few moments to realize your presence and then you can feel it pause. Well, a break will do one good, though if you expect miracles overnight you shouldn't interrupt too much now. Joyful excitement spreads from this being, an infectious inspiration that nurtures your creative side to go, go and do bold things! (and have fun while you're at it) Gold, silver and copper sparks flare off and it does a soft sort of 'oops' fading from your presence a bit back to its task at hand. The adventure continues soon enough… just hold a little bit longer. The grand unveiling will be soon enough.
The Spark of Genius knows what it's going to do today. Yes! Excitement whispers along your thoughts in shades of amber and blue. Neither hot nor cold there are smudges of grease interspersed upon this mind which practically explodes in its excitement. See… it's project is done. Just like that, and who knows what inspiration tomorrow will bring for this beaming genius. Before disappearing behind the velvet curtain for the grand unveiling, you can feel it rustle around for some odd statement, tangle of thought or twine of memory which will inspire its next creation. A creation that no lesser a mind could hope to achieve, let alone in the tangle of a single night or afternoon. Yes, yes it can.
That Is Why I'm Cracked You See Egg
This egg is covered in cracks! Oh no, could it be damaged?! Whew…no, it isn't. A closer look reveals that the egg's beige-colored surface is intact, though jagged, dark brown lines squiggling in rough, serrated paths down the sides of the egg, pointing every which way. There is no symmetry to these lines, they shoot and squirm over the whole surface, in patterns that are apt to make one dizzy if stared at for too long. But they all seem to gather at the very tippy-top of the egg, seeming to all end at — or perhaps they originate from — that one spot. It's a large, uneven blotch of dark, bluish purple that looks suspiciously like a bruise….
Scattered Mnemonic Remnants knows you. It /knows/ you. It's /YOU/! Flashes of neon green and electric blue flash, whirling and spinning dizzyingly. A sensation like a sharp *THUD* assails you. And then it all goes dark with a suddenness that aches. But not for long. Soon the colors return, mellower this time, and not quite so sharp in your vision. Confusion is the first thing to hit your mind, the confusion of some other being. But it feels like it's within you, so close that it's hard to tell if it's yours or not. Just might be. But it returns calmer this time, inquisitive. 'Who are you?' it seems to ask. And it also seems to want to know something else. 'Who am I?'
Scattered Mnemonic Remnants seems interested in what you show it. It seeks to fill the void that it has returned to you with. Possibly with your thoughts your hopes, your dreams? Can you help it fill that void? Searching through what it can find, seeking answers to its unasked questions. But…what's this? What is this that it has found? Drawing back, pausing, looking again. No. That can't be. It remembers now — what it was, what it is, what it will become… No. No. NO. It echoes through your mind in a wordless litany — green, and blue, and white, and grey. Anger, and sadness, and disbelief, and dismay. Run. Run! RUN! The flashes of color and the soundless scream die off and fade into the distance. But there is something still there.
Scattered Mnemonic Remnants returns, this time more slowly. And bringing with it golden light like the dawn, but with a dark amber cast. It rises slowly, its muted, darkly shining glow beginning to fill the space that had been filled with confusion, anger, sadness, and disbelief. And a sense of peace settles over you. Whatever it is, whatever it was, whatever it will become. Perhaps it cannot change that. But it can only face the coming days with strength. Darkness may always color its days…but Rukbat will always rise on another day. And that seems fine. Dark gold fades, falling away like gentle raindrops on your face, perhaps as an apology for what it's put you through. And then…silence.
Starry Destiny
An expanse of velvety black, touched only here or there with undertones of deep blue and purple, enfolds the surface of this oblong egg in a sheet of rich darkness. Pinpricks of bright white shine out amidst the blackness, the tiny dots scattered over the apex in intricate clusters and patterns that seem to form familiar shapes. A wide circle of pale silvery white drifts serenely near the tip of the egg, jagged pits and craters of gray and slate blue forming what almost looks like a grinning face that forever watches from above. Deep shadows fall over rolling hills of grassy green that rise up from the bottom of the shell, the darkness making the details fuzzy and indistinct. Blurry figures move to and from a murky block of color perched atop a peaked hill of moss, some of the sharper angles highlighted in pale silver. A soft beam of light cuts across from the tallest spire of the structure, the color pooling into a noticeable shape at the center of the egg - three brightly glowing triangles of gold that stand out sharply against the shadowy backdrop.
