Egg Emits

1. Dusty Old Parchment Egg

Words of the Ages rustles faintly, a page turning quietly in the vast stillness of some long forgotten room. Grains of sand shift and resettle somewhere and a breath of anticipation is drawn, waiting maybe to get a better sense of you.

Words of the Ages touches gently along the edges of your thoughts, tendrils of dry parchment brush against your mind, words in some strange language impressing themselves on dusty fibers and slipping away to somewhere unknown and hidden. You are who you are and all is well.

Words of the Ages sighs out a soft dry breath and draws away slowly, leaving behind some sense of well-being and understanding. Things are as they are. The world is out there waiting.


2. Halls of Crumbling Stone Egg

Song of the Ancient Hero unfolds like parchment spread across a work table. Dim candle-light flickers, casting shadows across surface giving a feeling of movement. On this blank canvas, there is life! This is only just the beginning - the start of a legend. No. An EPIC. The silhouettes seem to take the shapes of places - mountains, seas, forests. There is adventure there for those who seek it. The lure of these far off lands is almost entrancing in the play of light and darkness. Here is where your road will lead if you are brave enough to take the first step. In your ear, there is a roar of a distant crowd and the clashing of metal on metal. Adoration, adulation, glory. All of this, yours for the taking! The temptation seems to call to you, summoning the best parts of you to the surface. There were no others like you before, and there never will be. You alone can be the one to grasp this in your hands, but this is not a path for the weak, or mild. It takes courage, strength, will. Are you ready?

Song of the Ancient Hero comes like a sudden gust of wind and then disappears! No… wait. It is only the light that has been extinguished, leaving the pages glowing faintly in the moonlight. Every story has dark times, and so many triumphs come at great cost. There is a tugging at the corner of your heart, as if something were searching there. Then, like some gruesome thing plucked strait out of your worst nightmare, a dark shape appears - blocking out the light and casting its grizzled visage on the page. Drops of moisture drip down from above as hot breath wafts in your face. Cries reach your ears from somewhere far off, too familiar to be mistaken. Family, friends, loved ones, calling out for your help. What will you do? How far will you travel and what would you risk? Can you save them? Can you set aside your own fears, or lay down your own life for their sake? The monster cackles in the darkness, doubting your resolve.

Song of the Ancient Hero lingers in the shadows for a moment longer, waiting for you. Then, as you return, the candle sparks to life once more, bringing light and hope back into the dark places of this world. There is a sound nearby, like something being knocked over, as splotches of black seem to form over the scroll laid out before you. Childish, almost innocent lines start to form on the page, as if someone very young were trying their hand at script. There are no words at first, simply a haphazard mash of lines. As you sit back, though, they seem to take on a life of their own - a face - /your/ face. A welcome feeling flows into your chest, as if the writer were glad that you finally had come to understand. You - you who are brave and strong and smart. The page turns, revealing that empty, blank slate once more, slowly giving way to the sands around you. Yet even here, there is a ghostly feeling of a quill in your hand and a whisper of promise. 'This is your story. How will you write it?'


3. Ethereal Cairn Egg

Aequus Nox starts with a spark, like stone striking flint for the first time. Intuition flares inside of your mind along with the thought that this… this is good. It likes this. It tries it again. Spark. Again. Flash. Again. Glint. Finally something kindles, a single dancing flame setting fire to so much curiosity that the mind inside this egg just might go up in smoke! But this… this is progress! No longer will it be dark and cold at night. You know what that's like, don't you?, it seems to wonder, rifling through somber, perhaps bitter memories of time spent alone. Yes… yes it knows this as well. All this time before you, it has been lonely too. But take cheer! Just like it has the warm glow of a roaring fire, it now has you, and by reason, you have it as well, right? Right. It will be okay.

Aequus Nox seems a little warmer this time, were that possible - it's amazing what a touch of another mind can do! Rather than a blazing conflagration, the flames seem to have dwindled to campfire size, the egg's personal radiance overwhelmed by a mysterious glow from beyond. Small rays of this glow shine here and their on your person, picking up bits and pieces of your past as though they were lint, or perhaps flowers. Then… /thump/. It settles down, apparently to content to stay awhile. Forget me. Forget me not. Forget me. Forget me not. Picking carefully through the memoirs, this mind deliberates over each metaphorical petal, keeping the good times and throwing the bad into the fire. Sure, we learn from our mistakes, but we are bolstered by our successes. /Those/ it wishes to focus on. Which moment made you the proudest? And which made you the most ashamed? That last memory? It expects you to toss it into the flame. Be done with it! It is time to move on!

