PRE-WRITTEN HATCHING THREAD <33
It was one week ago that a small group had stumbled across the glossy gleam of six smooth, navy eggs. Oversized, alluring and reminiscent of sapphire gems mimicking the sea. The six eggs were protected, left to be incubated under the care of many and the lives of the unhatched creatures had almost been cut short when a sea viper caught the glint of the ovular shapes. Within one of the eggs, the largest of the batch, was a living beast. She was a dormant predator. Encapsulated and breathing. Her mechanical lungs tremble violently against the fluid in her walls. For as long as she has lived, all she has obsessed over were the vibrations of her own heart. It was all she had ever known, tuning her attention to the rhythmic thunders of her chest which wobbled her thin retracted arms. Within this period of incubation, her eyes haven’t dared to see the light, but despite this the dangerous girl hasn’t been deprived of her other senses. She can still feel her tail when it begins to twitch, searching for space to stretch within her crammed room. She can still hear the indistinguishable murmurs that beat against her shell. The restlessness of waiting makes her legs impulsively jerk, scratch at the internal membrane of the egg impatiently. Although inconvenienced, bothered by the tightness of her so-called home, the muffled sound of her heartbeats continues to bring her comfort.
Her nostrils flare – her organs expand and collapse, breathing hastily the air that seeps through the pores of her shell, ravenously feeding on the atmosphere that daringly creeps around her measly form. Like a genetic code, programmed deep within her very DNA, hunger drives her mad. It boils her blood, fuels her arteries, when she instinctively begins to jerk against the shell of her egg. Her legs coil before a wild burst of energy lets her feet spring against the navy prison. It was never a home for her, never. It was just an obstacle that has made her desire more, left her jealous and starving. She rams her head hard against the wall, a gush of air screaming ghosts through the fresh cracks. Again, the monstrous reptile recoils her body, regaining energy before bluntly smashing into the breaking shell. She wants out – out! Exhilaration makes the girl begin to shake, cracks running along the smooth texture of her round prison, like droplets on a glass pane. Then, without her eyes even opening, she is blinded by the intensities of the universe which spins around her. For a moment, vertigo overwhelms her. She’s never felt so small and insignificant, and yet the pulsations in her neck make her just brave enough to let her eyelids rise and face her vulnerability like the hero-protagonist of her story.
From afar, one would see both the horror or the joy they have allowed to set foot upon the world’s terrible landscape. An utahraptor, no more than a mere newborn, screeching a catastrophic shrill that awakens the distracted mind, dragging those who dare travel to elsewhere back to where she was standing. The barbarian rolls her body over, scratching the ground whilst she forces her frame to rise and allow her feathers to gluttonously bask in the warmth of the sun. Her head faces the sky, the clouds, the winds that tip her over and force her to try standing again, like an outer-worldly effort to take back what the gods have allowed to live. Her lungs are full, particles spinning and darting violently against their walls whilst her rib cage trembles against the boundaries of her meek, pathetic body. Then, the raptor unleashes a powerful exhale and scrambles back onto her two feet, shaking and trying to gain balance once more. The pads of her feet are welcomed by the separated textures of the dirt, toes sinking between the soil as if the underworld’s fingers are grasping her ankles, trying to pull her down to the depths of tartarus. Her wet, feathered-arms are phantom-like when they spread vehemently from her body, her pitched successive calls demanding both food, love and glory. She expects to be fed, she expects her satiation; teeth are already bared, ready to snap ravenously into meat. She hungered for anything, anything the world could offer at her regal feet and serve upon a great silver platter.
Upon first glance, one would notice her vulnerable, not-so-dangerous looking state. Her pitifully bony structure is multiplied by the appearance of her soaked newborn wings. Weak, young and so, so easy to...exterminate like a pest. She is coloured by an Amazonian bronze and her round, fixating eyes resemble the deep, earthly tones of uncovered soil – radiating an ancient knowledge that has possessed her all-seeing gaze, a phantom-like demeanor as if she wasn't born just moments ago but centuries. Although puny and small, comparing her bold figure with both her brothers and sisters still waiting to hatch, one could almost prophecise for sure that she was destined to be the alpha of the pack. Her stance displayed that of what would become a formidable, ruthless queen; a manifestation of a dangerous, intoxicating pride which will both injure herself and her brethren. Even now she is equipped with a weapon-like claw, a talon that hovers in the air in anticipation. Her teeth are sharp, glistening in the light and framing a youthful display of individuality and strength. She may still be small, but her bite ought to hurt at least a little as her tail directs her wobbled turn, slicing coldly against the air, as she screams to her brothers and sisters. She nudges the eggs, raising her clawed foot to try and help pry some of the shells apart, still carelessly shrieking at her siblings. She was hungry, grumpy and awfully impatient. Having only been born minutes ago, she was already a lively, bossy older sister.
