Meet the Eggs: Winter 2010
Lady's Delight Egg
The smooth depths of the darkest night mingle with a silvery-blue undertone as this iridescent pattern caresses the shell of this rather round egg. Faint circles of color rise forth, however, bringing light and warmth to the dark hues of the shell, while pinks and yellows dance with oranges and blues, lavenders and minty greens. Burnished gold speckles seem to radiate their own light upon the shell, enhancing the impression of motion, illuminating the dance in the dark.
Tempting Call of Jazz and Blues is at first the gentle song of the alto sax, purring along on its own before the brassiness of the trumpet and the beat of the drums as the song comes together. Do you feel the pulse of it, the way is sways through you pulling you along on its path that comes into clouds of ruby and emerald, where the pulse of the song shines in glimmers of gold that brighten as a warm female voice sings swinging song that pulls you into listening further, teasing you with hints of more fun to come before it all swirls away to leave a sense of longing.

Tempting Call of Jazz and Blues comes back with a more blues feel to it, more somber but with the same pulling beat. That warm voice pulls at you, come back to it, feel the way it can change to fit the moods of those around it. Where rubies and emeralds have been there are now sapphires and amethysts that curl around you. It certainly isn't said merely in a more quiet mood for even the instruments that usually sing with it are quiet to leave only the lightness of the piano to accompany the voice that dances across your thoughts with feelings of learning more, feeling more, opening up to the possibilities that are out there.

Tempting Call of Jazz and Blues sweeps into your mind with a wave of sultry song, instruments muted but still brilliant even though they do not overpower the voice, oh that voice that now demands attention. So multifaceted is this mind, able to call attention to itself without the need for overpowering backup. The beat is steady, driving through you until it feels as if your own foot is tapping along. The song now tells of love, true and powerful love that comes in a shimmer of aquamarine and fire filled opals. How your heart seems to soar with the high notes, your soul flying with it.
Faded But Not Forgotten Egg
What was once pure white has now grown old to a duller sort of tan, unkempt from the harms that may inflict it such as the elements or human's themselves. Deep brown splotches are upon the egg, much how one could spill klah upon their pants and see the stain. Softer brown rings give indication that the rain has had it's way as well, not too gentle to this worn treasure. Above all this is blurs of black, intricate designs which would likely form words to those who know this careful design and pattern. But alas, a few are blurred and smudged and make it almost impossible to read if such a task were required.
Whispers of the Untold Story come forth in your mind with gentle whispers at your ear, breathing forth a tale of a mighty dragon who has fought many people and won. This image that forms from the unknown words is of a large red dragon, but it's eyes are a deep sorrowful blue. Whisperings continue in words you may not understand, questioning you. Do you see what this dragon has to offer? What makes the dragon… How he is? The tone takes a more sorrowful one with waves of blue color filling the background of your mind. A breath in an audible intake draws the story from your mind and leaves it temporarily blank.

Whispers of the Untold Story return gently, returning with a new story to fill your ears with. The words, though not understood fill you with a sense of pride. Are you not the best in all the land? Of course you are, and there's no doubt about it… Except for the snickers that reside in the background of the whispers which slowly overcome the story teller's voice. Is that a draft you feel? Snickers fade and the whispers hesitate to finish the rest of the story before pulling back.

Whispers of the Untold Story begin again in your mind with another story, this one more frightful than the first two. A dark forest surrounds you and you are alone, whispering guiding you on your way through this tale. You come to reach a bridge, a sturdy old bridge. Do you cross? The whispers continue, sweet tones to encourage your choice. Yes? No? But what if something lurks beyond the bridge? Do you turn back, do you go forward? Like a mother who wishes to protect her child, the whispers draw this story to and end as well. Perhaps the next part is too much for you to bear.

