Twenty Sides of Fate Egg
Oddly enough, this squat egg almost seems icosagonal rather than round at first glance. Soft gray shadows and planes crisscross over what would normally be an unremarkable white background, creating the illusion of twenty flat sides rather than the usual smooth roundness. In a fit of even more geometric strangeness, each of the multitude of sides has the appearance of a perfectly equilateral triangle, every one fitting perfectly against its neighbor. Each open triangular expanse is filled with a random collection of squiggles, tracings or faint lines in soft shades of blue, green or black - each one different and each one just off enough to be illegible. Some look like numbers, some look like pictures and some look like symbols though all of them will remind different people of different things. It's almost a pity the blocky egg can't be rolled around to view the sides hidden underneath the sand creeping up its shell, as they're sure to be just as compelling.
Flickering Candlelight flutters into your mind, filling the dark spaces with a wavering warmth and illumination that seems to be brimming with potential. Shadows seem to dart and shudder away from the light as it touches your consciousness, revealing certain things little by little. Here and there the light dances, drawing forth snippets of your memories to mind with every warm caress. Not that they come to mind in any logical order, though - it seems the presence rooting through your memories is having fun placing them in whatever order it chooses. It's like a giant puzzle and your thoughts are the pieces. Flickering with bright energy, the light touch of the mind within the egg rifles through every stray thought drifting through your consciousness and arranges them in a mishmashed collection. It may seem random at first, though it appears to be choosing deliberately and with some attempt to make the invented story more thrilling. It rushes through the job of re-ordering your thoughts, makes a few last minute arrangements and then peruses the brand new memory it's concocted from your past. Satisfied with its burst of creaitivity, the lights begin to fade out, darkness once again claiming your mind and leaving a lingering sense of endless possibilities.
Flickering Candlelight flashes once or twice and then slowly grows brighter, the wavering warmth chasing away the dark shadows clinging to the corners of your consciousness. It doesn't take long for the presence to delve deep, sifting with a feather light touch and bringing forth the mishmash memory it created earlier. It unravels before you, filling every corner of your thoughts with its lumpy, patched-togetherness. Before much else can happen, there's a soft pulse of wavering light and suddenly you're living the recreated memory. Some parts are from early in your life, some from the present and others from deep recesses of your mind you had forgotten about - oddly enough, it flows well. Every few seconds the flickering lights pause and illuminate certain portions, seemingly asking for a decision before you proceed to the next part. Not that you seem to be driving this particular recollection - it's all the glowing consciousness from the egg. The twists and turns are random enough that the thing may as well be throwing a set of dice behind the scenes to choose the next move. Suspense builds, adventure looms and the story rolls forward at a breakneck speed. With every passing moment the presence seems happier, its soft glow highlighting possibilities you never realized before. Just when the motley story is just getting good, the light in your mind begins to waver, as though its burst of creativity were draining its energy. Darkness suddenly claims you.
Flickering Candlelight slowly gutters back into existence, its warmth creeping back into your head as though it were a candle reigniting after a fresh breath of oxygen. All that creativity can be tiring, after all. It seems to draw from your energy briefly, as though your brain were its caffeinated drink of preference. Light begins to flicker across your consciousness again, the sheer bright possibilities in this presence driving away any lingering darkness. And then - zoom, you're back into the cobbled-together mishmash memory without any warning at all. This time things are even stranger, as some chunks have been added in that can't be from your memories at all. Daring twists, shocking changes and adventures seem to crop up purely on the whim of the presence in your mind. Creativity has blossomed into invention and the lights flicker happily, crafting and molding the bits of your memories and adding new things randomly. Everything seems to hinge on one final climactic event - it's almost possible to hear the figurative dice rolling and the excitement building. Whoosh! The lights dance with laughter and everything goes dark, as though a candle has suddenly been blown out. You're left with a lingering feeling like anything is possible.