Aequus Nox finally shines in all its glory, like the sun reaching equinox and suddenly illuminating the ancient passageway of its mind. Shadows flee from all sides, and even the dingy, oft-forgotten stones seem to scintillate under the glow of complete patience and understanding. Yes. Despite what it has seen of you so far, /this/ is the potential it expects you to achieve. A destiny of greatness isn't for everyone, but radiance, well… that, it seems to think at you, is for anyone to obtain. Slowly the glow fades, leeching away its solar warmth and shine, but the dark isn't lonely anymore, and never will be again. This isn't goodbye, friend - this is only the beginning. We'll meet again.


4. Lost in Fathoms Below Egg

Alluring Spring Blossoms whispers in the distance - a voice like some long forgotten song. There is a sound like a breeze rustling through distant trees, cooling your skin from the heat all around you. Faint hints of ginger and fresh fruit linger in the air, making each breath sweet and inviting with their aroma. Even so, it all seems as if it could be just a trick of the imagination, so faint - like an afterthought or memory of some place that felt safe - a place that felt like home. Tentative, like the first touches of green upon winter snow, the feeling grows stronger. Pale colors touch upon your mind, caressing with fingertips like smooth silk. There is curiosity in that touch, a longing to understand who you are and why you have come. There is a feeling as if you were being watched, but from within. The feeling brings with it questions. A pulse of your heartbeat: 'Who are you?' A breath: 'Can you find me?' That tender, almost longing feeling seems to draw back, leaving the faintest impression as if flower petals had fallen onto your bare skin.

Alluring Spring Blossoms murmurs closer now - so softly that you just might make out the hint of words which are carried away before your mind can grasp them. The wind swirls across your vision with a wash of white, drawing out images of distant places. There is something strange about them, but familiar. It almost seems as if each place had been taken from your own dreams and brought to life. The low sound of a flute seems to rise and fall with each breath you take into your lungs, the tempo finding time with your heart. The smells change, too - bringing with it the warmth of cooking oil and the smell of savory meats and mouthwatering sauces. A banquet has been prepared in your honor, but what have you done to earn such regard? There is hesitation. The tantalizing smells of food are drawn away again, leaving only the swirling canvas of your mind. There are faint after-images of people in motion - some that you might even recognize. Among all of these, what sets you apart? Challenge. 'Of all these, what makes you worthy?'

Alluring Spring Blossoms hums softly against your ear - so close you can almost feel the air as it exhales against your skin. It's close now, so very intimately close. The feather-like touch of flower petals settles against your hand, holding it like an old friend. There is comfort in that touch - a feeling of acceptance. The air flows around you in soft eddies, feeling as if it were trying to hold you aloft. Looking down, the landscape draws out beneath you with lush, rolling hills and far snow-capped mountains. 'Are these places we can go, together?' The feeling begs of you, the pleading tugging at your heartstrings. There is such a plaintive yearning to see, to understand - to live! Then, with a rush of that wind, you are brought back down to the sands once more. Gone? No, even still, there is a lingering taste of sweet berries that graces your lips, the velvety touch still wanting. 'Will you be the one?' As the colors slowly dissipate into the heat of the sands around you, the yearning remains - a yearning tinged perhaps with a dawning hope.


5. Monument of Time and Space Egg

An eerie coolness creeps through the recesses of your mind, slowly coming to the forefront of your senses. The scent of stale air mixes with the scent of rain hitting dust and spring's first grass growth. As you become aware of the presence, slivers of crimson and green twist and dance through your mind. Tugging curiosity seeks out your favorite childhood songs and lullabies, pulling the melodies from your mind to hoard. What else could you have to offer?

An eerie coolness continues to sift through your memories and thoughts, focused on your youth. Music is sought, and dancing, and emotion. When it finds something of interest, a sense of excitement accompanies a beating of rain on the ground. Colors twist around the object of excitement like ribbons on a maypole. And then your youth is suddenly boring, rather where you've been, what you've done, who you've been with… so much time and space, places and faces you've seen, but who has mattered?