Whispers of the Untold Story does not return with a story this time, only gentle whispers that seek your answers. What was the story? Do you know? Perhaps the moral behind each one? What is good and what is evil? The voice presses on, softly, sweetly and attempting to draw you in. Are you the one? Or, will you, too leave? What is destiny and what is fate? It leaves softly, with these questions lingering in your head and the faintest feeling of sorrow is left behind as the whispers fade completely.
Under the Sea Egg
Sunshine's yellow dances upon the curves of this very round shell, seemingly casting the egg aglow with soft jonquil from rounded end to rounded end. Haphazard sections of tiffany blue, however, have laid their own claim to the shell, serving as stripes along one side, fanning out from an invisible center-line, going from fat to skinny and back to fat before they've reached more than halfway around the shell. A pair of baby-blue spots appear opposite the tiffany blue, smaller though shaped equally as awkwardly, the very tip colored with flowing brushstrokes of the same pale hue.
Waves of Wonder flow briskly over your mind, tantalizing your senses before it floods your thoughts with the hues of the deep ocean. Curious tendrils of teal brush out, tickling a little as it tests the waters, edging just a little closer to the looming unknown that is your mind. Prussian blue begins to gain in prominence, here and there, the depth increasing, the pressure against your thoughts building noticeably. And then, suddenly there's a mental -push- against your core. Hi!

Waves of Wonder seem to be building momentum, the swells and troughs becoming defined as the motion of the waves carries your mind as you are enveloped in shades of turquoise. The pressure remains this time, lingering even as you do, a sense of eager curiosity taking over your consciousness, the presence seeming to simply -stare- in hopes of seeing what comes next. A flicker of light, a tint of yellow, and then the depths seem to take over once more.

Waves of Wonder rock and shift, as a storm seems to brew in the distance, the crystal hues of blue and green seeming to muddy, to stir. For a moment, it seems as if the presence will continue to linger, braving the unknown, but then abruptly its gone - plucked away from your consciousness - leaving you well and truly alone, surrounded by sand, not surf.
Haunted Maze Egg
The shell of this mid-sized egg is inky black with a faint shine along the upper curves. The smooth surface is decorated with a framework of white lines what dance across the shell, neatly forming a vague series of paths within a wider square. In the center is an almost-box - a square with one side partially missing, which contains a few colorful blobs. Elsewhere in this odd framework are scattered splashes of color: a green oval, a pair of red dots and a set of yellow crescents. Linking these is a nebulous series of white dots, which are present in all but the lower left quadrant of this square. In that quadrant, the paths are bare of white dots, with only a yellow circle that is missing a wedge present.
Fizzy Pools of Amber Liquid react to your touch, splashing against your mind in silky rivulets of sensation. Bubbles burst around you, scenting the air with a rich loamy flavor that lingers in your nose and mouth. As the liquid subsides, colors begin to invade your senses, trickling streamers of dark brown and black emerging while the amber fades away. Soon your mind is swathed in a heavy darkness, clinging to your thoughts and filling your nose with its thick, cloying scent. You can almost chew the air, there is such substance to it, but the feeling of presence is not threatening. Instead, it feels as though someone is looking at you from a great distance, examining your thoughts and feelings with no concern for your comfort with the experience. Beneath your hand a rapid, hard beat can be felt, pulsing against your touch as that presence peers deep into your mind, seeking that which makes you unique.

Fizzy Pools of Amber Liquid begin to tremble, sending flashes of light through the air and breaking up the oppressive darkness. Ribbons of gold, copper and amber spin out to replace the browns and blacks, cupping you in a shining halo of light. Froth tickles at your thoughts, soothing away any startlement and fear with its velvet caress as the light begins to explore your mind, touching on the most positive experiences in your memory and the highlights of your life. That velvet contact eels through your thoughts to find what makes you happy, tentatively touching each concept. Your reactions to its search are duly noted, a faint sense of acknowledgement emanating from the silky presence as it continues to wend through your history. Against your palm the pulsing has slowed, gentle and steady now as the mind seeks out resonance with you, bouncing from thought to memory and back again.