Megalithic Longstone Egg
Apparently hewn from granite, this oddly elongated egg sits as the impostor amongst the clutch, the immovable mixed in with the fragile. Faint whorls of ancient writings sketch over the surface, their meanings unknown and unreadable, while lichen's rusty reds and greens cling to the lower extremities and try to claw their way skywards. A suggestion of wings, while appropriate, seem out of place near the tip of the shell, the pure obsidian of their outline fracturing and creeping down the shell in an illusionary series of dusty cracks that threaten to split it almost perfectly in two.
Essence of Strength assaults your senses, burning in your throat, but filling you with a feeling of elation. Strength leaks out into your muscles, pulling you taller, feeling like you could pick up the hatching cavern in one hand and simply toss it out of your way. But with such power comes more — a feeling of intense loyalty that slowly fades off as the mind retreats taking with it whatever powers it just infused you with, leaving you feeling once again small and vulnerable.
Essence of Strength fills your mind, leaking into your very soul as it works its magic. This time it turns inwards, chipping slowly away at your mental defences to reveal your true shape, your true thoughts. Though your feet stay firmly on the sands there's a feeling of lifting, of turning, almost admiring. But the mental chisel slips and cuts too deep opening a painful memory, and as the presence fades it's with a wail of anguish that in its enthusiasm it may have hurt you.
Essence of Strength takes longer to work this time, as if too much too soon has drained it almost completely of its power. In this state it appears almost childlike, itching to play but trying to hold itself back. Whether you intended or not if finds permission in some movement or thought and charges off, running rampant through your mind, knocking over memories, pushing others, fighting within you. But oh the joy it feels in the freedom to fight and chase. In the distance a cacophony of sound draws its attention, the clash of weaponry accompanied by the discordant wail of pipes played badly. It's towards this sound that it rushes, fading completely, and no amount of calling will stop the charge.
Beyond the Great Desert Egg
From a distance this egg seems small and insignificant, the pale beige of the shell dotted here and there with patches of rough looking white that match the sands around it. Up close it proves something more of an enigma, as the sandy patches reveal themselves as not having been collected when it was laid, but part of the shell itself and absolutely smooth to the touch. These sandy trails swirl over the shell, picking out a vague wavering outline of the soaring spires and towering minarets of a great city. Opulent palaces with many windows are sketched there, while a faint flash of green near the base suggests a lush garden, and buried almost completely in the actual sands that surround it is a hint of blue winding halfway around the egg like a river.
An Oasis of Calm settles around you, providing a calm shelter from the vast desert of potential that exists in this egg, waiting to be imprinted upon by those that it comes in contact with. A mental wind stirs occasionally, flicking up a few sandy grains of emotion to bounce off the oasis' protective shell, a hint of wanting seeping through.
An Oasis of Calm is buffeted by a growing sandstorm as contact is maintained, but manages to hold strong. Emotions and thoughts bounce off the protective shield, but more and more are beginning to slip through and stir your own thoughts and feelings in return. A wish to be outside, to escape these confines, is most prevalent. But there's more there — an intelligence, a mind built for plotting even if it means stepping on a few toes in the process.
An Oasis of Calm creaks and groans under the onslaught of the maelstrom of emotion, eventually shattering as the sandstorm reaches its peak and leaving you vulnerable to the full power of the mind within. Whirling blindingly white sandy clouds are full of emotions — Pride tripping over arrogance and pomposity, bumping into loyalty, tempered with a wish to find their own path away from that dictated by others. A brief moment of calm shows a softer side, but then that fierce self knowledge comes back. Emotions swirl faster and faster, a dizzying spiral of sand and thought, until the sound of a horn, faint and possibly imagined, calls a the end. With a resounding slam a mental door cuts off all contact — lights, sounds, and emotions finally giving you time to breathe again.
