Meet The Eggs: Winter 2013

These are the eggs for Sahazyth and Orionth's Winter 2013 clutch.

Egg Name Egg Touches
This From Afar Egg
Save for the feathered wings that cup the curve of this egg, the silhouette of sandy grains swirled across the pale shell's surface appear equine in nature: the figure's contours are combined to form a graceful, trim-legged, barrel-chested, lean-flanked conformation. Galloping on a flowing river of pure, clear water, drawing behind it a paradise of lush growth and flowering plants in riotous colors, this creature's joy and pleasure in its task is evidenced the playful arch of its neck, tossed mane, and excitement-flared nostrils of delicate muzzle. Gazing into yours, dark eyes full of wisdom from before the dawn of time, seek to impart a marvelous message of incomparable worth.
Streams in the Desert becomes furnace-like in its intensity and you might wonder briefly if something has again gone wrong with the heating units used to warm the sands. But gradually you become aware that you are no longer in the hatching grounds even though you are still standing upon sand. The ceiling above you has paled to brassy skies and the sun now beats down on your head and shoulders mercilessly. The stone walls have fled, leaving you stranded in a vast desert wilderness, empty and lifeless. There is nothing, not a sound save for the low moan as hot air currents eddy through stone crags and the dry screet of dead branches scratching sharp rockfaces. Alarming may be the sudden burst of wings whirring, the brief clatter of hoofs on stone that sends a small cascade of pebbles sliding, yet it too, surrenders to the reign of silence. A profound sense of loss and desolation settles around your heart. You are alone, isolated and will remain so forever. The scene fades and you are returned to the baking sands with a sense of relief so intense you might almost cry out.

Streams in the Desert draws you back to the wilderness - this time you stand amongst jagged boulders cast in shadows left by a retreating sun as the world stands at the edge of night. You feel you should go home but you are lost, unsure which way that is. The sky reddens, but there is no cooling relief with the twilight. A stiff breeze blows, the dry air sucks the moisture from you, sears your lungs, leaves your lips cracking and tongue parched. You are suddenly THIRSTY beyond reason and that breeze has become a gale force whipping at you with invisible claws, the howling in your ears maddening, the assault staggering. In the maelstrom a solitary figure draws near, seems to compel you to step inside. But where? There is nowhere to go! Suddenly you are within it, surrounded by its presence and sheltered. The wind is silenced, peace and tranquility reigns. The vision dissolves and you find yourself once again on the sands, but the thirst for a cooling drink lingers.

Streams in the Desert once more transports you beyond the hatching sands to the wilderness where a parched land shimmers beneath a baking sun. But what's this? There's a stir of hot breath upon your cheek, and borne on the dry breeze is the scent of wet rock, cooling as it steals about your face, stirring your hair and bringing with it the smell of ferns and moss, of orchids and lilies, of life and promise. A musical sound - the tinkle of water trickling into a peaceful pool changes to the hiss and froth of water leaping from boulder to boulder as it rushes down a cliff. The blast of mist hits you shortly thereafter, the moisture palpable after the desiccated feeling of this place. The grey jumble of rocks and cliffs sprouts green plants and spreading trees before your eyes, exotic and strangely wonderful, filling the air with the sweet scent of blossom and petal, fruit and vine, tender grass and green buds. Where desert had been is now an oasis, an Eden as far as the eye can see, laced with shaded pools, clear streams and sparkling rivers. Death has become life, promise has become fulfillment. As the water flows away to return to the gardens it made, it leaves you on the sands a final time, refreshed but longing for more.
Fanning the Flames Egg
Shades of red spiral over the curves of this mid-sized egg, twisting and writhing in a heated dance. The richest russet coats the base as though it were dipped in heart's blood, gradually bleeding upwards into a rich vermillion hue. Streamers of sanguine scarlet scintillate along the bulging curve of the egg's belly, twining with ribbons of ruby radiance, culminating on the crown in a coronet of crimson candescence. Tucked amidst the flames, several thick black lines streak outwards from the heart of the egg, slashing through the splendor to form the stylized shape of an avian, wings spread to embrace the fire.
Fires of Love are not a raging torrent of heat as might be expected, but rather the gentle warmth of the hearth fire. As the mind within this egg awakens to your touch, the scent of warm soup, fresh baked bread, and homemade cookies fills the air, and the light brightens almost imperceptibly, chasing the shadows from your mind. The wordless greeting is cheerful and just a touch sleepy, as though your coming had awakened it from a long sleep. Still, there is no censure within the unformed mind which touches yours with a soft, welcoming caress, but only joy at meeting you. Ribbons of soft color, pastel yellows and pinks, with the faintest tinge of orange, surround your mind and wrap it in the silk-soft embrace of the sunrise. Welcome sings in the tinkling of tiny bells, and if there are no words, there is a definite sensation of sweet pleasure and affection, for all that the inhabitant of this egg has only just met you.

