Meet the Eggs: Search Winter 08
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The Dim and the Dark Egg
A green-tinged khaki sweeps over this egg's shell, golden hues set behind it, slightly iridescent as it wraps it from one end to the other. While a single band of mahogany spirals around the shell, deeply contrasting the background hue, darker olive-green filigree spirals from end to end, like creeping vines stretching up a guiding line. A simple pattern, mimicking the lines of an avian's wing, is imprinted upon the top curve in white, contrasting the warmer hues behind it.
Rains in Asia fall gently around you, a cool mist settling over your shoulders and your mind, a youthful curiosity tickling at your very being. It wants to go down to the square, to hear the venders singing. It wants to know if everyone feels that way? What is it like when it rains in the summertime? How do you know if he's gone forever?
Rains in Asia lean from the balcony as if without a care, wondering should they take the fall, or should they take the stairs? Then, suddenly, you're feeling like you're leaning over a precipice that only love would dare, spinning in a gravity that only love could bear. And then you're falling like tears that turn to snow, falling in a vertigo.
Rains in Asia drizzle between the shadows of tall buildings, open arches endlessly kneeling. Sonic landscapes, echoing vistas, and something's listening from a safe distance. The view moves slowly, into a fading light to a final moment in the dead of night. In the Hatching Sands, there's suddenly a feeling that you should just go home, and spend a lifetime figuring out just where that is.
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Swax On, Swax Off Egg
A mishmash of golds and khakis, and olives and browns mingle upon this shell, darker hues acting like shadows, while lighter hues are touched here and there, framed by a soft blue. Amidst the shifting colors and the varies pieces of gold and olive, it almost seems as if there is a something actually there - a pair of eyes, perhaps, peering over the top of a scarf.
The Galaxy Glistens in perfect silence, the light of the moon shining bright, casting you into a spotlight. As the stars twinkle in your thoughts, it's as if the sky is talking to you, and the darkness settles upon you like a cloak on the sands. Through lonely eyes, you see yourself and everything around you. Where are you from?
The Galaxy Glistens like a freeway at night, as lights come and go on a one way street. You feel like you're floating so high, you see Andromeda spread over your mind. As things slowly become clear, your mind is taken to the moon's face. Could it be that everything you thought you had is everything that you wish you had back?
The Galaxy Glistens as its been here, stayed here, right here, but there's no way for it to tell. Before you leave, the starry cloak slipping from your shoulders, there seems to be something you should know. And there's something touching your very soul, offering you all it has, before it slips into the abyss.
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Possibly Not Doing Anything Egg
A flood of red, perhaps paint that's been thrown onto the wall that is the shell of the egg. Careless, almost, but there's no peek of the original color of the wall from behind the red. Deliberate in color, but purposely looking reckless. It fills the surface of the egg entirely, the background only. The foreground of the egg shows two figures, blurred from movement. They don't seem to be doing anything, but perhaps they're doing /something/. The image appears as if they're tilting, or, perhaps falling backwards, stumbling around. This still piture is along the surface of the egg, a sense of mischief in the image.
What's Your Name? ventures forth, soft beats of the drums fill your mind at first. Scratching shortly follows before the voice come forth. Hey! Hey you, yeah.. What's your name? It speaks softly, almost a whisper, reserved.. It waits though, perhaps biting it's tongue in wait of the response.
What's Your Name? seems to grow irritated at the response. Well then, what's my name? It ventures forth to ask. Colors of red and orange swirl forth, frantic as it grips your mind and urges you to speak. But, it's silent as it seems eager for an answer. Anxiety sweeps forth, a hold of the breath as the music in the background seems to fade in anticipation for the answer.
What's Your Name? lets forth an explosion of red, almost a scream, but more of an anguished cry. That's not right. Try again, remember this time. It chides, but then pauses and ventures forth again. Tell me your name again, then tell me mine. The red dies down in the background, slowly fading and before replacing itself with calming greens to wrap around your mind. No more words as it waits, patient this time.
What's Your Name? relents this time, happier shades flowing to wrap around your mind as the music continues. The colors dance about you, encouraging you to dance along with it. That one works, it is pleased. Sated, it retreats, and the music follows it into the depths. It leaves you with a feeling of satisfaction, or, the knowledge of a job well done.
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Life Is Short Egg
This fat little egg is covered in an odd texture. Parchment paper seems to fold over the egg, crinkles and spots of lighter and darker color blotting the surface from time to time. Near the apex a shimmering shade of mint green veils the vibrant red double hoops that has been stamped onto the shell. The same mint green makes its way along the middle of the egg, the thin band composed of tiny wavy lines, each moving along vertically. A sky blue circle breaks the band, positioned perfectly in the center is a snow white bird, its wings held aloft in mid flight.