Guiding Lights flicker and flare into existence, tiny pinpoints of color steadily brightening to a dim glow within the confines of your mind and encircling the space in an array of encompassing warmth. Soothing and comforting, every glowing beacon feels like a pulse of reassuring heat within even the darkest corner of your thoughts. Feelings of confidence and self-worth leak into you as the tiny lights melt into a thin blanket of luminescence that wraps you in a subtle yet supportive embrace, the warm contact lasting for several heartbeats. With an almost audible pop, the fragile film breaks apart into a million motes of illumination that begin to bounce around your head with wild abandon. While it's a slightly dizzying sensation as the multitude of tiny sparks skitter erratically around your thoughts, it's extremely invigorating as well - every little light seems to be oozing a radioactive stream of perky energy that's hard to ignore. While it may seem like the electric blue and white deluge lasts forever, it's only a few seconds later when the tiny pinpricks of light begin to pour out of your head in a waterfall of positive energy. By the time the last flicker of light has winked out with a final spinning flourish you're left with a buzz of good feelings down to your toes and a copious boost to your self-esteem.
Guiding Lights flit back into your mind with jittery and bouncy movements, the rush of good feelings following with every flicker of color. Buoyant and airy, they begin an intricate dance through your head, the glowing illumination showing bright against the dark backdrop of your mind. In a flurry of neon light they begin to hop nimbly across your thoughts, their intricate movements delicate and precise as though each one has sprouted a pair of invisible wings. Sparks flutter and fly as each individual mote does its best to call your attention to different memories, the little things bouncing with excitement at each new discovery from your past. Pulsing with varying levels of neon blue and white, the lights gush forth waves of happy energy and supportive feelings with every new image your mind produces - bad memories are given a wave of compassion, good memories a burst of hyper excitement and fearful memories a torrent of encouragement. It's certainly enough to cause a wave of overwhelming good feelings in one giant rush - every facet of this bright mind seems to want to call attention to something different and all at once. Even a mind as active as this has to tire, though, and the sparks soon begin to trickle out of your fingertips and back into the egg. It's almost sad when the lingering happy feelings fade away a few seconds later.
Guiding Lights dance back into your mind with their usual buoyant energy, the tiny motes of blue and white bobbing and weaving in random patterns. Already familiar with your mind, they skip and flutter over your thoughts with almost practiced ease. In and out the lights fade, the colors blinking bright and then dim as they touch upon memories. Shining luminescence breaks through the darkness of depression and pure warmth adds to the happy glow of fond recollections. Warmth and light spreads steadily as the tiny sparks hop, bounce and weave, each one bringing a touch of something new or better to the memories they draw forth from the recesses of your mind. Good feelings grow from within and start to sink deep - self-confidence, encouragement, guidance. The warmth begins to spread as the lights flow and course through your body, their infectious energy and emotions following them on their zig-zag path through your entire being. It's almost possible to feel the tingle as they extend everywhere, though just as quickly the feeling fades. One last spark zips through your skull but then fizzles out with a pop. You are left with a buzz of happy energy, though it's mixed with a subtle need for just the right someone to guide and encourage along the perilous journey through life.
Blacker Than Black Egg
Black, blacker, blackest, cold beyond all frozen things. Just looking at this egg, dark as pitch, might make one shudder. It's only under closer observation that any details become visible within the deep, /between/ black of this particularly disconcerting egg. Gentle swirls of purples varying from pomegranate to lilac drift and swirl over the surface of the egg, so pale as to nearly blend in to the blackness. Here and there are tiny pairs of motes, yellow, red, green, orange. Always in pairs, but not always in the same color. As the egg is circled there are flashes of color, bright against the blackness but so quick as to make the observer wonder if they really saw what they think they saw. On one side, bright red and blue shaped like a Terran ship from children's' stories, on another a thin vertical strip of green that widens slowly, then quickly narrows in a sharp triangle. On another, there's an abstract shape, like a blue cube, but not quite. Even more shapes and colors wink out at the observer, but always just a moment, and then gone.
