Lumpy. From the over-large nubs of his back ridges, to the prominent knobs atop his big tapering head, this brown appears all odd curves and awkward angles. Solid and bulky, muscled limbs seem to practically hang off the smallishly sturdy body. At least his wings appear to have strength enough to carry him, though they're a bit puny for the amount of mass he has on him. Membranes are a paler hue, like undyed canvas stained with klah, while the rough coloring down his belly is reminiscent of tilled earth and rich manure. There's a gradual darkening, till feet and tip of lengthy tail bears a muddy darkness, relief brought only by the creamy tone of short talons.
Egg Name and Description
Flight Of The Porcine Egg
There is nothing small or dainty about /this/ egg, so round and pudgy it looks more like some fat pastry dumped on the hatching sands than anything remotely egglike. Except it's totally ginormous, and vaguely tapered at one end, the only concession the thing seems to make in regards to its true nature. A kind of pale, beigeish pink covers most of it, darker squiggles creating the impression of folds or wrinkles across a bulbous shape which all but hogs the surface area. Faint, stiff lines in a yellower hue brush around this epic blob of coloration, like stiff bristles or hair, though to the touch it's utterly smooth. Where the egg narrows, there's a brighter splotch of pink with two dark spots at its center, and further down, where the shell is touched by soft shades if cream and lilac, there's a feathering of white all blurred and whispy, as if this delicate patterning were almost too faint, too out of place, to be true.
Hatching Message
Flight Of The Porcine Egg gives a shiver. Something inside stirs and slowly, taking its time, begins to work at the shell. The whole thing starts to roll over in one cautious movement, its surface set to trembling from the shifting within.
Flight Of The Porcine Egg attempts to fly! Yeeaah, no. It makes a good effort, though, shuddering and shaking so much so, that it actually lifts off the ground a couple times. But alas, it doesn't manage to take flight, and only lands hard on the black sands, the poor smooshed side now marred by an explosion of cracks which only seem to grow with every movement.
Flight Of The Porcine Egg takes off! Wheee- kerthudd! And with its brief, exultant moment in the sky (that is, two inches off the ground) it comes back down to a harsh reality: gravity WORKS. Who knew. And this final, failed attempt at aviation brings it smack into a cavern wall, bits of shell and inner egg glop careening away as the thing within sprawls like some poor, wrecked avian. Daw, lookit them bitty wings.
Impression Message
Down And Dirty Brown Hatchling lies there like a sack of tubers, something someone has thrown aside and left to rot. Except he's all moving in his lumpiness. Muscles gather along the little sprawling body, until feet are found, big head raised and wobbly to stare out at the sands. And those interesting white-robed things over there. One wing sticking up, the other pressed tight to his side, the baby dragon makes a clumsy shove-scramble to his feet and then takes off - at a galloping, stumbly run. And doesn't stop! He all but bowls over a young boy from some back-of-beyond cothold, who squeaks as he's plowed into. But no harm! "Idahoth! W- w- wait!" but he's totally hauling his new bond off to get food, and poor G'nger only barely manages to find his feet and hurry along, the little brown's big shoulder nudging him off the sands. Good thing there are AWLMs to herd them in the right direction.
Personality
TBA
Mindtouches
Dare To Dream is quiet. At first, at any rate. There is the faint flutter of avian wings, a tickling of a light breeze upon your face, then gently, the brief brush of what might be feathers, or just soft hair drifting on a breath of fresh air. And.. it soon starts to smell rather rancid, actually. Is that.. rotting tubers? Old mouldy vegetables? And someone has /definitely/ been at the beans. Whew! And it only gets stronger, the wind on your face hot and fetid, accompanied by a rather gag-worthy 'prRRrPP-poot!' sound. EW. It's not long before the stench overwhelms you, mind and body, something huge and invasive prodding at all your surface thoughts with utter disregard for the consequences. Your stomach begins to churn, and just as your eyes start to water from the queasyfying sensation, it's suddenly gone. As quick as it came, something zooming past your subconscious, leaving you gasping for freedom from its brief, reckless visit. Did that awfulness /really/ just happen? And what was that stink all about? A warning, perhaps. Or a bad joke.
Dare To Dream is.. rather less quiet this time around, the sounds of what might be an animal, all squealy and shrill, accosting your ears, along with the vaguely sick sensation of sinking into thick mud. The sand beneath your feet suddenly turns to inescapable goo, and you're being sucked down into the quagmire, the world pulled away in muddy darkness. You can't breathe. You can't see. You can't sme- no wait. This helpless, hopeless feeling … it has an odd perfume to it. And it smells like roses. Huh. And all the while, /something/ is sitting on your shoulder, pondering you curiously. Or is it on your head? No wait, it's behind you! But before you've the chance to turn around, it's gone in a flutter, and you're suddenly back where you started, on the hot black sands and breathable air.
Dare To Dream isn't playing games no more. This is serious business here, and- oh, heck. There goes the hatching cavern. All the other eggs and your fellow candidates are suddenly painted in gaudy colors and squiggly outlines, and some of them have bovine heads. And tails. And is that one AWLM over there growing horns? Or maybe that's just a /really/ enthusiastic mustache. Too fast for you to keep track of, and while you're distracted by the myriad sights of the world gone mad, there's a rushing of air, and the damp whisper of clouds, just at the back of your mind. And something is peering at you, flipping through the old memories and throwing up random bits of them for your (or rather, its) amusement. Familiar faces are spread across the ceiling, and old hurts and shames are buried in the nearby sands, for everyone to dig in. But no, it's not truly laughing at you. There's an all too innocent need to /know/, to believe in /something/, a longing deep down that's shared, however briefly. And then, once more, it's gone. And the world returns to normal, and just a little bit duller for it, perhaps.
Inspiration
"When pigs fly" & a certain ginger. Ahem.
Credits
| Name | Idahoth |
| Dam | Ellamariseth |
| Sire | Ittisieth |
| Created By | Cenlia |
| Impressee | G'nger (NPC) |
| Hatched | February 11, 2011 |
| Ista Weyr | |
| PernWorld MUSH | |