She doesn’t know how lucky she is, to have been born and allowed to breathe the summer air, allowed to be infected by the sins of a world that revolve around the drink of an unholy grail. Some of her siblings won’t even get that privilege. They will never know the feeling of dirt on their feet, the feeling of air brushing past their scales, the feeling of bewilderment and joy. The nameless girl, or ‘the egg that rolled’ as others may have called her, still doesn’t know family, friends or enemies. Danger doesn't even register, threats don't even exist beyond her gurgling, rumbling belly. She knows only her feral instincts, her desire for the thrill of the chase. Perhaps for that reason the first thing she knows is only selfishness. She wants to be fed, she wants to be accompanied, she wants to be served and have her needs met. She instinctively knows that these curled up reptiles, trapped within these shells, are her siblings but it doesn’t mean she has inherited any sense of love or maternal care for them. These ticking minutes that have gone by have only taught her that life comes from an overwhelming desire to consume, to continue to grasp moment after moment, glory after glory. She doesn’t know the future that will find her, the tragedies and the agony that awaits her. But it will always be the glee of power that will entice her...no matter the dire consequences.
Her gaze is anew, tilting her head at anything that interests her. She radiates a curious aura, playful but still deadly. No matter her vulnerable appearance, the adorable and innocent glimmer of her feathery face, she is still a feral creature. Already the young, vicious girl is tapping away at a large leaf, scratching and sniffing – intrigued by both its alluring colour and texture. The tiny utahraptor squints, scrunching her nose at the smell as she ruffles her fluffy feathered-body. Her stomach rumbles again and she can feel her pulse in her legs. Once more, she’s reminded that she is hungry and not quite happy with that. So unhappy, in fact, that she briefly considers the cannibalism of her brothers and sisters, screeching an unintelligible squeal of complaint and lowering her body to hiss at the other navy eggs. She’s too weak to run off on her own, too tired to let her shrieks subside, but also too lazy to continue to try and tackle helping her sisters break free of their shell-prisons. Instead, as any loud older sister does, she continues to abuse the ears of her brothers and sisters, feeling her larynx struggle to keep up with the heightening pitches of her vocalisations. Of course, she has no consideration for who else may hear this obnoxious sound. She doesn’t even know of any other life forms but her and her pack. In summation: she doesn’t know anything but the feral instincts she has been born with, the will to survive and chase with snapping jaws.
[ tldr; ] 'the egg that rolled' hatches first and virgo (who has yet to be named - dear god what have i done), is just standing there screaming at her brothers and sisters to get the fuck out of their eggs because she's hangry : ^)
It was one week ago that a small group had stumbled across the glossy gleam of six smooth, navy eggs. Oversized, alluring and reminiscent of sapphire gems mimicking the sea. The six eggs were protected, left to be incubated under the care of many and the lives of the unhatched creatures had almost been cut short when a sea viper caught the glint of the ovular shapes. Within one of the eggs, the largest of the batch, was a living beast. She was a dormant predator. Encapsulated and breathing. Her mechanical lungs tremble violently against the fluid in her walls. For as long as she has lived, all she has obsessed over were the vibrations of her own heart. It was all she had ever known, tuning her attention to the rhythmic thunders of her chest which wobbled her thin retracted arms. Within this period of incubation, her eyes haven’t dared to see the light, but despite this the dangerous girl hasn’t been deprived of her other senses. She can still feel her tail when it begins to twitch, searching for space to stretch within her crammed room. She can still hear the indistinguishable murmurs that beat against her shell. The restlessness of waiting makes her legs impulsively jerk, scratch at the internal membrane of the egg impatiently. Although inconvenienced, bothered by the tightness of her so-called home, the muffled sound of her heartbeats continues to bring her comfort.
Her nostrils flare – her organs expand and collapse, breathing hastily the air that seeps through the pores of her shell, ravenously feeding on the atmosphere that daringly creeps around her measly form. Like a genetic code, programmed deep within her very DNA, hunger drives her mad. It boils her blood, fuels her arteries, when she instinctively begins to jerk against the shell of her egg. Her legs coil before a wild burst of energy lets her feet spring against the navy prison. It was never a home for her, never. It was just an obstacle that has made her desire more, left her jealous and starving. She rams her head hard against the wall, a gush of air screaming ghosts through the fresh cracks. Again, the monstrous reptile recoils her body, regaining energy before bluntly smashing into the breaking shell. She wants out – out! Exhilaration makes the girl begin to shake, cracks running along the smooth texture of her round prison, like droplets on a glass pane. Then, without her eyes even opening, she is blinded by the intensities of the universe which spins around her. For a moment, vertigo overwhelms her. She’s never felt so small and insignificant, and yet the pulsations in her neck make her just brave enough to let her eyelids rise and face her vulnerability like the hero-protagonist of her story.