Soul in Bloom Egg
This mid-sized egg seems quite normal with few irregularities in shape. Its wide base is dipped in the purest of blood-reds that, when viewed from a closer distance, is found to be a sea of tiny raised bumps, each bump marring the surface with its oblong shape, all amassing to create a bed of flower petals. Streams of jet black interrupt the peace however, rising up from the petals and branching as they climbs. Webs of thick, silver veins crawl across each branch, ever river bursting into a mass of delicate red flowers. Tiny splotches of red litter the rest of the surface, almost as if a wind were carrying the flowers on a journey, a few falling to join their comrades, the others sweeping across the surface in thick flurries. Between the reds, glimpses of dark blue shapes present themselves, flat topped trapezoids whose sides sweep down before curling up. Each rests on a square of pure white, their forms coming together elegantly to form a simple building. Dozens of these structures are spaced seemingly at random, but come together in a village of sorts. Yet there is a blur of colors that stands out among the rest. Discarding the blues and whites, reddish-purple stains soar up majestically, supporting an emerald green trapezoid much like the blue ones only far larger. Tendrils of orange gracefully curl themselves around the building, crawling across the surface in an almost possessive manner. One half of the structure is charred black under the attention of the flames, but the other seems to thrive, its colors shining bright as the orange glow of flames bathe the air.
Rain of Light struts forward with a playful fanfare of trumpets and tambourines. Orange orbs flicker as the presence begins circling slowly, allowing you to fully appreciate it. Then, just for you, a show begins. Yellow hues as bright as the sun streaked with deep blood red shoot into the air far above your head, exploding into flowers whose petals of light shower down upon you. There seems to be no stop to the spectacle. Just then, while you are distracted, Rain of Light makes its move. A wisp of consciousness gently tests the waters of your mind before suddenly diving in. Fingers flick through your happiest moments with the clumsiness and innocent mirth of a newborn. Wait. What was that? A tumble? A dance? Why did it take you so long to learn THAT? It's easy enough, look. An attempt! But the poor creature only ends up falling flat on its face. Again…but once more there is only failure. With thinly veiled embarassment, the presence begins to retreat, and the lights from above quickly fade into darkness, leaving behind a single message: the failures were merely flukes!
Rain of Light drifts towards you with elegance, its approach accompanied by a mellifluous murmur of flutes and string instruments. Tiny droplets of light float in the air about you, their perfectly suspended forms piercing the darkness like stars in the night sky. Each ray of light infuses you with warmth as it reaches your skin, and before you realize what is happening, something is retreating from your mind with memories in hand. With good-natured amusement, the presence chuckles at your obliviousness. It isn't your fault you didn't notice. You could not have known its skills would improve so greatly! But then, the laughter dies out, and with an almost painful reluctance, the presence brings forth shards of your recollections: your first disappointment, your first heart break, the first time you lost someone close to you. Each moment is displayed before you and followed by a burst of sweet encouragement. One particular memory comes forward, and suddenly, the lights in the air dim, almost disappearing. Holding it tightly, as one would guard a precious jewel, the presence takes it away to mull over. What that jewel contains, however, is something you can only guess at.
Rain of Light emerges abruptly from the darkness with a glowing crescendo of drums and cymbals, the sound assaulting your ears as hundreds of orange orbs descend from the skies. Shimmering against the black, they grow larger, fast approaching you. Brighter, faster, stronger. The light-spheres rush at you with great speed, suddenly hitting a barrier and exploding into tiny fragments as if hitting a glass wall that surrounds you. Even as the storm of colors continues, Rain of Light approaches, taking the jewel from before and flinging it to the ground with anger. And then you see the memory: the time you were most wronged and hurt, the time you were unable to defend yourself and those around you. The warmth of a hand suddenly slips into yours, grasping it tightly. You have me. It may be seconds, minutes, hours, a lifetime that the two of you stand there, watching as the shower of tiny orange spheres continues. Slowly, the rain of color begins to disappear and so does the hand in yours, fading until only two phrases remain: Together we will face the pain. Together we will fight.
