Dark greens of a forest's shadowed canopy swirl up from the long, draconically feminine legs of this hatchling. Going from near-black at the fingers and toes, the color lightens to sun-touched under-leaf shadows up near the elbows, belly, and hocks. From there, the green lightens further, abruptly becoming more vibrant in intensity as deep emerald trails the length of her long, whippy tail and up into the delicately strong S-curve of her neck. Wings and fine-boned head lighten further to a sun-drenched upper canopy, with darker head-knobs. Dapples go from near yellow-green at her face to an abyssal grey-green where she's at her darkest, as if paying homage to the scales she doesn't have. Wingspars and neck ridges are a pale, pale green, however, running the lenght of her like a stripe. She is a particularly fierce-looking dragon, one or two sharp teeth showing with an eternal crocodile's grin along her thing, elongated features. Everything about her cries sharp and angular where it naturally juts out, and even her ebony talons seem wickedly long.
Egg Name and Description
Roiling Boiling Egg
The first thing one might notice about this egg is that blue is the predominant color of it. That said, it's not the only color of it, nor is it even a uniform blue. In fact, the depths seem to hold greenish tints in their darkened depths, where they're visible, as if it were less the fathoms of an ocean and far more a shallow body. Broken throughout the depths are what appears to be dark blue lines - broken indeed, because the pattern of the greens and blues over the surface make it look like turbulent water. Bright slits and spots of blue-white and yellow are reminiscent of light caught on the edges of those waves. Towards the entirety of one side, however, is the reason for those waves: white and green and blue and grey all mixed and speckled outwards as if something were boiling up from the depths. Only the occasional glimpse through the froth speaks of a darkened object beneath.
Roiling Boiling Egg jerks a little as if something had knocked on it from within, true to its name. And then again! The egg moves just a little before it becomes still, rocking just a bit. Not yet, preciousss…. Not yet.
The Roiling Boiling Egg undulates slightly to create an illusion of the waters on its surface rippling. It stills, and then near where the darkened shadows are off to one side, a dagger-like talon punches through to work a hole out, sending cracks up along the surface. Goo emerges, runs low, and the tip of a draconic tongue can be seen poking through to taste the air. Closer, my darlings… closer!
The Roiling Boiling Egg's occupant vanishes within again, and the entirety of the egg shimmies and rocks. NOW! NOW is the time! The cracks on the surface spiderweb outwards farther and farther with each motion, each strike from within, until at last the shell shatters to reveal a leg, then a wing - and finally disintegrates around the Devil's Own Mischief Green Hatchling so she may slither from the ruins of her old home.
Devil's Own Mischief Green Hatchling widens her nostrils to taste the air, trying to find out what's going on around her. Wings stretch out elegantly to dwarf her tiny frame before mantling back. Her multifaceted eyes whirl as she surveys her new domain, and at last focus on the white-clad figures beyond her. A strange urge has come upon her now, tinging her eyes red, and she sniffs the air, devours it, knowing that her appetites will only be sated by one of those figures. She must get to them. She must find The One.
Devil's Own Mischief Green Hatchling approaches a blonde boy. No. She slithers past a dark haired girl disdainfully. Pfft. Not her either. But she catches sight and scent of something, someone, most intriguing and makes for sandy-haired boy with large brown eyes. Yes. This one is the one she wanted! Her soft creeling becomes a roar as she defies anyone to get in the way of her lashing whip-like tail, or the tooth-filled spearhead that's headed his way. Young Gizmo is startled by the approach of the tiny, dark green dragonet, nearly afraid of her charge, but a moment later she has come to a halt. She stares up at him and hisses petulantly, but for some reason, Gizmo is unafraid. "Her name is Mogwaith!" G'zmo cries joyfully, reaching out to lightly rub one of her headknobs. "Come. I'll show you where the food is," he croons to her.
This hatchling's touch is gentle where it enters your mind, yet there is the promise of mayhem behind it echoed in her swirling eyes. Amusement, light yet dark all at once, filters through at the sudden clarity of mental vision, the perfection of finding one's true lifemate. Her voice in your head is tan and white kittenish warmfuzzies with an undercurrent of shadowy blue. «I am Mogwaith,» she says. «Where is the food, G'zmo?»
Horribly Malfunctioning Gift seems to be a gift box! You feel encouraged to open it. The room? Cozy and well lit, highly decorated - a celebration? Immediately, the box's lid pops open and tan and white warmfuzziness springs forth to greet you along with a scent of nutmeg and cinnamon! You came! Excellent! It moves in to curiously whiffle around you, asking relentless questions. Who are you? What are you? Where did you come from? What'd you bring me? It's a playful, thirsty touch - knowledge! It must have it, and you must supply it… please?
Horribly Malfunctioning Gift is an insatiable little thing, really! It's light touch is gentle in your head. Can I have more? it begs. More? Oh, what's that? It seems not so nice… But yet the little thing is terribly fascinated by it. It takes in more and more memories, gorging faster and faster. So much so, that the sudden swirls of memories that it pulls out of your head all at once seem to startle it when it tries to take them in - too much! TOO MUCH! It flees wailing off somewhere in what seems to be pain, and the scene fades abruptly.
Horribly Malfunctioning Gift fades in from somewhere in the background, pulsing a distant and faint feeling of throbbing pain, crimson and black agony that's being kept private. At least, until it senses your return. The home is suddenly swept away in lieu of a blizzard, the ice of the storm striking you as if it were claws. Without warning, the little mind is back, no longer friendly, but frigidly cold, demanding wrathfully - how DARE you do such things to me? You did this! You!
Horribly Malfunctioning Gift has a rougher touch this time when it enters your head immediately: the most innocent emotions and memories are twisted around with gleeful, dark mischief to taunt you, and the worst of your emotions are relished. Ha! I knew it! …But then the blizzard fades as it looks over everything, and childish petulance enters. Eh… Maybe you weren't guilty after all. There's a hesitation, then a quick licked embrace of tan and white warmfuzzy again, the return of a whiff of nutmeg and cinnamon. Then the entirety of it fades like an apology, leaving nothing but darkness.
Horribly Malfunctioning Gift
This mind is broken by two emotions: affectionate warmfuzziness and a retaliatory smackdown of ice and darkness. The two co-exist mostly because of its own weakness - it simply overloads mentally under too much stimulation and tends to consider something other than itself the problem. It's searching for knowledge, looking for something to satisfy the curiosity it has for the outside world and the one it will someday be with - though it's unaware of this, and quite childlike in its behavior, at this stage. Tan and white warmfuzziness, like a kitten on a hearth on a winter's day, is its mind's touch when it's happy. Its anger, however, is more a snow leopard with claws extended out in a blizzard.
Mogwaith is based off of a gremlin.
|Name||Devil's Own Mischief Green Mogwaith|
|Hatched||June 2, 2008|