From afar, one would see both the horror or the joy they have allowed to set foot upon the world’s terrible landscape. An utahraptor, no more than a mere newborn, screeching a catastrophic shrill that awakens the distracted mind, dragging those who dare travel to elsewhere back to where she was standing. The barbarian rolls her body over, scratching the ground whilst she forces her frame to rise and allow her feathers to gluttonously bask in the warmth of the sun. Her head faces the sky, the clouds, the winds that tip her over and force her to try standing again, like an outer-worldly effort to take back what the gods have allowed to live. Her lungs are full, particles spinning and darting violently against their walls whilst her rib cage trembles against the boundaries of her meek, pathetic body. Then, the raptor unleashes a powerful exhale and scrambles back onto her two feet, shaking and trying to gain balance once more. The pads of her feet are welcomed by the separated textures of the dirt, toes sinking between the soil as if the underworld’s fingers are grasping her ankles, trying to pull her down to the depths of tartarus. Her wet, feathered-arms are phantom-like when they spread vehemently from her body, her pitched successive calls demanding both food, love and glory. She expects to be fed, she expects her satiation; teeth are already bared, ready to snap ravenously into meat. She hungered for anything, anything the world could offer at her regal feet and serve upon a great silver platter.
Upon first glance, one would notice her vulnerable, not-so-dangerous looking state. Her pitifully bony structure is multiplied by the appearance of her soaked newborn wings. Weak, young and so, so easy to...exterminate like a pest. She is coloured by an Amazonian bronze and her round, fixating eyes resemble the deep, earthly tones of uncovered soil – radiating an ancient knowledge that has possessed her all-seeing gaze, a phantom-like demeanor as if she wasn't born just moments ago but centuries. Although puny and small, comparing her bold figure with both her brothers and sisters still waiting to hatch, one could almost prophecise for sure that she was destined to be the alpha of the pack. Her stance displayed that of what would become a formidable, ruthless queen; a manifestation of a dangerous, intoxicating pride which will both injure herself and her brethren. Even now she is equipped with a weapon-like claw, a talon that hovers in the air in anticipation. Her teeth are sharp, glistening in the light and framing a youthful display of individuality and strength. She may still be small, but her bite ought to hurt at least a little as her tail directs her wobbled turn, slicing coldly against the air, as she screams to her brothers and sisters. She nudges the eggs, raising her clawed foot to try and help pry some of the shells apart, still carelessly shrieking at her siblings. She was hungry, grumpy and awfully impatient. Having only been born minutes ago, she was already a lively, bossy older sister.
She doesn’t know how lucky she is, to have been born and allowed to breathe the summer air, allowed to be infected by the sins of a world that revolve around the drink of an unholy grail. Some of her siblings won’t even get that privilege. They will never know the feeling of dirt on their feet, the feeling of air brushing past their scales, the feeling of bewilderment and joy. The nameless girl, or ‘the egg that rolled’ as others may have called her, still doesn’t know family, friends or enemies. Danger doesn't even register, threats don't even exist beyond her gurgling, rumbling belly. She knows only her feral instincts, her desire for the thrill of the chase. Perhaps for that reason the first thing she knows is only selfishness. She wants to be fed, she wants to be accompanied, she wants to be served and have her needs met. She instinctively knows that these curled up reptiles, trapped within these shells, are her siblings but it doesn’t mean she has inherited any sense of love or maternal care for them. These ticking minutes that have gone by have only taught her that life comes from an overwhelming desire to consume, to continue to grasp moment after moment, glory after glory. She doesn’t know the future that will find her, the tragedies and the agony that awaits her. But it will always be the glee of power that will entice her...no matter the dire consequences.
Her gaze is anew, tilting her head at anything that interests her. She radiates a curious aura, playful but still deadly. No matter her vulnerable appearance, the adorable and innocent glimmer of her feathery face, she is still a feral creature. Already the young, vicious girl is tapping away at a large leaf, scratching and sniffing – intrigued by both its alluring colour and texture. The tiny utahraptor squints, scrunching her nose at the smell as she ruffles her fluffy feathered-body. Her stomach rumbles again and she can feel her pulse in her legs. Once more, she’s reminded that she is hungry and not quite happy with that. So unhappy, in fact, that she briefly considers the cannibalism of her brothers and sisters, screeching an unintelligible squeal of complaint and lowering her body to hiss at the other navy eggs. She’s too weak to run off on her own, too tired to let her shrieks subside, but also too lazy to continue to try and tackle helping her sisters break free of their shell-prisons. Instead, as any loud older sister does, she continues to abuse the ears of her brothers and sisters, feeling her larynx struggle to keep up with the heightening pitches of her vocalisations. Of course, she has no consideration for who else may hear this obnoxious sound. She doesn’t even know of any other life forms but her and her pack. In summation: she doesn’t know anything but the feral instincts she has been born with, the will to survive and chase with snapping jaws.
[ tldr; ] 'the egg that rolled' hatches first and virgo (who has yet to be named - dear god what have i done), is just standing there screaming at her brothers and sisters to get the fuck out of their eggs because she's hangry : ^)