Endless Eternity Egg
Time stretches across the gentle arc of the eggs shell. A pallid light washes out any vibrancy from the hues which paint its surface. The top third of the shell is that strange pale light dotted with bright red spots that move in a line from the apex down one side in uneven intervals, as if ones concentration has been pushed to near a breaking point. The lower the spot goes toward the horizon the more blurred and unstable it becomes. It pushes the boundary toward the hues which paint the middle third. A savannah of dried grasses stretches endlessly over soft rolling hills. Nestled within the hills one finds the most distinctive feature upon the shell, a sandy brown splotch. It might be a building, or perhaps it's just an odd kind of tree. Darker umber laces an irregular oval next to the brown splotch, and visible for those with the sharpest eyesight a pale brown shadow within them. It is a form that wavers like a desert mirage. Here and gone again in the blink of an eye, one may even doubt its existence. Further down the hues fade into utter darkness. It is unlike the soothing night, for it is an empty void of nothing which consumes the rest of the shell in an eerie relentless cloak. Unyielding of its secrets it ends in the darkness of oblivion.
Beyond the Dark first draws you into a chill darkness. As if you've been pulled between there is a moment of nothingness, of the ceasing of existence, the puny light of life flickering and snuffed into the eternity of oblivion through which the dragons pass. It's apt to give you a chill down your spin and goosebumps on your arms and if you can endure, if you can focus beyond the hard shock of the initial feel you'll find a strong presence, a beacon to follow and pull you past what seems like death itself into something, something else, something more… it beckons, if you'll but endure a few moments more.
Beyond the Dark encourages, pulling your mind, your thoughts, your very being beyond what seems practical. You open your eyes to find yourself… on the sands? A moment's disappointment until you realize this is and yet isn't. It is your present and yet you are beyond the touch of the mortal, the other candidates silent, moving among the eggs which seem oddly lifeless, at least in comparison to the pulsing vibrance you find your fingers resting upon. It is no longer solid shell, it is the very life within, the essence of dragon as yet unborn and yet beyond life. A firm sturdy presence, yet at the same time hungry and seeking to know, to find out if it is you it will share forever with. To share the joy, to share the pain, to be so much more together than you are apart. That is not to say it is a blank slate, there is perfection and there is imperfection. Shoulders weighted with responsibility yet wings full of flights of fancy, and beyond all a deep sense of strength, the bedrock to be built upon times passing.
Beyond the Dark can not hold you here forever. It is as close to death as one might imagine, and yet with a reassuring blue and silver glow strength is offered to you, even as its own energies fade from the effort. It offers a promise of something more, a kindred spirit and playful antagonist, a partner to be both your opposite and twin. There is a flicker of mischief which whirls within the ghostly hatchlings mind's eye. A partnership that would endure beyond time itself. Whatever the case may be, it is sure to be a companion, strong and solid, and if sacrifice is required in the unknown history of the future not yet written, you will find it unhesitatingly. No one lesser, no one greater, it shall play its part but only after planting seeds for the future. You might sense that no matter how hard you try to avoid it, you will return to this past at some point, to this world beyond the next, the fate of all beings. The light starts to fade, the sands wash away to the chill darkness, returning you to the present in a few heartbeats, leaving more questions than answers as you stroke its solid shell.
Pillage Then Burn Egg
Deep mahogany tones envelope all but the top quarter or so of this shell. Deep cherries and walnuts cut through it in swirling woodgrain designs running swirling, imperceptible shadows over the egg. On one side of the egg is cut a rough shape of diamonds, a larger one atop a smaller just barely standing out from the tone wood behind. They two flow seamlessly one into the other into a single indescribable shape with a single red oval on each side that seems to pulse and glow like evil red eyes in the night. Opposite that, the wood rises up in a thin arc that curls back upon itself in a gentle spiral. If ever an egg had a clear front and back, it's this one. Along each side runs a line of lighter, pine-toned discs, each with a smaller silver circle in the exact center and a ring of silver along the edge. Each pair (one on each side) bears an identical symbol of stark straight lines, meaningless, though, to the Pernese eye. From the center, a single thin line of mahogany rises up to the very tip-top of the egg. Before it billows a sheet of pure white, accented only occasionally by shadows. Behind it is nothing but the clear blue of the sky.