Softly Sibilant Sussurance is but a whisper in the back of your mind, faintly buzzing, or is that humming. Everything is darkness. The noise grows slowly louder, approaching maybe? But no, it slides back again. You should already know. We know. Without seeming to draw near, it grows bold, memories are rifled through and scattered like so many cards, momentarily useful, then tossed aside. Happy, sad, indifferent, enraging, it doesn't care, each emotion is sampled, tested, replicated, and set aside. Suddenly, it's as if a thousand eyes have turned onto you. We've been discovered! And the presence is gone without so much as a whisper.
Softly Sibilant Sussurance returns, louder than before, a dark pitter patter of noise amidst your thoughts. The rummaging renews in earnest, several more memories being set aside before one particularly happy one is settled upon, a first kiss, or perhaps the first visit with a closest bestest friend. The voices go silent for a moment, enraptured, then there's a sudden Ooooooooooooo as if from innumerable voices at exactly the same time. Wait! Look out! There's something behind you! Swish! flick! Ah-ha! The Ooooo comes again for your bravery before the presence retreats again, spent on the excitement of the moment.
Softly Sibilant Sussurance strides with more purpose this time, and perhaps a hint of a slithering sound. Yeessssss it seems to say we can work with thisssss. The last bits and pieces of what makes you you are drawn out, darkest secrets, deepest desires. There's a sense that each is carefully filed away for later. Each glance and touch as clinically separated from the youness as it was interested before. At least for a moment. There's a sense of something deep and dark examining you for but the briefest of moments before another soft ooooooo is heard, bright and interested. Then it's all gone. The voices, the bright, the dark, the distant. All gone.
Conveniently Contrived Egg
Well isn't this convenient? A positively, perfectly contrived ovoid of creamy white properly placed and positioned just so. Seemingly etched onto its pale surface are patterns in a darker cream, elusive unless one's looking just right — or they happen to be seeking something out. There, a key for a mysterious lock. Here, a scribbled scrawl that surely explains everything if one can interpret it. A fingerprint, a footprint, a lampshade — all outlined in not-so-subtle fashion. And, at the apex, a bright, red disk in candy-apple red, perfectly round and oddly reminiscent of a button. How quaint.
The One No One Expects seems innocuous enough. Well. As innocuous as some cloaked figure in a dimly lit locale of no easily definable sort could be. Is it a tavern? An inn? The living caverns after the power's gone out and the glows have been brought in? It really doesn't matter, in the end. Poor lighting, a sense of smoke and the scent of food and stale ale fills the air. All that does matter is that you're left with a sense of being released into the vast world, sent on a mission of Utmost Importance (tm) … even if you have no idea /what/ that mission is. Luckily, you aren't left with the feeling of being alone — no, you're with others on this grand quest, though their faces are indistinct and their voices are hard to hear. The soft clip-clop of hooves — are there even runnerbeasts with you? it doesn't seem like it — and the faint trumpeting of trumpets — what else would it be? — accompany you on your way into the deepest darks of … a forest? Or is it a particularly pine-scented dungeon? No matter, either way — there is no light and it just gets deeper, darker, and colder.
The One No One Expects is starting to grow wary. Just a little. And so should you, for as the journey continues, the clip-clop of unseen runnerbeasts and the trumpeting of invisible trumpets is starting to fade into the background. The nebulous dark is terribly cold now, with no hint of trees nor stone nor wetness to suggest just /where/ it might be. It's all encompassing … and, suddenly, filled with flashing eyes and gnashing teeth. All around, the strange creatures make their appearance, though it's hard to say /what/ they are. Scales? Fur? Hide? Twisted tunnelsnakes, or arcane avians? They flutter, they flap, they make sounds that only their mothers could love — if they haven't eaten them, that is. From cautious to panicked, the urge to take flight is a frantic one — and by 'take flight' one naturally means 'run like the dickens'. Just don't tarry long! Because the ones with you are swift to flee as well, scattered to the winds and lost in the dark, leaving you to find your own way. Are you quick enough to grab hold of one? Left to be the last one standing? The chaos, the fear, the crushing darkness might just be too overwhelming.