Flashing Lights and Steady Beat filter into your mind, the steady sound of a cymbal sounding off in the recesses of your mind. Suddenly the persistent twanging of a guitar joins in, canary yellow pixels starting to materialize in your mind. It's like a flashing traffic light, the flashing corresponding with the catchy 'one-two' rhythm.
Flashing Lights and Steady Beat flood your mind with thousands of tiny magenta squares, the shapes falling like blocks into place until they've completely dissolved the darkness. When all is bright the color retreats, leaving you to the blackness again. After a booming drum roll the magenta blocks return to form a circle, flickering in and out of the blackness in time with the beating of a drum before vanishing yet again.
Flashing Lights and Steady Beat return! The mind begins to pull in what seems like every possible shapes and colors, it's overstimulating to the senses. The feeling of being crowded emerges, the visions seeming ready to push out of the shell and right into your very body. Without warning the colorful shapes pull away, allowing you to breath once more on the dull hot sands.
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Ocean See Sky Egg
The top of this egg starts off an inky black and continues in a band about a third of the way down as such. There are only tiny speckles of white upsetting the darkness here, like stars on a moonless night. Then the darkness fades gradually, first into dark navy blues, then lighter sea blues and even whites. The blues make up a wave like pattern as they roll down the egg, almost giving it a textured appearance. The very top of this egg, amongst the deep black there is an eye-shaped splotch outlined in blue. A circular swirl in the inside of the eye makes up its pupil, colors ranging from brown to blue to white. Straight up into the heavens it seems to be looking, or maybe up at its clutchmother.
Waves of a Solar Sea seem to be asleep when you first approach it. But then it seeps into your mind like a quiet sunrise, its rays falling gently on the calm waters of your conscious thoughts. This mind is slightly timid, unsure of what might be in store for it. It has its own dreams and wishes. What were yours?
Waves of a Solar Sea surround your mind, finding a deep and painful memory of yours. It engulfs this memory, and in turn lets itself be engulfed by it. It doesn't want to leave this sadness behind, it's comfortable resonating its sorrow with your own. The grief envelopes all your thoughts, the rising sun slowly sinking into seemingly everlasting darkness.
Waves of a Solar Sea want this night to last forever, but in the darkest hours is when the tiniest light shines brightest. The lifetime of darkness lifts as a tiny speck of hope and light expands to fill your mind as the sun rises once again. Before you realize it, the sea has dried up and the sun is fading. You are alone once again.
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Tragically Without Fruit Egg
The majority of this egg is painted in a thick sky blue, save for a sandy straw-colored that seems to have washed over its lowest bits. On one side, there is a spidery pattern sprawling up from the bottom portion in dark mahogany. It's rooted in a thick brown stripe and thins as it climbs upwards and expands. At first glance this pattern may give the notion that this egg is a dud, since it appears already cracked, but on closer inspection it is indeed just coloring. Slightly displaced from this pattern are two circular orange splotches with bits of green fanning out from their tops. A few flecks of brown decorate the orange with purpose.
Another Cool Wind approaches your mind with hesitation, like an inexperienced climber approaching a daunting mountain. It creeps slowly around the base, only asking basic questions, finding out general things. How old were you? Where are you from? Nothing embarrassing, nothing to be ashamed of. And so it starts the climb into the depths of your psyche. It moves through your pleasant and recent memories.
Another Cool Wind is making the climb, higher and higher into where you keep your closely guarded secrets and unpleasant memories. Too afraid to fall if it turns back, it continues to examine the bits of your inner self. This mind is intent on reaching the pinnacle of your hidden memories. It's so high, so far, but it will get there! Toss it a rope, anything to lead it to that one memory, good or bad that will satisfy its need to explore all of you.
Another Cool Wind gathers all your thoughts, using them to propel itself further and further. Where was the top? That one thought, that one memory. Carefully up and up it moves, not wanting to turn back. Sifting through the clouds of your mind, this one suddenly starts to get hazy. And before you know it, it's blended in with the clouds and is gone. Did it ever get there?
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Fly Chicks, Fly Egg
Predominantly black, this large egg's background bears no different shades: just a uniform inky darkness. Yet nearly connecting around the entire center of the large shell, slanting slightly upwards, are three perfect circles overlapping each other along the edge; each of a different marking, colors, and (when viewed up close) texture. The middle has minute ripples all along the inside in the brightest of sulfur-yellow with tiny striations of iridescent blue inside two black marks. To the left, split into gray and slate, the circle is smooth with thick bands of cream near the center. The far right one is has the same iridescent blue and darker tan, minuscule scales peppering the surface in small bumps, split by a crimson vein.
Sinning Strings leap into your mind in a whirlwind of playful twangs and thumping beats, filling up every corner and throwing a mess of memories everywhere. A red satin touch sweeps in to caress, taunting, and then sweeps back out taking its song with it.
