Islands of Strange Stone Egg
Out of a sea of gentle grey-greens and snaking rivers of muddy reflections rise precarious formations of soft, almost-white stone across this smallish, oblong egg. At least, one could conclude that the strangely smooth, not-oft-craggy grey-white formations could be in stone, were they using their imagination; with the aid of which, this egg seems to come alive. Little dark specks in the base of the formations, doors? Twilight gathers about the base of the egg, casting long shadows where the apex is almost blisteringly white, overexposed most fantastically. In these shadows, here and there are little flecks of gentle amber in those ancient islands, shining from thumbprint-small holes in the facade and creating a cheery glow. Never mind it's a small oddball in a clutch of remarkable eggs, this odd little egg has — character? Certainly, in the strangely impressive but ultimately natural-seeming towers and legions of odd stone structures, the subtle play of warmer light in the shadows when you look *just* right. Of course…it is an egg, just an egg. Those islands in the harsh green-grey landscape aren't technically real, just pigment across an otherwise unremarkable egg.
Impending Tempest capers with abandon into the front of your mind as soon as your fingers brush its' shell — joy abounds in the way it seems to skid to a stop, and you get the impression of a surprised blink. Oh! Look. Somebody else! Quivering with curiosity, splashes of sun-dried russet drift through your thoughts, sifting through input like a cheerful records-keeper. Yes, yes, yes. Check. Uh-huh. Gotcha! It seems to take forever with satisfying the curiosity that is so very plainly evident, forever and an age, which is not such a good thing. Never mind your burning feet, there's a rumbling in the distance. It starts low, so low that the being ignored it thoroughly and continues its' curious prodding, but quickly the rumbling becomes more of a dull roar and there's no ignoring it. Abruptly, the curiosity in the mind within the shell turns to abject fear: primal, unbridled terror courses through your veins like a jolt of magma. Whatever causes it, the curious creature withdraws with enough speed to be unseemly, leaving you standing just where you were a moment ago. What…?
Impending Tempest does not so much caper this time as YANK you back from…something. You're back! Why? The roaring in the back of your mind has not subsided as you once more approach the smallish egg. No, in fact, it has risen, risen in intensity and risen in noise level. Suddenly, with fear once more sending little jolts of electricity through your veins, you find yourself — hiding? With the impression of trembling with fear, the being within the shell protects you from what way well be whatever demons a still-embryonic dragon's mind can work up. Still, of its' own design or not, while you're touching that shell you're subject to this, so it steps up and takes charge - never mind that it's easy to tell that that's not really what it would like to be doing. Everything starts shaking, and whether it's in your head or the world is actually moving, it's not clear, as your senses are bounced and jounced about, memories jolting to the front of your mind while sensations and half-remembered scents come to you at random. Whatever this storm is, it's not normal, not right — all of your senses, *all* of them, though, tell you to go. Go!
Impending Tempest reigns with a fury, sand-blasting your mind with emotions and feelings it doesn't understand, while ruddy russet and inky black mingle like some great, ugly bruise through your briefly-connected minds. Curiosity has its' price, and for every bit of inquisitiveness, there are still more questions that come — still more things it needs to know. They rise in a roaring storm, overwhelming and unending, and suddenly, the bright presence is there again. Like a leaf in the storm, it wavers, an anomaly among the rising tide of fear, then solidifies, stubbornly. Mulishly shaking off that which hinders it, the presence calms itself with care, and just as quickly as everything began, it calms. No, it doesn't drop off, but a roar becomes a rumble, and a rumble becomes a growl of distant too-much-thinking. Quickly enough, the bubbling-bright flashes of color and curiosity are back, but this time they seem strained. Where were we? It seems to ask, but the bravado can only last a moment. Abruptly, you're left standing where you were. But don't be offended. It's only sleeping again, and not because you were boring!
Islands of Strange Stone Egg has been shaken by tremors for some time now. The shell finally fractures, flaking off piece by piece to reveal the hatchling within. A dainty green wavers forth, the olive shades of her hide shining damply despite the dull hue. Emerald pinions are a sharp contrast when they flare open for balance as she totters, the translucent sails between her delicate wingbones glow jade in the backlight. It’s a lanky adolescent boy, all knees and elbows that the green creels to in sweet, flutelike tones as she approaches shyly in mincing, dance-like steps. He peers at her from under his mop of dark hair in stunned disbelief for a long moment before reaching both hands to her, ignoring the fact that they’re shaking. “Saliurfath, I’d love to dance the skies with you when it’s time. Of course I’ll be your R’olf.” There may be no jeering form his peers at the tremble so clearly heard in his voice, but one smart-mouth cheer of approval is shouted, “Yahbut. Dude!”
|Hatched||June 05, 2011|