Fizzy Pools of Amber Liquid retract slowly, pulling away from your mind almost hesitantly as the soft yellows pale around you. That presence withdraws with the colors and scent, leaving a sweet, tacky residue in your mind as it finally settles into the pool it first emerged from to test, or was it taste, your mettle. All color seems to bleed away, sucking back into the mind to leave only the soft fizzing sound to dance against your ears. A faint scent tickles your nose, a hint of some unknown spice, before it too drifts away, drawn back into the mind that spawned it. Then slowly even the golden glow begins to fade, and with it the beat between your hand and the egg shell lessens, skipping and stuttering before it finally ceases. You are left much as you were when you started, except for that lingering tang in the air, a sticky flavor that remains with you even as all else has departed.
Face of Time Egg
This large egg is fairly simple at first glance, just a couple of black marks marring the otherwise pristine white shell. But closer inspection rapidly reveals that the marks are anything but simple themselves. Marching in a row about midway down the shell is a series of lines, some which are parallel, others which intersect at varying angles, in equally spaced grouping. There are twelve groups, all told, wrapped neatly around the shell. The top of the shell sports a not quite straight line, each point angling toward one of the characters that frame the shell. The longer branch of the line points toward a pair of parallel bars, while the shorter hand points at what looks like a 'V' with three parallel bars following right after.
Distant Rumbles of Thunder slowly become audible as you touch the egg, and a soft presence begins to notice you. The thunder echoes through your mind, rolling across a stark, empty plain overshadowed by brown clouds. Faint shocks tingle around you, static discharge against your mind that seems to prickle lightly across your memories. A sharp scent begins to fill your nose, almost ticklish, reminiscent of hot dust and scorched hair, and a metallic taste fills your mouth, dusty and thick. A light, dry wind swirls around your thoughts, tugging at your attention almost playfully before fading away as the clouds drift closer.

Distant Rumbles of Thunder come closer, becoming louder and more insistent as the static turns to streamers of lightning in the clouds. Brown brightens to green and yellow, a sickly blend, and the smell of ozone is overwhelming. Pressure builds as the tingling presence begins to gently search through your mind and body, sparking whenever it discovers interesting things. Memories of childhood and friendships are almost wholly ignored, but eating Those memories are pored over with intense scrutiny, and lightning pulses through the now blue and gray sky. The hot smell intensifies, the air itself seeming to shudder under the weight of the lightning, the clouds lowering and thickening.

Distant Rumbles of Thunder begin to fade, that prickly presence feeling heavy and full as it starts to disengage from your memories. The wind is back, but now it carries the promise of rain in the taste of the air, damp and heavy, and the rich scent of wetness catching in your nose and throat. The low clouds, now towering gray rain-makers, ripple with the last few splashes of lighting. A soft and warm touch, no caress, of that moist wind is the farewell of the now-full mind, replete from its feast on your memories, and ready to sleep away its repast. As the thunder continues to pass further and further away, taking with it the lightning, the first few drops of rain fall, speckling your mind with the contended pleasure of the egg's occupant as it drifts away.
Inscribed in Stone Egg
Rugged sandstone casts a weathered facade over the shell of this medium-sized egg. Rough brown shadows dominate over the surface; skeins of glittery silver-mica and splatters of mossy green and grey lichen intermingled with black cracks and streaks that appear across the shell. In a relatively smooth and unmarred area of the egg, right there in plain view, figures in off-white and grey appear to have been painted on — there, a stick dragon, its rider on it's back, spews streaks at curly tendrils that fall from the upper portion of the egg. And in another corner, uppermost, a burst of white can be seen — vaguely round, but with squiggly lines radiating from it, like an explosion. And there, along the base of the egg, a small handprint-shaped splotch can be seen — an artist's mark, perhaps.
Ruins of a Desert Empire awakens like a desert sunrise, slow and easy. Can you sense it? Hovering there on the edges of your thoughts? Just that little tickle of awareness that moves into your mind, like the skipping of a rock across a deep dark pool — ripples spreading outwards, seeking and investigating what might be found there.