Fires of Love do not diminish once they welcome you - if anything, the sensation of adoration grows stronger, the brightness growing, though never strong enough to cause discomfort. That soft chiming of bells is mere background noise, never intrusive, but always present. The heat envelops you like an old friend, a comfortable cloak worn against the chill of winter. Vaguely, the mindscape around you takes shape - rolling hills with summer-seared grasses, green leafed trees, the bright blue of a wandering stream, all drenched in the midday sun - nothing but tranquility as far as the mind can see. This young mind does not force itself upon you, but rather hovers just out of reach and out of sight, watching to see what you do in this peaceful setting, curious - yes, there is curiosity - but not invasive. It clearly wants to know more about you, but asks rather than takes, letting you give yourself to it at your own pace.

Fires of Love are not endless, and despite its boundless cheer and peace, the unformed mind in this egg is not without limits. Slowly, the heat dissipates, until it is a mere memory of soft warmth on your mind. The colors stream away, fading into the growing darkness like the last rays of the sunset sinking below the horizon. The bells tinkle off into silence, stilled for the night, and the scents of home baked goods and cinnamon waft away on the last of the evening breeze. Soon, there is only you and that vague sensation that will someday be a dragon's mind, lingering just out of sight. A wistful goodbye brushes across your mind, along with the sensation of time both distant and distinct. Someday, you will meet again. But not today. Good night, sweet friend.
Talons of the Storm Egg
Against the blackened hues of its clutchmates, this egg shines with a vicious incandescence. Storm clouds have attempted to mutilate its brilliant surface, but they have failed, bullied and relegated to the far side of the shell to linger in shame. The rest of the egg is shattered by a thousand lightning strikes, each bowing into white-hot, agonized existence. They rake across the shell like talons, rendering it in twain, and twain, and twain again, until there is little left but a sharp and ageless wisdom waiting to emerge from the luminescent eyes of the storm.
Indefinite Wisdom peers at you from out of the dark clouds of the egg's shell, those luminescent eyes staring straight into your very being. Like floodlights, they seem to swivel to and fro, harsh at first, but increasingly tolerable as you grow used to the light. Those small, uncomfortable things that one likes to forget are illuminated, examined, then left alone with a smooth sense of tact and intuition, moving instead to rifle through more recent, happier memories. It swoops down and then dangles a particular recollection from one mental talon, as if to say, and how do you explain this? Mmm?

Indefinite Wisdom bubbles with soft laughter, bright eyes blinking, the sound of ruffling feathers echoing in your mind. Never mind, it didn't mean anything by it. It was merely curious. Replacing the memory, the egg's mind waddles awkwardly along the ground, turning its head from side to side, illuminating lights spinning dizzily through your thoughts. Finally they land on something in particular, a moment where you had to be particularly brave. Indefinite Wisdom sobers, then, showing its age as it gathers the memory up in dark wings, as though hoping to learn more of it through osmosis. Sharp eyes focus on you, searching, questioning, wondering from what depths you pulled this inner fortitude. It is impressed, and it wants to know.

Indefinite Wisdom drops the memory and alights again with a soft rush of wings against air. It is quiet for a moment, internalizing this information before one bright eye peeks open. A rush of gratitude fills your mind, the egg seeming to say, thank you for sharing so much with me. Now I have something to give you. It is a brief rush, storm-like winds whipping at your clothes, the sound of thunder suddenly erupting in your ears… and then the images. Images of every time and place there ever was, and ever will be, all in one swift wash that your mind will never be able to remember, except perhaps in your dreams. It leaves you with a sense of elation, however, and perhaps just a touch of the sort of confidence that only wisdom can inspire.
Scurryings Quick and Clever Egg
It might be difficult, at first, to distinguish this egg from any common bit of mud-splashed stone. It's oddly shaped, slightly too narrow and a bit smaller than the others. Sable brown dominates over all the other colors on the surface, alternating between light and dark as if highlights have been layered onto a deeper backdrop of earthen hues. Gray swirls in various shades near the base, with little slashes of black that curl together. A larger swatch of fleshy-pink encircles the egg at an awkward angle, tapering off to a point as it curls near the top. There is a textured look about it, too, as if tiny feet had trailed dirty footprints all over, darkening some areas and lightening others. The most striking feature, though, is a single spot of crimson that colors one side. It looks quite out of place among the rest of the more natural colors, like a watchful, waiting eye.
Tiny Skittering Feet sound against stone, as if something were moving around in the galleries. Surely they wouldn't allow tunnelsnakes to get this close to dragon eggs, would they? No… wait. It's getting /closer/. There's nothing there, though! Then, all is quiet for a moment before a feeling of something small comes crawling across the skin of your arm, pricking up gooseflesh where the phantom sensation touches. It's a feeling that might be entirely unsettling, if it weren't for the presence that comes with it, like something small and curious looking at you with the wide eyes of a child. Hello?

