Lonely Observer Egg
A pinnacle of sienna rock surges up sharply through leaden ocean waves, its towering presence strikingly bold against a backdrop of flawless azure. Gnarled obsidian talons hook firmly into the crag's jagged peak, their owner's adumbral form somehow avoiding the white light that glances off the surrounding earth and stone of shell's surface. With features obscured by the darkness, amber forms a pair of fierce eyes just visible against the forbidding umber hues -- the only discernable signs of life to be found within the shadow.

Pleasure Dome's Decree Egg
No mere vision in a dream - it is a sensation, rippling with heat and hungry for life. From afar, hot sands' swaying mirage and its own tumult of color transform it into an abstract blur on a normal shell's surface. Closer and bold, unfading rainbow shades become more precise and seductively detailed, illustrating nothing tangible, but whispering secrets of a feel, of tactile beauty. Lush hues melt and pulse around each other: here a verdant Xanadian jungle, there a barren cave of pale ice, and just out of reach, a hostile, sunless sea. The eyes play tricks, and the vision transforms like a nightmare; what was a forest is now a face, a damsel in distress perhaps, or a demon lover. For every person the riot of color is a different hallucination, warning the weak of heart - beware! Or come closer still, and lose your mind in the silk-smooth sensuality that paradise has to offer.

Endangered Tranquility Egg
Tawny-flecked absinthe floods an egg of wide berth, supporting oblong surface's parade of hues. An auburn crescent sways along one edge, sequestered by lazing splashes of light ash, by dancing streaks of snowy hue, and by brooding wafts of cinnamon and mahogany -- each tone a swathe of color that meshes into one another. Ebony-dashed gray sprinkles over the entire field, from captured crescent to opposing edge, where silver-lined ivory leaps through a diminutive, roseate forest.

Forlorn Behest Egg
Ovoid's expanse is a bleak landscape, shrouded in a mist-like hue of twilight-dark browns and greys that seemingly flickers in and out of existence depending upon the viewer's line of sight. Shadowy figures dance and sway in macabre glee deep within the shell itself, forming quixotic spectres of the past. Phantom tendrils of pearly luminescence waver upon the surface, hinting at ephemeral lightnings and rage bound within terrible pain. Tumultous sea-green fury washes over the whole, drowning everything in the unyielding waters of the ocean.

Solemn Crypt Egg
To him who in the love of eggs holds communion with their various forms, they speak a various language. A dark pall holds sway over this one, sad images and stern agony written in the gloom. The young and the old are have all made their bed within, testament to the evanescent impermanence of life. Phantasmagoric visions of fair forms and hoary seers lie within in this mighty sepulchre, laid to rest with many tears and losing each human trace, surrending up the last adumbration of their form. The rock-ribbed hills and pensive vales, the venerable woods and majestic rivers, the grey and melancholy wastes of ocean are but the solemn decorations to this tomb.

Twenty-Eight Delicious Flavors of Oddity Egg
A gourmand's feast for the senses, a melange of combinations no sane mind ever dared assemble: a shock of chunky, lumpy, bubbly hues tumbles in two-dimensional scoops across a silver-hinted shell. Rivulets of plastine white bound the base, a glossy display case for pomegranate pumpernickel and peach pimento, lumpy butter brickle assaulted with peppered green, orange and olive fighting for dominance with shrill beet-red, seed-studded pink a-layer with waffly texture ... and more, and more, each its own haven of flavor, and each coated with a breath of crystalline white, frosted over into the epitome of icy coolth. Despite the dubious distinction of broccoli and banana blended, each variety seems to beckon, and tempts a taste of another.

The Lady Moon Egg
As if night has coalesced into ovoid form, gathering a shining moon upon its surface; a sliver of lunar radiance turns to display her perfect face upon those below. Pale light ripples to shape a figure of a lady in the arch of the moon, her hair is amplest blond, her cheek like beryl stone, but her eyes of summer dew are like none ever known. A hint of smile is formed from shadow upon the mottled shell, making amber lips that never part; least till a friend for life is found for what lies within. A bonnet of spring green grass spreads beneath an outstretched hand; a spill of cream dribbling down the rounded side. Starkly standing out against the universe of blue unendless sky with her belt of sparkling stars.