Ruins of a Desert Empire stills for a moment, but as the investigative ripples die away, a sorrowed melody — almost that high pitched fluting sound trills, sustained notes that appears briefly in your mind as questing flashes of light and the smoke of incense sage invades your sense of smell; a dreamer's flutter there within your mind. "Who are you?" the question almost seeks to ask.

Ruins of a Desert Empire seems satisfied with what secrets it might be delving into within your thoughts — aloof, not this one. It almost seems as if it wishes to teach you something; patterns of shapes and colors that dance across the stony darkness of its thoughts. And then it falls silent, dropping once more into slumber.
The Left Behind Steps Egg
Whirls of color join together like a dance to some sweet melody, entwined along the entirety of the egg while twirling together in their dance. Red, blues, yellows, purples, and greens. Almost every color in a solitary rainbow pattern this egg with their dance, a soft sway to the music and quite formal at that, if one looks closely they can see the neat pattern of the dance steps they've left behind.
Transitions of Melody arrives with a gentle sweep of music, soft drum beats in the distance that travel closer and closer before rising into a flurry of pounding rhythm. Can you hear it? What this song is saying? With loud bum-bum-bums, explosions of color entering at every pound and fading as the next begins. Greens, yellows, reds, and blues fill your mind with each drum beat before this drummer heads off in it's intended path leaving you with the soft beat of it's retreat.

Transitions of Melody comes forth with the gentle sounds of flutes and pipes playing, each harmonizing in a wonderful way. Each plays the same melody, but all twined together so differently as they play this music to fill your head. Are you cheerful? Can you understand what is being celebrated? Perhaps not, but slowly it fades into a softer more lullaby like sound, playing it's way out and leaving you to your thoughts before the next arrival of sound.

Transitions of Melody dances on and brings forth another sound, this one unlike the singular-like sound of the others. A combination of sounds fills your ears, there are words but they are muted and cannot be understood. A rhythm follows this song, bouncing just so with bass that can make one want to dance along. Colors bounce out at every beat while a singular strand of colors follows along to the beat of the muted words before they all drift on out of your mind.

Transitions of Melody comes in with the final sound, silence filling your ears for now. Finally, there's a soft beep that rings in your ears before the sound begins. Beeps, boops, and other such sounds forming together in an odd sort of rhythm while occasionally a few muted words are said in a robotic like voice. Amusement is evident in this odd rhythm while colors bounce all over in zigzagged pattern before it all returns to the singular beep that rings in your ear before it fades out completely.
Timeless Monolith Egg
Deep shadows pool at the base of this egg, sweeping upward into long columns of slate that taper slightly at the top only to widen again into the span of a bridgelike oblong. Rough-hewn and pitted by time, pockmarks leave whorled, dark indentations along the surface of that stony color with no apparent rhyme or reason. Gleaming from between monolithic arms, the glimmer of sunrise peeks through, deep reds and golds reaching upward through the spectrum of rose to indigo of a wintry morning sky: the dawn of a new day, a new turn.
Whorls of the Vortex slips alongside your thoughts with a flare of prismatic color and the faint scent of water on pavement, tinged with something unidentifiable, the closest descriptor maybe the ozone tang of the air right before a storm breaks. Who are you really? Curiosity quests for answers through time and space.

Whorls of the Vortex flares more brightly, opening up vast vistas of color, spinning and turning like a kaleidoscope, prisms refracting, breaking out into stunning views of … eternity? Past, present and future might almost seem to collide as this young mind reaches for your memories with an innate understanding that what was, what is and what will be are all intimately interconnected.