Tiny Skittering Feet have halted their antics for the moment, taking the time to watch before reaching out again with interest. For a moment, tiny hands sort through your memories, inspecting some, discarding others, but it all leaves more questions. The world that you've seen is a huge and wondrous place, but what is it that you cherish most? What is the one shining thing in your life that you hold dear, and what is it that you wish most long for? The questions leave vague impressions, seeking and finding only what you offer in exchange. This one is quick, nosing into your adventures, however mundane you might think they are.

Tiny Skittering Feet stop rifling through your memories for the moment, turning their attention back to the present. All the curiosity and child-like qualities of this quiet mind seem to be backed with intelligence and consideration. Whatever it is that you seek to achieve - whatever goal it is that you long for with your dearest wish - what are you willing to do in order to hold it in your hands? Will you face the challenges that come with bravery? Or with a keen mind? With loyalty, or charm? It isn't just for your sake that it asks, but for its own. There is only /one/ who can be chosen first, but are you the one that will win the race? There is a brush of whiskers, and then the feelings vanish as their owner skitters away to other adventures.
Colorful Field of Flowers Egg
This egg is a kaleidoscope of vibrant color. From a base of verdant green sprouts flowers in hues of scarlet, azure and golden hues and all shades in between. One can almost make out the intricate vine-work beneath the flowers flowing across the surface of the egg, leading you to the next cluster of vivid blossoms. As the vine-work is carefully followed towards the apex of the egg the brightness of the colors seem to intensify. Hidden within the vines and flowers one can almost see little colorful birds flitting about top of the egg, perhaps working their way through the tangle to escape from the surface. Their variegated array of feathers find camouflage in the bountiful array of colors that explode on the surface of this egg.
Lover's delicate touch reaches ever so gently into your mind, seeming to caress you with a feathery touch. That subtle touch seems to explore deep into your consciousness, gentle, and coaxing. "Who has come to pay homage to me? Are you worthy of my attention?" It seems to say into your mind as it oh so delicately explores the memories and thoughts you hold on the surface of your mind.

Lover's delicate touch seems to explore even deeper into your mind. Those surface thoughts disregarded. This one wants to touch into your inner core. It slowly moves through layer upon layer, moving deeper into your memories and who you are. Each layer examines and disregarded. It has not found what it is looking for yet. Not the you that you show the world, but that part of you hide from it. That is who it is looking for as it delicately shifts through each part of your mind. Who do you surround yourself with and why? Why do you do those things? Do you really enjoy doing that or is there something else your heart is truly set on?

Lover's delicate touch finally reaches that inner core it was looking for it seems as the searching suddenly stops. It feels like gentle fingers are ever so softly caressing that secret part of you. Now this is what I was looking for. Do you even know this exists? Such longings and desires that you hide from the world! Do you hide them from yourself as well? Release it and become who you were meant to be! That tender touch continues to stroke this true self, a lover's touch, soft and inviting, trying to coax that self out. It remains for some time, nestled beside you, warm and sensual. Finally though that presence uncoils itself from around your mind and slowly departs, seeming to trail a soft touch through your mind before finally disappearing.
Still Waters Run Deep Egg
The wonder of the sea is captured within the fragile shell of this smallish egg, bubbling forth from a base of rich navy blue. As the sapphire hue creeps over the curving belly of the egg, it lightens to chill cobalt, streamers of creamy foam twisting through the azure waves. Near the apex of the egg, where the curving sides meet at a near point, the color lightens more, a crest of cornflower spilling into a fountain of percolating periwinkle. Rising from beneath the glassy surface of the egg, wavering slashes of black radiate outwards across the belly, curving and twisting into the sinuously stylized shape of a serpentine dragon.
Turbulent Oceanic Currents rage around you the moment your fingers touch the shell of the egg, sweeping across your mind and forming a chill whirlwind as they drag you into the depths of the ocean. Though the sensation of water hangs heavily on your mind, thickening the air in your lungs and stiffening your limbs, there is no sense of danger - this mind will not let you drown. For all its care in preserving your life, however, there is no such concern over your sanity or your privacy, and its chill fingers that pluck at your thoughts, sifting through memories with blatant disregard for your rights. Its curiosity is a distant thing - less personal and more objective. It doesn't seem to care much about who you are as to what you are - your motivations, your hopes and dreams, and, from those memories upon which it lingers, the ambitions that drive you higher.