An eerie coolness is relentless in its search of your past, until abruptly the past becomes boring. The present is suddenly of great interest, what you do in your spare time, who you love, what you are feeling on these very sands. As stale winter air drifts through your senses, you may feel oddly pursued. What is that over your shoulder, just where you don't usually look? The mind within the egg seems to recede, shrinking away from you and your present, its pursuit giving way to concern. You're here for /what/ reason?

An eerie coolness drifts slowly from your mind, ribbons of color flickering bold and then softly as the presence pauses to examine you more carefully. If it must choose eventually, perhaps you are meant to be the one. Are you worthy of the ancient secrets and ageless wonders yet to be discovered? Can you share the adventure and be of strong courage? Stale air, rain on dust, bold crimson and green, mountains, wind rushing through your hair… a jumble of sensations is tossed through your mind before the presence recedes into its own mind, leaving you alone.


6. Love's Timeless Temple Egg

Your Beloved arrives unexpectedly and unsought, with a warmth that steals around your heart. Smile for me? It's a breath of a sigh for your ears only, Oh, you have such nice eyes! What is your name? Where are you from? You are. Different. What is this quality that you have that no one else does? In the silent pause, there is the feeling that someone listens attentively, hanging on your every word until the contact almost skips away as it leaves you behind with a giddy gotta-dance sort of feeling.

Your Beloved laughs, a faint, delighted lilting inside your head, You are back! I missed you so! Come, sit by me, talk to me for awhile. We don't have much time, you know. You are aware of an all-absorbing preoccupation, a single-minded curiosity. It wants to know, What makes you happy? What makes you sad? There is the assurance that your answers are important and will be remembered by the one who asks before the contact abruptly hastens away as if summoned, leaving you with the impression of a fleeting, over-the-shoulder glance back at you.

Your Beloved shares a deep, abiding affection, certain that being here with you is all there is, all that matters, but wants to know, "Are you sure?" There is no further elaboration of that ambiguous question before slipping away, leaving behind the sensation of lips brushing yours, a reluctant sigh for the parting echoing inside your head and the lingering feeling that the time you've spent together was indeed all too short.

Your Beloved welcomes you back with a companionable silence. With complete acceptance and accord, there's no need for words and the minutes stretch, lengthening to hours - or has it been turns? Sealed inside this shell is not the place to be and for a flash you can sense a deep, almost unbearable grief for the separation followed by a more peaceful acceptance and patience. The contact fades with the promise, I'll wait a lifetime to be with you again.


7. Stele Translations Egg

Everliving Stone slithers into your mind with a hiss of sand, falling at a rapid rate from overhead, like some enormous hourglass. Faranth's sake, there has to be enough of it falling to make a whole desert! It's not the hot volcanic grit common to weyr Sands or beaches, however - it is lighter, finer, a pale golden sheen that pools about the ankles, curling around legs like a venomous asp, encouraging you to get while the getting's good! It takes a certain kind of person to endure the world this mind has created for itself, and if you're weak of fortitude and perseverance, this isn't the place for you! Go home while you still can!

Everliving Stone stirs, looking you over, a harsh and calculating heat inside your joined minds. It leaves nothing unscathed, neither memories nor actions, burning away lies and half-truths to see what you're /really/ made of. Apparently it's satisfied, for as abruptly as it began, the deluge of sand halts. So, you have returned. Well, there are rewards for tenacity. A sharp tilt of ground sends you tumbling down a sand dune right into a wide, winding river. It's none too deep, but a definite relief from the blistering sand. Far in the distance, two small triangles peek over the horizon, but more pressing is the columned stone building before you. Temple. The word flashes into your mind unbidden, but it's there just the same, putting a name to the foreboding structure. This, it seems, is another test. Would you dare venture into this temple? It will lead you through, if only you have the will to stay.

Everliving Stone seems almost smug this time. It knew you'd come back. You have something to prove, do you not? The mind scans yours again, seeking this quest. Yes… It will be a trial, but it believes you will succeed. History is full of heroes, large and small, and who is to say that you couldn't be one? Come… Helping you out of the water, this mind seems to move at your side, a compatriot rather than some game master pulling at the puppet strings of its own world. A black rock, stunning in its contrast to white stone and golden sand, stands out against one wall. Like the egg's shell, it's scraped and pocked with symbols in varying hands. Awed, the egg's mind stops before it. This… this is its hero. Though a common creation of the past, this stone has survived the ages, and became a great asset to the people of old Terra Firma, helping them decipher an age-old, long-forgotten language. That something so normal could be so epic… This is what it aspires to. It will not be anytime soon, but it will be /known/, and then it will live forever, you can be sure of that. The egg's mind finally settles back into the sand, but these images of grandeur… those it will leave with you.