Whorls of the Vortex dims the light show, drawing back so that the vast darkness of space and the quiet gleam of stars take the place of color, brightness and sound. There's a serenity to be found here, out in the black with that gentle diamond gleam murmuring dreams of Milky Ways and unsung futures that are, or are yet to be.
Patterns in Parchment Egg
Splotched and speckled, blackened points seem to form patterns against the backdrop of beige that makes up vast majority of this egg's rounded shell. Stains and worn spots seem to tint the shell like well used sheets of record hide. Darker lines of ash-tinted brown frame these strips of interconnected spots, crossing them at odd angles and disjointed places. Where the egg widens at the bottom, strands in a myriad of colors are bunched and bound together, seeming to cross each other in intricate patterns like those laid out by a careful hand.
Strands of Interwoven Light buzz into your mind with an ear-piercing sequence of high pitched whistles. The shrill tones mingle up and down the octaves in spurts of varying lengths until it almost seems too much, then they finally fade away into black. Connection established. A small flashing line of gray lingers in the corner of your eye, as if waiting for something. After a moment or two, the darkness gives way to arcs of ghostly blue which sweep across your consciousness. They reach out, touching here and there at the most forward of your thoughts, leaving a sensation of initial cold, which lingers into warmth and curiosity. Then, all fades again into the black behind your eyelids as if it had never been.

Strands of Interwoven Light hover at a distance, reaching out with tendrils of darkest blue which seem to lock into place at the corners of your eyes and glow with a steady thrum of energy. For a moment, it feels as if a second set of eyes are looking out through your own, moving them left and right without your control. What is it that you see? So many unknown things. Confusion mingles with a desperate need for understanding. A tingle forms at the base of your neck like tiny fingers touching most delicately. It pulls up image after image from your memories, questioning small things. Who is this? What is this? Where is this? The need growing ever stronger to find out more about this strange world.

Strands of Interwoven Light race in flashes of brilliant colors, weaving and interweaving like so many thoughts being drawn together along the tapestry of the mind. The lingering feeling of electricity seems to pulse in your fingers, lending the air around you a somewhat charged feeling. Excitement. So much to see. So much to experience. Could you be the key that unlocks it all? Fingers of radiant blue reach out, stretching to touch along your arms, legs with the faintest feeling of lingering pinpricks. When you move, it moves, echoing every heartbeat with a thrum that seems to resonate from somewhere deep inside.

Strands of Interwoven Light draw back hesitantly. Excitement is replaced by a deep longing that closes its grip around your heart. Images from your memories surface again. Is this what makes you who you are? The lights pulse like distant heartbeats in time with your own, as if trying desperately to emulate that living essence that sets you apart from all others. There are no memories for it to show you. So what does that mean? Is it memory alone that makes one real? Are you real? Will you share your dreams and memories? Each individual string of light that once touched ebbs away leaving a cold and lonely feeling behind. Still, behind it all, there is a lingering glimmer of some hope.
Beyond the Taboo Egg
Stoic and resolute, the shadowed eyes that gaze from the pebbly surface of this dark egg behold a timeless sea - ever seeking but never finding. Carved from a shell of black basalt, a protruding forehead, long nose and flat lips form an expressionless face retaining secrets that are as yet unrevealed.
Resonance in the form of butterfly wings brushes the palm of your hand with gentle strokes as you touch this shell, leading you to limpid turquoise waters and the pristine sugar-white sands of a tropical island. Sweet blossoms from the jungles that rim the shore perfume the air, but it is not the sound of gentle waves nearby that catches your ear. Afar off, an abrupt liberation of sound! Like the trump of an archangel that could cause walls of cities to fall down before so vast and compelling a summons, it pulls you inexorably toward the dense green depths of those jungles. It is both faint and an enormous peal inside your head that asks, nay demands to know, What is it that calls to you? Can you leave without knowing more?