Turbulent Oceanic Currents are clearly pleased you have not tried to flee their icy grasp. Approval for your courage washes over you in streams of chill periwinkle and frosted cobalt. The richness of peppermint pervades the air, accompanied by the tangy, throat-searing scent you may not recognize as menthol. There is a sound, but it cannot be called music - dissonance, rather - wind-chimes in a strong breeze, singing mournfully into the oceanic depths. Having invaded your privacy once, this young mind does not seem disinclined to do so again, but this time rather than perusing your desires, instead it studies your past - what brought you to it at this time, in this place. What threads has fate woven in your life to bring you here, where the waters hold sway over the unwary?

Turbulent Oceanic Currents are not at all displeased with you - whatever it has found in your mind, that you are still here is a mark of the strength of will which drives you. Having tested your mettle against the chill depths of the oceans, the currents lessen, driving you upwards from the darkness towards the chill cobalt of the winter sea. The pressure which held limbs and lungs captive eases, and breath, movement, and thought come more easily. No more does this young mind try to invade yours - it has what it wants, after all. Now that it knows the depths of you - now that it has shown you its own depths, it is ready to let you go. For now. As your head breaks the surface, the currents retreat back to the depths, leaving only the impression of impersonal farewell and a faint foreboding. There will be another meeting, another time. Count on it.
Guardian of the Ancient Forest Egg
In the darkest of places, there is still light. Shadows play across verdant greenery. Swatches of various shades laid on top of each other like the leaves of a tree or the scales of a dragon. Emerald and black show against a base of chestnut and russet which stick out in pointy lines like thick bramble. Here and there, between the canopy, there are hints of other colors, too. A flash of white here, a pattern of mahogany there, each one stands out like some great beast lurking in the shadows. If that is so, it encircles the entire egg, prowling closer to those who dare approach. Between the leaves at the very edge where it seems like the monster might curl around back onto itself, there are a pair of glowing yellowed eyes that stare from the darkness, narrowed to mere slits.
Rumblings in the Darkness come from all around, the world slowly blacking out as if night has fallen, but only for you. It's a frightening prospect at first, with only the beating of your own heart thundering in your ears. No, it isn't just that. There is a sound of water somewhere nearby, trickling over the rocks in a stream. The smells of fresh, open air come into your nose like distant places, with the lush scents of some forest out of a dream. Even there, though, there lurks something. A sound rumbles a challenge as something large steps towards you. There's no sign of what it is, just the sound of heavy footfalls. The essence of something that will be. It seems to be testing you, are you brave enough to stand your ground against an unknown? Will you run?

Rumblings in the Darkness linger closer now, like some deep basal chuckle. You stayed. You have passed the test. A warmth totally unlike the sands washes over, like sliding into warm furs on a cold night. There is no danger here, not from whatever this force is that curls itself next to you like some oversized feline. There is that strange feeling, like this is a wild thing - a creature like those fierce cats that you hear about sometimes, raiding the farms or having to be hunted when they encroach onto human settlements. It's different though. A warm presents settles itself against you, rumbling affection and approval of your courage. It will not harm you. It could be yours, if… you answer the call. The beast rises, almost as if it were rising within you, urging you to run, drawing you to adventure. Will you come? Will you race the wind?

Rumblings in the Darkness call to you, quickening your heartbeat with the thrill of the hunt. For that briefest of moments, your mind becomes that of the beast. Heavy feet tread over wet ground, the smells of the forest fresh and clean in your nose. Everything is excitement. There is a pure, unbridled joy in just running with this body that is yours, theirs… trying to outrun the wind and catch hold of something more elusive than any prey. Two hearts, two minds, but one great, amazing road to anywhere that is spread out before you. This is what your life could be if you are strong enough to try. The moment ends abruptly, leaving you on the edge of the riverbank. On the other end, there is a wisp of something - a tail vanishing into the underbrush. The Guardian turns back, looking at you from the trees, silently wondering if you will be the one to cross the river and face this adventure. Then, it is gone.
Primordial Philosopher Egg
Glittering coils wrap themselves about this egg, scintillating, sinuous, sinister. All manner of colors are represented, from exotic gold, to silky white, to a mottled mahogany, each color layered one over another in an endless amalgamation of scales. Here and there, a verdant shade of harlequin makes itself known, an inkling of happiness betwixt hazard stripes of lemon-yellow and tangerine. Blood-orange red pools about the base of the shell, perhaps another blended marking, perhaps something far more disquieting. Somewhat oblong, this egg sprawls across the heat of the sand, basking like some great tortile beast. This languid repose is belied only by the subtle notion that it might just be biding its time, waiting to strike.
The Subtle Savant slips into your psyche, light as a breath, soft as a touch, so much so that should it not have alerted you to its presence, you may never have known it was there. Something coils, though, in the corner of your eye, in that spot that you cannot see no matter how you may turn your head. It sits. And it bides. And it thinks long, slow, complicated thoughts… and then it slithers forwards, curiosity and simple manners driving it to introduce itself somehow. Greetings, it thinks towards you with a brush of cold scales against the small of your back. What brings you here? It has been so alone for seemingly so long, after all, left to its quiet and never-ending contemplations. Why now do you come here? There is a subtle mental pressure about your spine and stomach, as though something has wrapped itself about you until you can come up with an appropriate answer.