The One No One Expects isn't there. Is there. Is it the dark? The monster? The scattered cries? The clip-clop of hooves? Everything collides into a whole most abruptly, the monsters congealing in shapeless array behind you- yes, right behind you! Counting begins. Broken numbers called out … and was that someone hefting some miraculous spear? Was that a dragon winging overhead, bearing with it the stench of firestone and the promise of a timely rescue? The cacophony reaches its pinnacle, the riot building into a mad rush. And though you might fight the urge to physically cover your face, something else shields your mind's eye from witnessing what happens next. The darkness is upon you again, the noises reaching a crescendo of mind-splitting loudness … and, then, nothing. Nothing at all. The darkness recedes and there you are again, back in that dimly lit place of no definable sort, amid the smoke, the scents of food and stale ale … and, somewhere, you hear a Harper calling all to order, preparing to tell the tale- and then it ends, vanishing in a puff of smoke. How? Why? Questions left unsatisfyingly unanswered as the sands bleed back into being in the periphery.
Legendary Long Shot Egg
This egg is on the larger side of big, though without the usual sheen to imply what it might contain. No, it's a mass of dark color, of blotched brown and red and black to sketch out some impossibly huge thing that even the oversized egg cannot display the entirety of. A flash of flesh, a shimmer of silver — that might be the hint of a mighty arm, the glint of armor just out of reach. The figure is towering against a broken sky of charcoal and bruised purple, with no hint of head nor legs in sight … and, there, at the bottom, is a pale smear of a thing. White with a twist of red, a coppery glint to mark what might well be arms on a would-be hero, locked forever in a stand off of epic proportions.
Defiance In The Face Of Reason wasn't always so. There was a time, in the distant past, where it wasn't all that much unlike you. It tells you this, pulling bits of yourself to the fore, laying them out like so many cards in a fortune-teller's deck. Here, it was brave. There, it was happy. Over here, a snapshot of shame. But, then, something happened. Something huge. And it just couldn't stand to be /just/ that any more. Nor should you, it whispers, nor should you ever just be happy being what you are. You should be proud, it murmurs. You should have a story to tell your children some day, it breathes. You've already started to make one, or so it seems to think — you being here, listening now, is surely proof of that. It throbs, warm and heated, and then images form — scattered on a backdrop of steel come the memories that most stand out to it. Rolling fields. Holds left whole. Idyllic peace … and, on the horizon, something vast and terrible lumbering into the fore. You can't get a good look at it and it assures, in low tones, that you are better off for it. But it isn't to stay in the distance forever … and you find yourself in motion, tugged along, urged along, to help make this story as much yours as its.