8. Avenue of the Dead Egg

Sacrificial Drums are a steady thump-da-thump that surrounds you immediately — as soon as your fingers graze the shell, you are plunged into darkness, the hollow thudding sounding all around you. It may well be your heart, or perhaps what lies within the shell of this growing creature who lurks in darkness that it readily shares. Steady as yours might not be, it thuds on in a steady staccato rhythm in the deepest part of your mind, calling up the warring of instincts - calmness, for the arterial thumping, wariness for the overwhelming darkness. Out of the darkness comes a command, though, leaving you little time for wariness or any other worries: You! Who are you, who dares to disturb this one's slumber? Why? The being is not particularly shy about this demand, making it known without words or any exact sensations beyond the pressing darkness and thump-thump of hollow heart (or drum?) beats. What happens, with the wrong answer? Is there a wrong answer? The darkness waits with leaden patience, either way.

Sacrificial Drums go thud-thud-thud-BANG, springing to life in a sudden flare of scorching heat and fiery scarlet. Gold glimmers in shadows, but the crimson flare of light and pain that surround you is quite distracting. Distracted from its' meticulous search of something *behind* what answers you provided, the being snarls in a sudden flare of bass booming. Evidently, something does not match up, something is not what it seems — at least to its' inexperienced eyes. With the heart-drums thundering in dangerous clashes all around, a flash of white-hot lightning flickers across the combined mind-space between yours and the embryo's. Darkness descends like a trap, as if the jaws of some great tunnelsnake snap shut around you and hold you captured to itself. Are you certain of yourself? Do you hold yourself to be as you say — are you aware that it sees your thoughts? That with a flick (like *so*, it displays a strange early memory, more sensory input than anything coherent), it can lay you bare for all the world to see? Abruptly, the darkness recedes just slightly. You are spat back out into your world, to your own thoughts, your own conclusion. What have you to offer it?

Sacrificial Drums buffet your mind with steady percussion as you find yourself once more drawn into darkness. Now, though, riches gleam just out of the reach of your vision - as if through deep water, it shines occasionally. You float in a sea of black surrounded by your own heartbeat and the steady rhythm of some great sky-drum. Wary acceptance overtakes you now, curiosity taking the place of scarlet indignation and brief rage. Perhaps it was too quick to judge you. Perhaps it was wrong — maybe, just maybe, you will be sufficient. For what? Shadows tremble in an elegant counter-melody of softer thump-thuds but offer no clues at all to what the being within the shell might have in mind. You have been measured, weighed against something, and it's plainly evident…but against what? What had it so worked up, what calmed it? That remains a mystery, sloughed into the encompassing press of silken darkness from all around that seems to call you, draw you forth. Should you try to follow, however, you will be turned firmly back, the message clear: This is not for you. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.


9. An Eternity At Attention Egg

Rivers of Quicksilver drift indolently through your seeking mind, neither entirely welcoming your presence nor rejecting it openly. Just out of reach, a world of hedonistic pleasures in warm ambers and emeralds, but that is not for you. At first it does not question, merely observes — pulls thoughts, feelings, sensations at random. The feel of wind on your face. Your first scraped knee. Anger. Resentment. Fear. Here, it stops. Examines closer, curiosity and mild disdain sluicing through your thoughts. This! This is useless, it decrees with authority. Reasonings are not noted, not even examined briefly, for what need has it of excuses? Excuses do not a strong being make. It is strong! Are you? Not-so-subtle doubt drips in decadent shadows, drawing across your consciousness like a heavy tapestry or blanket. Perhaps you could use the protection? It doesn't-quite taunt, more provoke, as if seeking some sort of retribution. What will you do, against its' doubt? Have you anything to say for yourself?