The Subtle Savant ponders for a too-long moment, then moves again, the invisible pressure winding about your person before resting a heavy weight upon one shoulder. It is a gesture of comfort, not of suffocation, like the arm of a friend slung across your shoulders. It sees. It understands. It is not upset that you have come, it was merely… curious. Yes. Curious. That is the word. There is another moment of thought, and then it wonders, what makes you curious? What drives you to want to think, and act, and go out, and learn more in the world? It knows only its own motivations, and yearns to know what kind of things can spur others to greatness. Coils tense with anticipation, and perhaps with the hope of keeping you here until it can hear what you have to say.

The Subtle Savant digests that with the sensation of coils sliding along your clothing, arching up over your shoulder to pool about your neck like a cold boa. Curiouser and curiouser, it seems to think, some part of your mind understanding that it is giving a slow nod of acceptance. Fair enough. It is self-involved enough that it questions no further, but instead leaves a last, complicated question hanging in the air as it slides back into its own shell: when we cease to exist in someone’s memories, where do we go?
Diamonds in The Sky Egg
Like moonshine, this egg sparkles with a bright luminescent gleam, practically a self contained vessel of illumination. It lies on the sands a diamond upon the black night sky, beautiful in the cosmic glow, a plump and rounded shape. Crystals of silver arc across the softly curved shell, spider-webbing to catch a rainbow of color. Such colors are glittering with a prismatic burst of vivid energy, spreading dots, streaks, and speckles lusciously in an abstract mirage across the surface span of the egg. Burning in contrast upon the glittering apex of the shell is the dark menacing essence of the sky falling in. A star out of control, too late, its life snuffed, showing the smoking ruin of its shadowy tail billowing behind it as it falls, hurtling in a crazy jagged descent to the base of the shell. The friction of the dead star falling ignites the area around it with gold, fanning the explosive dust outwards in a motley of disarray and radiance.
The Energy of Sunshine consumes you in a rapturous yet blinding embrace, stealing away your basic of senses. Your vision is gone, your thoughts a blur as the radiance of the light commands your focus. Maybe your sense of smell will be contorted, betraying you, tricking you into the hint of sage grass, a pure cleansing smoke. Do not fear these changes, it is a temporary adjustment, as long as your connection with the egg remains, this too, will. Think of it as if you were walking outside into a bright sunny day after hours spent in a dark cavern, a glowing warmth that leaves you paralyzed during the moment it takes for your eyes to adjust. It is no different here, the adjustment is strange. There is something sharing it with you, experiencing the universal shift between ones own thoughts and the addition of a second mind. This will take time, to ensure a fair assessment. Whatever it is, something is ever moving within the essence of your being, until at some point, the connection is broken and you are returned to the life you know, your own, no other thoughts intruding, just you.

The Energy of Sunshine fills you with warm radiance, the embrace welcoming as if a mother's arms. It is a comforting and most tender of touches, gliding over your senses, taking a deeper assessment of who you are, though there is a hint of familiarity, knowing you from before. Of course, there is that deeper rooted exploration that the shift in slipping into your mind promised before. With a sharp mind, it gently prods at the basis of who you are, studious of those things you want to hide, particularly interested in these places only you know and you have kept away from others. A careful analysis is taking place, why would you keep something like that secret? Does it bother you that much, that you would keep even those you love in the dark? What is the importance of this hidden mystery and how does it affect who you are? What will happen if someone knows what you hide? Do you fear the consequences or are you simply embarrassed? The questions are ceaseless, inquisitions that seem to be direct from the individual within… or is it? Could it be simply your own mind asking the questions the longer you touch the shell. Could it be your self-conscience admitting to the maternal presence who joins you, to be open and honest with it, revealing who you are and who you could be with it? It's hard to tell exactly what is going on. Slowly it becomes too overwhelming, both for you and for the combination of the mind with you, the catalyst to the immediate separation from the mind within.