Sinning Strings never really left as it gallivants here and there, a jumping dance of red streaks that sprout out too fast to really focus on like pinpricks in your mind to a quick-paced beat of a banjo and the thump-thump of a heartbeat; maybe it's the hatchling's inside?
Sinning Strings swirl back in after a drumroll, jumping right into the action and its dance. This time it tries to put the spark into you as well in its inviting string solo, twanging with a few tantalizing sweeps of crimson, hoping to pull you into its never-ending dance back in the shell as it disappears abruptly.
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Wake Up and Smell the Egg
Perfect circular globules of crimson float across the shell of this large egg; its long and wide shape contrasts against the rounded spheres. The orbs trickle in slowly from the bottom in a variety of shapes, growing in multitude as they travel up the egg. Overlapping and merging with each other, they nearly encompass the entire sky-blue background of the shell into a pool of blood-red droplets at its rounded top. Its base is a sandy plain with dark splotches that give the illusion of the the spheres casting shadows, almost as if they were to be able to float off the smooth surface and over the hatching ground sands.
Tears of Warfare are silent at first, and almost feels like it they will stay that way until a faint stomping is heard in the background. A marching rhythm with no break, no faults, and increasing in volume as if approaching closer and closer. Fainter yet is a high pitch whistle you might have a hard time hearing, but it is there, if only you can get closer…
Tears of Warfare return back into your mind calmly, though with a thick cover of tension that is bound to break at any moment. The stomping of feet fall into place with a few last steps before stopping. Yet that whistling, that faint high keen is finally clearing up, growing louder until… BOOM! A rocking explosion pushes against your mind in a moment of intense heat.
Tears of Warfare let loose a low pained moan as the dust settles down over your mind. A hiccuping sob remains in the background now, even after contact has been removed… Faint gunshots are triggered, and the wailing increases, flooding you with a deep pale sorrow until the sounds finally fade away back to rest in its shell.
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Big Wheel Egg
This little egg is something of an oddity. It looks as though it has been hewn from granite and placed among the other eggs as a decoy — its edges are rough and unpolished, and the shell itself is pockmarked and uneven. Even its base colour is unremarkable - a dull slate grey, speckled with the faded yellow of lichen near the base. What does, perhaps, redeem it somewhat is the silvery patch that crowns its very tip. From that spot thin lines of silver spread across the otherwise dull shell, breaking up the flat hue into a great circular maze that stretches from tip to sands.
Morning Tide breaks gently into your mind, foaming around your thoughts and memories, touching gently against the deeper recesses of your mind before drifting off once more. There is no hurry to the touch, a gentle calmness that surrounds and then fades, taking with it a few of your more open memories.
Morning Tide surges back, a cool breeze accompanying the return and brushing away any doubts that were lurking about contact with these concealed beings. This one seems to want to know everything you offer, but in your own time. Gently it probes once more at your deeper thoughts, your true likes and dislikes, seeking to pry one away from you that it might keep. It will look after it, after all.
Morning Tide floods in this time, though a faint mist seems to accompany the contact and shield its true feelings from you. It fills your head for a moment, though as the mist lifts there's a feeling of loyalty, of trust, and as it ebbs once more into nothing there's a faint drumbeat left echoing in your mind - almost like a heartbeat.
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Along Came a Spider Egg
For all its diminutive size, this little egg has a rather unsettling look to it. The majority of the shell, the side facing the galleries at least, is white. The rear shades to black, ripples in the colouration giving it an almost hair like appearance. Near the tip on the white side a patch of black has seeped forwards, trickling down to encircle a giant eye shape that stares, unblinking, at the galleries. Underneath the eye it breaks into four trails, each fading off to white once more before they reach halfway. Near the base of the white the black once more appears, carving a dark frown that dips into the sand.
Lace and Whiskey enshroud your mind, a curtain that holds the mind in residence in shadow, for the moment. The lace breaks, the smell of the whiskey grows stronger, and a sudden flash of blood red announces with no uncertainty that someone… something… has appeared. There's a deep chuckle, this one is laughing. At you? With a noise like the swirling of a cloak the touch vanishes, the curtain falling on this performance.
Lace and Whiskey peel back quicker this time, the mind in the shell ready to break free, to prove itself. Flashes of red fill your mind, the scent of whiskey mingling with the smell of warm blood. It pulls from your memory any sights of uncooked meat, juggling the images before your eyes in a disgusting, yet almost impressive show.
Lace and Whiskey seem unready to split this time, to let you see what lurks inside, but at the same time there's a strange feeling of calm — quite at odds with other times of touching this particular egg. The lace that shrouds this particular mind parts gently, a laugh that is almost a cackle accompanying the image of a skull thrust towards you — this being's idea of a final joke. No encore to be found here, the show is over at last.
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