Clutch 24 - Eggs

Dam: Gold Shadhavarth
Sire: Bronze Tzettenvonth
Number of Eggs: 9
Egg Theme: Angels and Demons
Winter/Spring 2014

Blight Upon the Sands Egg
This egg is a sea of deep, dark crimson. Covered in such a bloody red, this egg almost seems to pulse in the heat of the sands as if ticking away the hours until its imminent destruction. Through the red is weaved a web of darkened pointy lines, forming a scaly pattern of sharp islands amongst the crimson sea. On one side a line of diamond shaped colorings can be found. These are lighter in color, a greyish white of storm clouds or old bones. This trails up towards the top where two dark pits of maroon and then black sit. They seem to swirl down with their pattern of scales, down to two white glowing orbs. Sightless eyes that pulse along with the rest of the egg, feeling and sensing the world around it. Below these pits drip stalactites of the boney grey. These tears are sharp as needles at the end, ripping out into the bloody scales below.
Blossoms of Desire Egg
Glazed with a pearlescent sheen — that when combined with the shimmered heat of the hatching sands — seems to radiate a glowing nimbus of effervescent purity. Against the ivory whiteness of the shell, colors swirl and dapple across the curving surface like indelible tattoos of floral imagery. Limed in thinnest lines of black, a brush stroke of butterfly shaped petals dolloped by butter yellow, the bloom of alyssum is seen, bracketed by flowing petals of balm and the green of bryony. Elsewhere, elegant petals of camellia pink twines with ethereal snow and yellow of cereus contrasted by the bright blood red hue of a dahlia. And so too the rosy pink, white and yellow of eglantine sweetbriar makes its mark across the shell, curling with gentian blue and the royal lavender shades of heliotrope before giving way to the long snowy strands of jasmine flower which in turn lies dominated by the overlying presence of mandrake purple as the alabaster of orchis — limbed by a single drop of burgundy red in ifs midst. Finally, giving way to all, is the tiny star shape white petals of valerian — yielding in perfect harmony with the rest.
Petrified in Time Egg
This old and weathered form is nestled upon the sands, an ovoid stone mingling with the eggs as though it was meant to be there from the very beginning. The surface is a uniform static slate, from the very apex of this rough textured shell down to the very base where creeping tendrils of bronze faintly shimmer in the light, rising up as though they were there remnants of a former glory eroded from the harshness of the sands. Those same tiny flecks of bronze are barely seen on the top of the shell, overwhelmed by rough pits of onyx and alabaster emerging through the slate. Two soft blushes of those alabaster tones center themselves side by side on the front of the egg, as though the very shell wishes to hide it's fate. This stony egg might have been a thing of beauty long ago, but much is yet to be seen under the ravages of time that fell upon the surface of this statuesque shell.
Scorched From Within Egg
What might have been a truly immense egg seems but a shadow of its former self, crumpled inwards on itself in crusted cooled ember and ashen fragments. Or perhaps that's just the illusion that greets the eye upon first glance, as the base coloration of the egg is of a deep dark black, like cooling lava, although here and there, gouts of orange, red and yellow spurt outwards across the shell, as if bursts of flame had erupted from hardened magma — heated fire's fury raging in silent rampage across the ovoid's surface. Looming large enough in presence like some great hulking monolith of foreboding, the egg casts a long shadow upon the sands and placed just, as it is, the steamy sweltering heat waves from the sands seems to give this egg a smokey overcast, a smoldering burning conflagration from within that only misty vapor can escape.
Carry On My Wayward Egg
This egg is nearly perfectly shaped. Not too round, not too oblong. Perhaps a touch on the tall side, but proportional. An egg. On first glance, the colors of the shell are dull- grey with a jagged red and yellow belt. Closer inspection will reveal that the greys are a myriad of related hues which blend to create a rather foggy impression. That red and yellow belt is much more intricate. Towards the base on part of the egg, the belt is broken by the foggy grey shades. From this center breaking point, the red and yellow suddenly takes shape- wings! But no dragon wings, certainly. Feathers taper off from yellow into red into nearly black. These wings wrap all around the egg, lifting higher and topping off just shy of the apex. In the center of these wings, there is an area of white so bright it could be sunlight.
Descent Into Darkness Egg
That which begins with such promise of purity is quickly corrupted and transmuted for the apex of the ovoid crowned with a radiant sunburst of golden light transitions abruptly from glorious splendor into an inky darkness that appears to greedily suck in all light, reflecting nothing back in return. It is as if what might have been never was — or what might have been has changed, transformed into something darker and malignant and the end of all hope. Against this midnight backdrop, globs of uneven shapes appear, the hue of which is a dirty white, just pale enough to make them out against the shadowed shell. There, a smattering of shape that might be a dragon if viewed just so — swooping across the upper curve of shell. Or there, a lumpy blob with spindled steaks radiating from it could be a creepy crawler. But the eye is oft drawn to the figure central most on the shell, the unmistakable conglomeration of shapes that could only be that of a human, arms and legs akimbo, mid-fall.
Feline Familiar Egg
This egg is pale white, primarily the color of sun-weathered bones, with the pits and carries digging into the surface. An almost oily sheen reflects available light, making the shell look as though it has been newly laid, even if it's close to hatching. There's a faint smoke grey outline of something that could, with a little imagination, look like a feline. But, not a docile pet - teeth and claws are extended in a threatening manner and scratch marks mar the shell.
Nothing But the Rain Egg
Awash in black like a moonless night, the white-blue flecks that dot the bulk of this egg provide the imperfection needed to ensure life. Their spacing uniform, and yet not. Their composition all of white blue flame, and yet not one the same shape or intensity or size. Their pattern mismatched, like an accidental spattering of paint on a wall. The dark of night softens to a glow of morning sunshine then. A circlet of yellow sits upon this egg like a marker of regal birth, then abruptly ends above in a circlet of pure crimson. There is no fade between the contract of colors, a sudden cliff rather than a smooth beach to this ring of blood upon the band of gold. Just as suddenly, this moat of lava ends in ocean. Another circle, this one smaller in diameter but thicker than the last two, blue like the center of a flame burning hot. Finally at the apex of the ovoid a full circle of pure hot white.
Signs of the Seven Egg
Rather short and squat, this egg appears to be more of a piece of pottery left upon the sands than what it truly is. Patterns of black wrap around the tan shell, mimicking stripes wrapping around its horizontal, the waves and spikes seemingly repeated time and time again, encroaching inwards from each rounded in. The middle portion, however, seems to have no such symmetry, as instead a set of eight abstract shapes reside there, one alone seemingly in pursuit of the other seven - if one stared long enough, they may begin to resemble a shadowy figure, or perhaps a nude woman, or even perhaps a sword. Most eerie of all, however, is that the shell seems to be permanently cast in an odd, pale-blue light - which seems to have no source, nor any end.
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