The Energy of Sunshine is one that never sits still, never entirely quits, and strives for perfection. Yes, the last moment of connection it had with you was overwhelming and yes it made you reflect on your secrets, but how else will you grow if not to accept what is and quench the fear in your gut? Happily, it is with you again, accepting of what you bring with you. Now, you are invited to share in its most enchanting piece of itself. On some adventure, you are transported to a vista, of your own day dreaming, opening you to the experience it wishes to share, a image in particular, a dwelling in which it resides. Your thoughts are delightfully shown the wonders of the earth - beams of sunshine cast through an endless forest of trees, smattering the ground in a magical and ever weaving dance of light. A comforting warmth embraces you again, guiding you gently toward the walk underneath the boughs of junipers and pine, underneath the canopies of skybroom and birch, oak, and every other type of tree that can be contained in a forest. The sweet smell of fresh air brings with it a sense of refreshment, a contentment, an ease in all the muscles in your body and only after the passing of quite sometime will you realize your connection with the shell is over and it had left you in a wonderful trance of peace.

The Energy of Sunshine glitters like sunshine over water, alive with musical skips sparkling upon a liquid surface. Merriment of something spectacular keeps it from fully realizing you have come yet again. A great amount of love and adoration spills out, an over abundance of brightness and warmth, smothering until you can no longer handle it. Perhaps it is wise to leave this jovial one to its own devices for now.
Anthem of the Ages Egg
The edge of night enfolds this dichromatic egg in ebon skies across which a timeless saga is etched in sparkling testimony across the heavens, each diamond-sprinkled form containing a part of the whole and placed by a careful hand. Invisible save for glittering stardust etching each feathered pinion, a mighty eagle ascends to the skies, one of its talons is clutching a slain serpent, the other, a harp, the silver cords of which quiver, giving voice to a song, mysterious, eloquent and triumphant.
The Song is barely audible at first, growing in volume gradually in much the same way the eastern horizon pales before the coming dawn. The faint strains of lilting melody that tickles your ears with joy and morning's bright promise is for your ears alone. No one else on the sands can hear it as your hand touches the surface of the egg, warm beneath your hand. There is nothing else - no odd sensations or visions - you are still on the hatching sands, the sight of Sahazyth and Orionth, the other candidates all remain and the sands are as hot as ever beneath your feet, but oddly, the voices around you are muted. Have you gone deaf? But no, you can still hear the music, which has grown a little louder now. It is only a tune, no words, but still you understand it: everything is right in the world, and there are so many wondrous things to share with you. You are perfect, you are loved beyond measure. Will you trust?

The Song changes, the tempo slows, the tone becomes muted and dark as though someone has dropped a veil across Rukbat casting the world in deep shadow. The ballad is now one of profound disappointment, the lament of one betrayed and abandoned as the liquid notes weep in mourning. You are precious, cherished, and much beloved, but you've been stolen away. You've been lavished with tender care, but went willingly to be enslaved to a cruel taskmaster. Anger ripples, an undercurrent in the theme, a firm refrain of intent to take back what belongs, to crush the enemy, to free you from captivity. Sorrow mingles with devotion, a promise made and kept regardless of your capricious, fickle heart and a trade is made, a life for lives. You are forgiven, you are loved beyond measure. Will you believe?

