Lumpy-bodied in an oddly formed way, this brown dragon did not get the pretty genes out of the pool from his clutchparents. It is almost as if his muscles are in the wrong places, just off a little bit here and there and essentially exaggerating his asymmetrical body. Left legs are slightly longer than the right set, making his gait on land more of a shamble than a walk with his odd muscles rippling as he moves. His deformed body overall is a rich boring brown from top to bottom, with barely a trace of a different shade marring any of his features except for a deeper darker tone that runs over 'knobs and down each ridge to the very tip of his tail, appearing again in a splatter across his ungraceful-looking sails.
Egg Name and Description
Everyone's a Jerk Inside Egg
If you were expecting something more impressive… Well, you're just *beep* out of luck. In fact, this egg barely requires more than one word to describe it, it's just that boring: brown. Very, very brown. It's so brown, you could tell it's brown in the dark. Your mom could tell it's brown three Weyrs away. Your great-great-great uncle Freddy can tell it's brown from 6 feet under. Lessa, indeed, can sense with clairvoyance that in 2682, Ellamariseth laid a very, very brown egg. It's so brown, you could almost say it looked more like — Okay, I think that just about explains it. However, because apparently you're that interested in knowing what exactly else is goin' on with this piece of work, it's worth noting that, at the end of a shadowed-looking seam right down the split middle of the egg, is a long, thin triangular… well, it's brown, but with a darker-brown tuft looking thing at the end. A tail, perhaps? Think about it. … Yes, smarty. It looks like a — HAHA! You said butt!
Turns Are For Losers ticks. Ticks. Ticks. Slow and discreet, mystery begins to unfurl in your mind, piece by piece. It teases, taunts, because nothing it sends makes… any sense. At all. You'd better just give up now, because it ain't going to get any easier. Or… is it? You know the image it sends is a place, a fuzzy outline of the Weyr bowl, perhaps, but… Wait, no, it's not. That's not Ista's bowl. Benden's? No. Too many spires… Fort's? No, Star stones is in the wrong place. Oh, wait, Seven Spindles! They're all there! Though you don't have a sharding clue why you're looking at this particular image, the thought suddenly comes to you, and BAM. "High Reaches!" wants to comes blurting out of your mouth — and just might, if you let it. Well, there you go, making yourself look all retarded out on the Sands…
Turns Are For Losers is fuzzy yet again, making your head ache with uncertainty. As satisfying as the answer was the last time your fingers graced this shell's surface, the moment you're reintroduced, it starts all over again. Dizzying spins of images, thing and items you know you've seen, know you can place, come flooding into your head. ARGH. What is that? They bounce around in your vision, and suddenly a callout of words begins to flood your head. Loud, angsty, riotous. It knoooows something. Knows something you don't! And finally, the first word you can place comes loudly, obnoxiously into your brain, but as if you didn't actually think of it first. You get that overwhelming feeling of standing next to someone that knows what you don't, and is quite entirely happy to smoosh it in your face like a big cream pie. Before, you felt so good… Now, you feel not so good. Man. You're such a loser.
Turns Are For Losers takes your head and spins it in wild, wild abandon once again — man, that feeling sucks! But this time, faces being to cross your mind, visions of everyone you've ever known. The headache returns — you've got to get it this time, you've got to! First, all the images dissappate into only those with darkened hair… Then, cutting down to only females… then, only those that begin with — YSA! AHA! You knew it! But before that elation sets in, and you decide to do that ridiculous victory dance you attempted last summer with whats-their-face from whats-its-place, a ferocious, hooved beast parades into your waking nightmare and tramples your poor brain, with one, triumphant noise of success: HEEE HAAAH!
Everyone's a Jerk Inside Egg wriggles from side to side in the sand, the only sign that it is in fact moving being the side-to-side movement of the long thin triangular marking.
Everyone's a Jerk Inside Egg keeps on wriggling, and, finally, the shell begins to crack, a slowly growing vertical seam, starting at the base of the shell, and gradually working its way upwards, to the tip.
Everyone's a Jerk Inside Egg has a very large crack in it now, running vertically from the base, to the tip, and then beack around the rear to the base again. When the two ends of this crack finally meet, the egg splits in two, each half falling away, depositing an odd brown hatchling onto the sands.
Unsightly and Skewed Brown Hatchling shambles forward out of the shards of his egg, moving for the candidates. As he singles out a group, he picks up speed, dragging his tail along in the sand behind him. The brown seems intent on herding several candidates away from the rest, winding up with a batch of about half a dozen, most having stood before. These candidates, boys and girls, men and women, stand huddled together, eyeing the brown as he gallops around them, stopping beside each candidate on the way around, eyeing them intently. No, no, no, no, no, no… Wait, it has to be /one/ of them! So around he goes. No, no, no, no, wait! There, that one! Grokev blinks, and eyes the brown. "M-me?" he asks, gulping, and then bobbing his head. "Of, of course, Zedagoth, of course!" G'kev concedes, warily leading the brown off to be fed. The other candidates don't know whether to be relieved or jealous, Grokev — G'kev — was the only one of that singled-out group who hadn't been searched before.
The hatchling was based on the game of Duck Duck Goose. The hatchling desc was loosely inspired from the Ugly Duckling tale.
|Name||Unsightly and Skewed Brown Zedagoth|
|Hatched||September 26, 2009|