The Salty Sea swells up around you in an instant like a huge expanse of brine and water. The smell of sea air is overpoweringly heady and pervasive. In the distance is the soft cry of seagulls and all around the constant lap lap lap of the sea water against wood. The whole thing is a deathly calm, rocking easily and constantly against your consciousness. Excruciatingly slowly it seeps into your whole mind. Every nook. Every cranny. Every. Little. Bit. It's not angry or curious or pushy. It simply /is/. And it is everywhere. In every little bit of you. Then it grows heavy, an over-whelming sense of pressure and need. And anger. In less than a moment, then seas are rocky and wild, sloshing back and forth against your mind. Lightning flashes, casting the seascape in stark relief for a second and then- SILENCE. As quickly as it began, it's gone.
The Salty Sea returns suddenly and in full force to its prior expansiveness, but now it veritably /thrums/ with power. Power, yes, and something more. Anger. Strength. Resolve. No mercy! That briney scent never fades, but the overall feel changes. No longer an ocean, no longer the beautiful sister sea, now its a torrent, a flood. Fight. Kill. Win. The sea is like waves of pounding feet charging /charging/ CHARGING. GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!! Lightning flashes again and glints off steel and blood. Its a raid on your very mind. Trampling. Pillaging. Rifling though your mind, your memories, your everything. The best parts are rifled through, examined, the best of those carried off as the mind retreats again into the dark silence of the calm sea and then into nothing.
The Salty Sea is calm again, yet still overwhelming, more of an individual now than the horde it was before. Its strong and stoic there amidst the waves and the brine. Salty sea splashes up into your face and along with it is the sense of all those good things. Going home, success, victory. Glory. Majesty. Unity. HAIL. The presence is entirely calm and stoic, at home with the sea. Along with the silence is the constant, gentle rocking of a boat at sea. A sense of turning and looking back is accompanied by the soft glow of a fire. Success. Brilliance. Victory. The flames warm the heart. A light glint of gold and a contented sigh. It is done. For now.
Hidden Within the Aurora Egg
Blues as dark as the deepest of night sky stain the tapered tip of this elongated, medium sized egg's shell, peppered with pinpoints of white like a vast array of stars. One circular splotch of white, large and bright, much like a moon, hangs to one side and seems to lend some ethereal highlights to the rest of the smooth shell's unique coloration. The peacefulness of the night sky is broken by the eruption of color across it, ghostly tendrils of electric blue and greens, brightest at where they cross paths and along the base of the weaving, broken line that flickers across, around and out of sight. Below it, a horizon of whites rises up, sharp and jagged, reflecting pale blue and grey like the frigid peaks of ice and snow in some barren mountainous artic world. Hints of the same electric blues and greens join the icy whites, giving more illusion to the play of light reflecting off of snow in the deep of night. Down below and almost hidden, a darker splotch can be seen, so tiny in comparison. It takes on a near human silhouette, of some small child-like form in heavy winter gear, glancing upwards in awe and apprehension to the play and dance of light above where the blues and greens reach a near blinding hue, as they almost seem to touch the icy path ahead. And if one looks carefully, following the same path that that child-like silhouette points to, one may see the hint of something more among the chaos and ethereal wisps of blue and green. The way one finger of pale light curves and how another tendril bends, one could almost say it looks like the details of buildings, of a city nestled and hidden away and not meant to be seen, a gateway to a parallel world not meant to be opened, but be careful not to blink for just as one may seem to grasp it, the details melt away and one can be left to only be staring at nothing more than a pretty dance of lights in a cold, unforgiving arctic night's sky.