The Song becomes stately, the majestic rhythm now one of fierce victory and profound joy. The beloved is won back from death, the ransom paid. The war is over, the enemy crushed, forever defeated and now the world will live in peace. The music changes keys and tempo yet again, the tune takes flight as a bird freed from a cage, rising to flirt with the wind and skip on the clouds. A rapturous aria now, the liquid notes that dance in your ears is a sweet lyric of blissful reunion - nevermore will the two of you be apart. You are perfect, you are loved beyond measure. Will you come?
Luck in the Water Of Lilies Egg
Serene, this oval egg is gently set awash in cerulean blue, rippled with the mirroring color of the islands of viridian green and blossoms of magenta and surprisingly beautiful egg white. It's a splendid sight, peaceful, lucky as some might say it, to have such brilliant color, a pond upon the sands, full of life, an illusionary world contained in the curves of shell. Beyond the veil of water, upon closer look, as luck would have it, further color is found quite bold and striking against what has already been spread upon the shell. Here and there, signs of fish, some large manner of fish, strange in the way colors of orange and white, even spots of black and yellow, blend in mottled patterns as large mouths reach for the surface. They cluster together in handfuls, in one spot, or two, as if some greater hand was spreading crumbs for them to feed upon. The fish have a gentle look to them, no sharp teeth or spikes to speak of, only large fat bodies lazily settled about one another, relaxed in the garden of lilies and water.
Splashes of Spiritual Journeys begin only with a solemn whisper. Words are inaudible and altogether moot, instead the sense of them ghosting through your mind is like a wind through the reeds, instilling in you some inkling of the adventure to come. There is a grave understanding that it and you, in this instance, are two separate individuals driven together to take the same path and that at any point, one of it can end it for the other. A haze starts to ensnare your thoughts, lifting you from the reality of your world in that smoldering hatching sands, setting you into a lush illusionary world completely and utterly set below the waters of the world. There it thrives, splashing as it rips above the surface of its kingdom, only to crash back down in a collision of bubbles that tickle the fins. Fins? Do not think overly about it, or else your journey will end too soon. Instead, come with it, dive with it, play with it, listen to the music of water breaking and the rolling of the sea. Ease yourself into the adventure, of glimmering fins and scales, of wonders it can share with you. Do not think of who or what you are, let yourself become immersed in this journey, let your burdens fade away. Come deeper, there is much it has to show you…

Splashes of Spiritual Journeys is continued with the rush of excitement as your decision carries you down into the depths with it. The further down the cooler your skin will feel, the heat of the sunshine not filtering down to where you are headed. Keep coming, follow, and soon enough a castle of coral and sand rises up in front of your vision. There is pride in the twinkling spires of sand that rise to be topped by rounded domes, guarding the colorful and vibrant fish-filled kingdom below. A kingdom? Think of it as a great Weyr, trapped below the seas, where anything is possible as you swim through it. Bubbles continue to pop and burst around you, each movement causing more to swarm about you, nibbling on your flesh. But here is not where the journey ends, only begins, yet, it is a stopping point, where rest is warranted and supplies are necessary. It is up to you if you wish to continue, into the vast unknown, where dangers lurk and discoveries await.

Splashes of Spiritual Journeys picks up with an underwater hum and washes of water swirling about, approving of your continued interest in this grand adventure. All is accounted for, now, it heads onwards, telling a story of memories picked up along the way, indulging in memories you have as well. Those things that are joyous it spends a great deal upon, spinning in a playful manner all about them. At great length time seems to flow by, further and further from the reaches of that beautiful kingdom of lively coral and beautiful fish. Instead, there is looming darkness as the water becomes murky. The playfulness turning into caution as it touches dark memories of your past and those things that you fear the most. A mouth of a cave becomes apparent in the murkiness, gleaming with a hint of treasure at the end, but also the frothing of some miserable beast within. Is it worth the risk? Only the true adventurers will find out.

Splashes of Spiritual Journeys is nearly over! And you have not abandoned it! Truly wonderful! Except, there is the danger! The fleeting glimpses of teeth and claw surround you, the further you enter that cave. Darkness fills your senses and only the partnership of the mind within you is there to guide you through that eternal pitch. A monstrous roar chases you deep within the chasms. Your heart beats loudly as you face the unknown, perhaps the most fearsome thing of all. The touch helps you, inspires you to race on, to get to the shinies. And at last, you find it, a great hoard of lustrous flowers that dance brilliantly with the currents of the waters teasing them in all directions. You're in luck! They are very important to the kingdom under the sea and now you have successfully discovered their hidden location and outran the jaws of the beast! Now, wasn't that fun! Maybe sometime soon another adventure can be had.
Under a Watchful Sky Egg
At first glance this egg looks rather boring, a brown base with a black top. Its plainness may well invite inspection. As one looks closer the browns seem to come alive like the long grasses of the plains. The grasses seem to sway as one moves around the egg, giving a hint of a gentle breeze or is it something more sinister? Could the motion be a hunter moving through the grass? In one facet it seems a flight of arrows bearing down on its target. At its peak there seems be fragments of diamonds speckling over its surface, giving hint of a night sky overlooking the plains. One larger speck seems like a full moon giving light to the hunter down below.
Captured by Moonlight you are now the focus of the creature inside this egg. It seems to prowl on the outskirts of your mind as you are now caught in its sights. There is nowhere to hide, nowhere to run as the bright light of the moon shines clarity onto your mind. What does it seek? What knowledge does your mind hold? Will you share it willingly or must it fight its way in?

Captured by Moonlight your mind suddenly seems like it has been pounced upon. A wild force trapping you under its mental claws and it seems to dig through your mind. There is something feral and yet purposeful to its actions. Will it find what it seeks? Occasionally there are pauses in the searching as it happens upon some memory or another. Why did you do that? What did you hope to gain? Did you learn anything from it? All these thoughts seem to flow through you as it goes through your history.