Defiance In The Face Of Reason is relentless and moving faster, shouting at you to move, move, /move/. Yet, the closer you come to this vast monstrosity of a thing, the closer you draw to where it snakes vast tendrils out … you still can't quite seem to get a good look at it. It's the stuff of nightmares, of horrors in the dark that flee at the first kiss of the light — it is a shifting behemoth of scales and fur and wet hide that seethes and boils before you. There's something in your hand now, something small — difficult to make out, save that there are edges to it. Weight. It shimmers, it shines, and it seems to know as much as you what must be done. You are but a speck before impossible odds, a mote of dust in some divine eye, and you are armed with little more than a toothpick. Still, the entity with you, the one guiding you, is quick to linger at your hand. It knows you can handle this, because it did. It knows you will prevail, because it has faith. And, more, it's here with you. For a moment, the steel that serves as both backdrop and here-and-now is tilted, your face cast back in a watery, wavery reflection. What do you see? It cannot say … but you know. It slants back again and there you are, braced. Ready. Adrenaline thrums in your veins, your pulse hammering harder, your breath coming quickly. And then-
Defiance In The Face Of Reason hisses at you, urges you onward. You make that leap of faith, plunging yourself headlong into that which is best left unseen. It swallows you whole, chews you up, and spits you out when it finds you lacking whatever it was that it was hoping for. But you're not down and out yet, no no. That thing in your hands is left behind, buried within it. Nothing seems to happen, nothing at all — the beast is still for a moment, shifting and sliding upon itself while the presence with you grows quiet and distant. Breathlessly does fate hang in the balance, caught on unseen strings. Those strings hum and vibrate with potential, sound growing louder and louder until it's an insistent buzzing in the ears that doesn't quit. Eventually, you're forced to cover your ears, to shut your eyes, lest that which brought you here is forced to do so instead … and, when it finally ends, terminating on an impossibly high pitch, you look … to find only the quivering heap of what-was now twitching its last. Relief is a flood, coupled with riotous jubilation. And, with it, the presence with you can only but murmur that this was just the beginning … and there's ever more to come. If you can do this, it sighs while moving further away, then you can do anything — no matter what the odds.
Potential Under Pressure Egg
Timing is key. When the cavern is smothered by shadow, this egg is naught but a smoky ovoid. It appears just as average as any of the others on the sand. In the light, however, darkness-hidden depths are revealed. Ridges ripple up the sides of this egg in no apparent rhyme or reason to the lengths and widths. Only those who are close enough to actually feel the jagged-looking shell can tell that the texture is not as severe as it appears. The illusion is created through the abnormal joints of the smooth and glassy sections with rough striated sections. With light, the egg is revealed to have a near translucent color that glitters like a gem. Capturing whatever light reaches it, the shell shimmers luminously, magnifying the light it reaches and sparkling it back out here and there where there's smoother section of shell. Certainly not polished perfection, but it has plenty of potential - maybe the heat and being shifted on the sands will be enough to buff this baby to brilliance.
Promising Prowess comes from a world where, at a distance, silence is absolute and a dark emptiness seems to stretch on and on forever. As you linger, however, shyly, a flash of glittering light explodes, but far off in the distance in mental space - tiny to the mind's eye. It flickers at first and then burns brightly. Moments later there is another spark, and soon the backdrop of black is dotted with twinkling lights. Finding the essence of Promising Prowess is like trying to see a ghost — you could strain forever to see it at the corners of your eyes, but its presence remains elusive except in snatches and glances. Something about it beckons to the toucher, dangling a challenge: can you find me? My light shines the brightest, but from where?
Promising Prowess rewards your choice to stay and seek it by throwing itself into sharp relief. Sparkles of light turn into streams of light as your mind is sucked towards a point in the distance of space. Silence is shattered as darkness turns to light and you are thrust into a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds. Half-heard voices, some young, some old, some male, some female, a confusing mish-mash of experiences and yet accompanied by an enthralling vivacity. The words blend into one another, questions and answers crashing together and giving birth to yet more of their own: What is this place? It is here, where we are. Where are we? In this space. Why are we here? Because there is no choice. Why us? Because we are here, the right minds at the right moment. Or is it the right minds? Uncertainty strikes and Promising Prowess retreats suddenly to the place of quiet and dark.
Promising Prowess is colored with mild surprise as it finds your mind still so near. Well, all right, the touch seems to invite you back towards its inner depths, though grudgingly - perhaps more content to deal with these deep questions on its own. It broods quietly for a moment before your presence is allowed to navigate through the layers of rough exterior to find the dazzling inner light. Why it? Why not it? The briefest glimpse of the Promising Prowess' true, and oh-so-worthy self is given, and its brilliance grows and grows until its radiance can no longer be contained. It explodes and your mind surfs the shock-wave back out into the black emptiness, Promising Prowess seeming to have vanished entirely, swallowed up by the shadows and silence.