Gold Leirith's and Bronze Garouth's Eggs

Nothing To See Here Egg
There is something Not Quite Right about this ovid, something peculiar about that rotund shell that sits unassuming, black and nondescript on the sands. There is no luster in its color, no reflection of sands or faces, no hints of delicate patterns to break up the monotony in an endless wash of ebony, just the kind of black that swallows light and leaves an eerie kind of emptiness in the air surrounding it. There is a smell too, like a hint of rot that hasn't quite reached peak fermentation, the kind of wrongness of smell that tells you danger lies this way. Or maybe it was just your imagination. When you inhale again, the scent is gone.

The Other Side of the Mirror Egg
Half of this egg is made of brilliant living color - reds and greens, blues and browns, mixing and mingling together. Shapes and swirls converge into patterns, creating a semblance of human form splashed across the curving shell. Its anxious face, picked out in warm earthen tones, is turned towards the other half - a cold, grey parody, lacking any hint of life within its washed out hues. And yet - the same visage, a pale echo, stares back, barely shaded with lifeless pastels, just a reflection in a mirror. And, yet… is it one face? Or is that two pairs of eyes screaming from that frozen mask as one ashen fist raises upwards to knock once more against the back of the looking glass?

Umbral Egg
From a distance, this egg is almost a match for its equally-dark sibling, a pitch-black spheroid perched upon the sands, and yet upon approach two eggs could not be more different. This egg emits presence, rather than lack, an uncanny sort of anxiety characterizing its diminutive form. It's almost as if it's worried, or frightened, tipped forwards onto its edge as if prepared to flee upon a whim. Rather than a heavy, matte shell, this ovoid seems polished to a fine lustre, a faint, oily iridescence eerily visible even in the lowest of lights. There are shapes and patterns to be found if only one looks hard enough, dire warnings painted in a shadowy hand, each prediction of death, and doom, and destruction more fearsome than the last… But then the light shifts, and the spectral faces of past and future fade into a pretty little miasma of purples and blues, and it's almost as if it was all in your head all along.

Embrace the Memories Egg
Soft pinks and reds dapple the shell of this egg, a cascade of variegated rose-petals falling across the smooth curve of white satin that drapes the ovoid surface. The splashes of rosy hue are sparser near the top, but pool in heavy drifts around the base. They've been falling for a while, it seems - long enough to build up before this moment was frozen to catch this vision of air-dancing petals into a single shape. Between broad base and narrow apex, a twisted band of gold encircles the shell, like a ring slid upon it. A silent promise of what may be lies in that embrace that encircles the egg that in turn surrounds its precious occupant who grows - with time - inside that time-frozen shower of pink and red petals.

Too Late for Goodbyes Egg
Muted shades of greyish blue cover most of this large egg, painted across its bowed middle like a panoramic curved wall. Darker and more sombre greys speckle the smooth shell, all neatly arranged in rows and divided in the centre. From that centre isle, the lack of color or shape draws the eye to a distant blur of color. Richen wooden brown, in an elongated streak and suspiciously ominous in its otherwise simplistic shape. A splash of pristine white indicates an open cover, but the contents within are a mystery and too far to glimpse in the abstract wash of color. Framing this are small notes of greenery and blooms of various colored hues, too distant to make out the details of each specific flower.

Scratches in the Night Egg
Upon first glance this particular ovum looks as if it may be lumpy. Large misshapen knots curl together in shades of russet and raw umber giving it this rather unique appearance. Dark slices of near black also sporadically make this egg their home, as if an unwieldy lumberman has taken his axe and tried to fell a stubborn tree that will not fall. Uneven stripes of dark and light browns slither their way across the shell, weaving betwixt the knots and dark gashes. Some of the stripes are bright and vibrant as if at the start of its young life, while other areas are grayed and withered as if time has played some cruel trick and aged parts differently. It's only when one gets really close that one can see the small crisscross of what appear to be slashes of sharp claws in varying shades of gray. Surely Leirith would not have allowed a feline or canine on the sands to inflict this damage, but one never can tell if it's a trick of the eye without closer inspection.

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