Rivers of Quicksilver manages to drift from lazy contentment, curiosity now more plainly evident in a slow but steady stream of vague pressure on your mind. Colors drift in absent sensations around you, giving the faint impression of darkness and *something* beyond. What beyond? That is the question, is it not? Evidently not *un*impressed, at least, by whatever response you offered forth, it goes lazily back to sifting through sensations and memories with growing hunger. This it likes, this it does not — this it does not get the point of, and thus disdains without pause. What is it, to be living? Do you know what it is to be infinite? No? This is not unexpected. It does not really expect you to know much, so is not disappointed when your answers fail to meet its' expectations. Never mind that the hair on the back of your neck prickles with every twang of discord from this one. A precursor to danger? It does not seem so on first examination, at least, as the curious one withdraws to its' own thoughts briefly. It has much to consider.

Rivers of Quicksilver has gone back to searching, hunger growing like the sudden torrent of memories that stream through your mind unbidden. With all of the precision of some sort of Military drill, it drums them out in ordered chaos, seeking, seeking *something*. After a relentless search that leaves you mindsore, though, something snaps. A cascade of anger snaps like an archer's bow, adding to the pain of the one within the shell's disappointment. No! It cannot be. Perhaps it does not seek to hurt you, for all that there is no regret in the seething mass of woe that is the one in quicksilver, there is also no malice past that first burst of anger. Rather, sorrow briefly overtakes all else in a silken, crackling blanket of inky indigo, washed out and worn in places. After a moment, the mind draws itself from its' cloak of self-pity, though, and puffs itself up. Carefully seeks what it means to offer — and comes back with a sort of vague acceptance. Yes. It sees. What it sees is not evident to you, but it's probably just as well. Abruptly, the decadent cloak of the putative dragonet's mind recedes and you are left where you started. Shaken, stirred and thoroughly tousled mentally, but still whole.


10. Mysteries In The Dark Egg

Echoes of Hollow Earth glimmers distantly, like the flicker of torches along rough stone walls, far beneath the earth. The sense of rolling over, waking slowly from deep sleep touches your mind along with the taste of metallic water and a hint of salt.

Echoes of Hollow Earth grows brighter, light tracing strange contours traced on stone walls and far off the drip of water splashes down into some endlessly vast pool, deep and resounding. What tales do these long-forgotten and hidden walls hold?

Echoes of Hollow Earth flares bright for a moment, beauty and wonder to be found far beneath the surface, a trickle of water wetly gleaming along the curve of an undying, red and black spiral. Light fades, is slowly extinguished leaving warmth and the sleepy sense of turning over and going back to sleep.


11. Islands of Strange Stone 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!


12. Claimed by the Sea Egg

A Tide of Dreams bears you away from the heat of the sands where cool breezes carry the scent of salt and seaweed. The babble of voices nearby fades, the plaintive cry of gulls heard instead. And what is that beneath your hand? Is it eggshell or is it wood? Where once it felt smooth, there is now a splintered-roughness. Gentle yet persistent, a tide of curiosity flows into your mind and wants to know, What's out there in the wide, wide world?

A Tide of Dreams lifts you, the sand beneath your feet heaving as though you are riding the waves. If you didn't know you were standing here on Xanadu's hatching grounds, you'd swear you were aboard a ship's deck. The hot, dry air in this place freshens to a brisk, invigorating wind that leaves the taste of salt spray on your lips but oddly doesn't move a single hair on your head. The slap of water against a hull, the snap of canvas is in your ears, and the current wants to know, If you could go only one place, where would it be?

A Tide of Dreams sweeps you with the sensation of sunlight, warm and bright on your skin, flooding your eyes and mind with the blinding white sand of beaches in far off places. Tropical flowers and spices, exotic and rich fills your nostrils with a heady scent. It's pleasant, but almost overpowering, before all fades to the sensation of metal coins in your palms, bright, alluring, intoxicating until … they grow cold and oddly heavy as a sense of foreboding fills you and wants to know, Is it worth it?

A Tide of Dreams seethes around you, an electrical zing shooting from your palm travels up your arm like lightening to end with a crackle-boom rumbling in your ears. You are swept away into murky darkness, lifted by a powerful swell, dropped into the trough. It's a dizzying plunge down, down, down. You are one with the storm - the thunderous breakers, the whine of a gale force wind in your ears, the feeling of whipped foam that flecks your face - all serve to quicken your heart rate. Sharing the exhilaration, an almost overpowering fierce joy, a bring-it-on recklessness seizes you and wants to know, Will you come with me into the unknown? Then it is gone, leaving you back on the sands with only the fading sigh of the surf in your ears.

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