Hammy Green Egg
It's green! It's green! This egg is green! The ugliest egg Ive ever seen! I would not like to see this egg. I would not like to be this egg. I do not like it sitting there. I do not like this egg, Fort Weyr. It's big and round and looking scary, kind of like a nauseous wherry. The shell is rough and kind of bumpy. It's with the others, looking lumpy. Although Sam says this egg is fine, I'll choose another to be mine. I would not like this egg to hatch. I think I'll wait for the next batch.

The Silence of Chance Egg
Blue-green haze lies over egg's top, becoming the gentle rustle of leaves stirred by a soft wind. Drifting through the tree-like patterns a secret path winds about the shell. Will one ever depart said path once it has been set upon? Sudden silence seems to embrace all around: the stream does not bubble, the bird does not call, the campfire is just slightly red coals. For below the trees stretches a blackened swathe bordered by brown lines that shift as vegetation tries to take hold, only to fight a losing battle. Shimmering light dawns across the blackened landscape, a quavering mirage of hope, or perhaps a dust storm, as it dances on its ballroom floor over the sun-bleached bones of cattle where they lie.

A Thing of Beauty Egg
Lunar beauty illuminates the entirety of this egg, the moon's immortal glow as ethereal as it is passionate in its desire to sweeten all. But, it is a shepard's tattered home-spun that strives to reach the silvered apex, weaving its way through a gauntlet of mud-brown earth, sea's fathomless blue, and pale sky. Winding and curling entanglements do their best to tempt the dull tan to remain with the more mundane hues, only to fail time and again. It is an autumn's sunset that finally claims the shell, brittle golds basking in the twilight fire with a sensuous dance, romantic 'til the very end.

Feeriques Palais Egg
Navy cloaks this egg in ever lasting night, only seeming darker in the dim light of the sands. Rivers of silver caress the smooth surface like smoke across the night sky. A pale gold figure, nearly circular in shape, brings light to the egg's apex. Sharp spires followed by deep valleys create a fairy's palace of azure sprung from the bulged bottom. Amethyst lights each spire of the palace, while small flecks of amber speckle the whole from top to bottom in loose spirals.

Nostalgic Atrium Egg
Blurred hues of garnet, olive and cerulean bleed across this small, almost circular ovoid, tumbling together with a dilapidated gray. Lucid tones watermark the leathery surface, seemingly withered with an age that betrays its own existence. Veiled facade of May-time sunlight oppresses and cloaks overripe maroons and wilting greens, broken only by the crumbling slate-colored foundations to which they cling. Gaudy-tinted blossoms give way to a solitary aqua pool, bordered by a creeping moss of sage.

Little Queer World Egg
in Just -- an egg When color-luscious hues of spring-fresh lavenderandsage curl and stretch both far and wee across shelled circumference and sure-footed gingerandpaprika come running 'round apex's slim contours, chasing each other in a mad spiral of spicy blending before splashing in the puddle-wonderful cinnamon spill that suffuses queer ovoid's squat nadir. And pepperandsalt come dancing from strange hop-scotch patterns of speckled shadows, skipping and jumping across surface's bulbous entirety and it's complete.

Dream Within Egg
Ovoid's surface is taken well in hand ~ By the glimmering of a golden band -- Is it just shell or is it truly sand? ~ The sparkling grains seep and creep on down ~ Where one by one they lamentably drown ~ In the roaring torment, a dramatic scene ~ Of ocean blue entwined with seafoam green. ~ Apex is graced by shadow's fleeting kiss ~ Leading one perhaps to reminisce ~ That all is not always what it may seem... Is this egg but a dream within a dream?

Spring's First Morning Egg
Softest hues of a spring morning's first rays of sunshine stream across the arching camber of this demure egg, lying in stark contrast to the swirling vortex of icy blue and pristine white of newly fallen snow. It is as if light's silent beams have intruded to dispel the murky chill of a cold winter's night. Where so illumined, hints of new life burst forth. The soft green of a tree's first bud break together with the stoic green of the patient pine, its annual struggle against the elements at an end, creep over the egg's crest, and the royal purple of a crocus springs gloriously upward, emboldened by its victory over the snow's suppressive blanket.

Sleeping Warriors Egg
The cold clutches of silent earth embrace ashen curves, crimson striations encroaching upon somber surface life fresh wounds. Drab swathes of muted gray meet momentary glimpses of life; verdant fingers abruptly cut off as they reach for glimpsed hints of pale gold, ending any hope of cheer. The deep sienna of newly formed rust infringes upon muddy sepia, such ever-present gloom inviting the question: is it possible that such a hushed tomb harbours new life?