Captured by Moonlight the intensity of the attack seems to lessen as the creature seems to learn more about you. Yet it still makes its way through your memories, moving closer to the present. Who is that Person? Why do you feel that way about them? Have they taught you anything about life? The thoughts come in a whir before suddenly the presence leaps out of your mind and goes back into the shadows leaving you in darkness as though clouds crossed over the moon.
From Ground to Air Egg
Blues of all shades adorn this egg as it rests in the warmth of the sands, gracing every curve of this ovoid. The majority of this egg is a blue tinted with hints of green, wave upon wave of seafoam edge the sea that bathes across the surface in the middle of the oval-shape. On the bottom can be spied brown, like fresh-dampened dirt, crooked streams of crystal blue weaving their way over the ground beneath the bright green canopy of trees, a bubbling brook cutting across the new-growth forest. Along one side of this landscape can be spotted rising mountains, green and brown fading into snowcapped mountains at their peaks. Rising from the sea, or maybe falling from above is the silvery-blue sprinkling of raindrops which fall from fluffy white and gray clouds that grace the bright blue sky on the upper half of this egg. Upon the apex, a flash of yellow sunshine sends its soft warm rays down over the clouds.
Incoming Tidal Wave starts out as a soft wave, lapping against the shore that is your mind, testing and teasing your senses with the scent of the sea, bringing forth little tidbits of color to scatter across your mind like bits of shells and rocks. The wave grows, however, as the mind within becomes stronger, plucking bits from your mind to withdraw into its own, offering forth its own take and opinions on those tidbits in another wave that rushes against your brain. Growing bolder, ever bolder, the wave's size and strength increase, furiously plucking bits and pieces of your past and present away for its own adjustments. You did it that way? Well, why not try it this way instead, it will increase efficiency twofold. The ebb and flow of this mind against yours continues for hours, or is it just mere moments? Have you gotten lost in the soundscape of the ocean yet? Finally, into your past the mind delves, was it dark or bright and hopeful? It wants to know, it needs to know so that it may twist it into its own vision. But twisting and turning general ideas into complex ideas is difficult work, and so at last it withdraws some, grabbing as much information as it can before the wave fades from your mind.

Incoming Tidal Wave slides against your mind again, brushing it with a light feathery touch of warmth and soon you are floating upon that warmth, rising upwards and outwards into the sky. Warm soft brushes of wind slip against your brain, upwards higher and higher you float as the sea below grows farther and farther away. But what's this? Cooler air threatens against your mind, the cottony white of softness pillowing you gently. It's a pleasant sort of feeling of leaving the physical world behind as you're pushed upwards towards the heavens. The temperature is changing again, the cold creeps through your very bones, chilling and making the trip less than pleasurable as it twists and turns against your mind. The fluffy white clouds darken with each moment, turning into soft gray and then black as the storm brews, flashes of lightning here and there amongst the darkness. Thunder rumbles as the cold steadily increases, and soon you might find your body and mind numb from it, the warmth of the sands you stand upon is momentarily forgotten in a gray haze. And then… then the gray fades away leaving you floating amidst nothingness, pure silence and nothingness.

Incoming Tidal Wave pushes against your mind, the pressure of a storm filling your brain as suddenly you are on the move again, being pushed downwards towards the ground amidst a droplet of pure clean water, leaving you upon the ground once more. The liquid droplets of the mind within this egg are suddenly there showering down over your body, leaving you soaked through. It's a gentle rain, at first, light little sprinkles of refreshing water but it turns into something stronger as the wind against your face increases and soon those soft sprinkling droplets grow larger and hit harder against your skin, leaving it stinging. Will you seek shelter or will you be bold enough to brave the storm? That stinging rain crisscrosses over your mind, leaving its mark upon your thoughts. The air is growing colder once again, the temperature dropping despite the heat of the sands against your feet, soon the stinging rain turns into numbing sleet against your brain. The sleet seeps through your body, leaving it exceedingly colder with every moment, chilling every inch of your body. Will you pull away from this cold sleet? Or will you stay and brave it through? Remain and you shall be rewarded, retreat and you may never know what comes next. Finally, after what may seem like an eternity of the icy sleet, it starts to soften into gentle powdery snow. Each snowflake different than the other as it brushes over your cheeks and nips playfully at your nose. See the variety? It's like the mind within this egg, every piece different and changing. The snowfall is short, and soon it's fading as well as the sun peeks through those clouds above. The cycle is now complete and free to start anew, will you join it?
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