Resonance begins as a prickling sensation, the stings of tiny insects that work their way up your arm and over your body. They're slight, a barely-there feeling, not enough to be more than vaguely uncomfortable. The sands fade into the always-twilight of a dank and noisome jungle, the stench of dead vegetation assails your nostrils. High above you soaring to lofty arboreal heights is the matted roof, while around you an aerial ooze of vegetation, a monstrous, parasitic dripping of decadent life-forms that are rooted in death and live on death. As arrows launched by unseen hands, the questions whiff by your ears, Will you live by yards or die by inches? Can you escape that which seeks to drag you under?

Resonance is a tickle in your nostrils that fills your senses with the sweet, sun-warmed scent of grass as if you are lying face down in tender new growth. Water, clean, cold and refreshing flows over your tongue, only to evaporate in a searing desert heat, leaving you parched and longing for more. You lift your head and see grasslands that would delight the eyes and beasts of any husbandman that extend, on and on, for leagues and leagues of velvet verdure. There's not a sound here but the sighing of the wind whispering, What seek you here? What is it you thirst for?
Mountain Citadel Egg
Perched upon almost inaccessible peaks, tightly fitted stones of rain-dampened gray enclose this egg, marching steeply up a windswept peak to the shell's apex in a terraced fashion of living green between dead rock. The bones of a city lost to time is caressed by clouds' wistful fingers, ghostly wisps that cling to boulders fashioned in mystery by hands long-departed.
Breaths of snow drift through your mind as your fingers touch this shell and the heat of the hatching sands fades to a pristine forest that sleeps in snow. Silence pervades as the chill sinks into your bones until soft and flute-like, a thought eases through your mind. It's a feeling of aching loneliness and waiting for far, far too long before the contact melts away.

Breaths of wind bear leaves that whisper a tale of woe even as they carry the scent of danger. Eddying on the breeze they murmur warningly, Do you fear the unknown or are you brave enough to face it?

Breaths of change tremble through the tips of your fingers as they touch the shell of this egg, increasing to a tremor as the hatching grounds seem to shudder beneath your feet, a rumble that surely others can hear asks, Are you prepared to fight me? All motion calms as brash laughter follows and a promise is made, I am ever your friend, if you are mine!
True Enlightenment Egg
Plumper at the base, this squat little egg is the color of aged bronze, metallic hues dulled by the passing of time as the shell sits in timeless watch. Yet, rather than seemingly smooth, shadows pool and gather over the shell, creating an illusion of rolls while ebony gathers in the 'creases'. Feather-like strokes of a brighter copper leave the sense of smiling lips, dark brown smudges those of welcoming eyes, and all together a sense of warmth and welcoming as it sits nestled amongst the sands of Xanadu Weyr.
Pathway to Greater Understanding does not push its way into your thoughts, it does not demand entry, it is simply there waiting for you to invite it in. A old and gentle soul is this one, filled with wisdom of it's own and the wanting to learn and know more. As softly as it came to you is as softly as it leaves, imparting to you the fact that there is always time for peace in this life of yours and more then enough to time share it.

Pathway to Greater Understanding seems to be a rather jolly soul, again easing away worries and stresses, opening up a place where the heat of the sands does not touch you. Here it shows you brief images of glades and forests, of clifftops and vistas, places that it has gathered over lifetimes or gleaned from the thoughts and memories of others it has visited with. There is a feeling that this mind will never leave you, not in this lifetime or the next for to it, it seems that it will always be reborn to be with the chosen soul that it knows it must be with. Are you it? it seems to ask.

Pathway to Greater Understanding is the light in the darkness, that which will always ease away worries and take away that which burdens. Even in this moment when the sands heat bite at your toes and soles, it is there to offer a safe harbor where you might rest at ease while it shows you again the true tranquility that it is. Here it is a soft golden light, a simple garden filled with the songs of avians, though amidst all this there is the feeling of suffering, a pain that will not go away and must be accepted. This mind knows in some way that all that it is trying to teach is from its own limited experiences and thus can be accepted by all that it touches.
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