Subtly Hidden Symbols eases itself into your mind and thoughts with a gentle grace, smooth and fluid, the touch hesitant but curious and calculating. It hovers there, on the edges of your consciousness, waiting for the moment where the mind will relax enough for it to plunge ahead. Slowly, your earliest memories begin to surface, shards and fragments of old nostalgic moments, perhaps of home or family, followed by the sense of being so fresh into the world and so helplessly dependent and unknowingly obedient. An image of a baby flickers into your mind before disappearing, only to be replaced by something akin to a marionette before it too, disappears. The presence lingers there, filtering through more memories as casually as one would flip the pages of a photo album before it drifts away with a sense of satisfaction and a gentle nudge, almost encouraging. It's only the beginning, after all.
Subtly Hidden Symbols settles into your thoughts again, warm and comforting, like a familiar friend. It doesn't hesitate this time, diving down into the layers of your subconscious to tug and pull at various thoughts and memories, lingering on some, discarding others, toying with your senses as it picks out important, meaningful details. All the while, it wraps itself around your consciousness, so innocent and cautious, surrounding you in shades greens and scents that could recall a walled garden, while the feel of a bright sun warms your back, hovering over you, like a figure of authority. The light it sheds chases away any shadows or doubts in your thoughts, in your memories as it seeks out truth and intellect, tightening it's hold on you as it whisks you down deeper and deeper in some strange journey, urging you to follow or to lead. But just as you decide, the presence's hold seems to snap, as if some spell was broken. Before it recedes entirely though, the image of a candle flickers to life, seeming to say: have faith and learn, grow. And then it's gone and the egg is silent.
Subtly Hidden Symbols slips in to your mind again as if it had been waiting for your return and a vague sense of amusement surfaces to your thoughts. No memories are sought this time, though the feel of it surrounding you returns, the greens of the walled gardens returning, placing you in the center, as it seems to judge and inspect you from all sides. Vertigo may arise to some, while others manage as it feels as though the sands around you spin and rotate, stopping only to let one image surface before vanishing. A crucible comes first and the satisfaction of achieving some wisdom, though whether its or your own, it's uncertain. It vanishes to be replaced by apples and the feel of knowledge but a sense of warning, that vanity lingers not far off. Another spin and another change and now the gardens disappear, leaving the sense of various multitudes of paths, an hourglass hovering above. Time is ticking and change is near. A blinding thunderbolt signals the end as it all but expels you from its hold. Take a chance and choose! Lead or follow? It is only a key, but the decision is yours. And like before, the egg goes suddenly quiet, it's presence gone and no further touch will stir it, leaving you to mull over its hidden message alone.
On the Wings of Dreams Egg
A lush, tropical paradise seems to have been imposed upon the shell of this rather squat egg - cliffs of brown and red and tan stretching upwards from a base of jungle green, reaching into the clear, blue sky that caps this ovoid. There is the impression of a waterfall spilling forth over the rocky crag, whites and blues falling downwards, speckles of spray spreading outwards as it drops. And yet, despite the remote scene that seems to be depicted, a yellow blotch sits near the top of the falls, an oddly defined polygon that seems out of place, while fingerprint sized spots of pink and orange and yellow seem to float away from it through the blue sky.
Childhood Fantasies are a bit hesitant at first, creeping around the outside of your mind, as if they are trying to stay hidden from view. A rustle of sound seems to come from behind you, and then in front, and suddenly the presence is there, pushing against your thoughts. A test of sorts, it seems, curiosity wins out as it slowly circles, poking, prodding, questioning, bound and determined to see if you will make an appropriate playmate.
Childhood Fantasies are set to play now, and without hesitation are moving to carry you upwards, soaring through the skies. Landscapes pulled from your mind, and the minds of others, have been hastily recolored in bright, unreal hues - pink trees, orange grass, green sky, as imagination becomes your wings. A certain lust for adventure is evident as you sweep across great stretches of Pern, never left alone by the presence which surrounds you.
Childhood Fantasies seems to be tiring, and it is with great reluctance that it seems to start to withdraw. One, final hint of youthful exuberance, and you're twirled lightly, a mental hug enveloping you as the memories return to normal hues, and you are slowly, but surely left alone.