Friday, April 22, 2011

The Spot

Fulguralis eased the door shut behind him and tiptoed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Weak rays of pre-dawn light filtered through the mage-colored curtains and stained his floors baby blue. The manor was silent; everyone was still asleep.

Once in the kitchen, he arrowed toward the giant Gnomish contraption they'd bought to keep food cold. Decedereful, his engineer sister, called it a refrigerator. Fulguralis called it a gold mine. Not only did it cost the contents of said mine to purchase it, it was worth every penny. So much food... so little time.

Unfortunately, he was not up on this fine spring morning seeking a sneaky snack. As he gently opened the front of the Gnomerator, he took care that the contents inside didn't rattle loudly and wake anyone. His in-laws were tucked back in one room, his sister in another, the Gilnean as far across the manor as possible from her, and various minions were tucked here and there. In fact, a wet nose on his leg alerted him that at least one of the denizens in the house had heard him. He reached down and ruffled the dark hairs on his Felhunter's head.

"Shh, Sparky," Fulguralis whispered. "We need to hide the eggs before everyone else gets up."

With that, he turned back to the Gnomerator and surveyed the contents. It was the head of the household's responsibility to hide the eggs, and Fulguralis was certainly not going to face the ire of his in-laws for doing a poor job of it. Thus, he had to make sure they were all tucked away before anyone was up.

Several cartons of eggs sat inside. He lifted them out carefully and sat them on the table. Flipping up the lids, he mused over the contents. Everyone had decorated a few eggs. Real eggs. None of those fake, plastic ones. In Fulguralis's opinion, Noblegarden should be celebrated with real eggs. He wasn't really sure why he felt that way. Why eggs in the first place? Yet, there was something about a real egg that made it right for him.

Now, they had donated a few well-filled plastic ones to the orphanage for the kids. It was important that hey got their treats and candies as well, but there were no little ones yet in the manor. For them, the real treat was going to be the demoned eggs that Minerva promised to make out of the decorated ones after finding them. It was tradition, that simple. Besides, with a name like demoned eggs, they had to be good.

Scooping up the eggs, he tried to figure out who had decorated each one. The one with the music notes had to be Berry Blue. And the frenzied felchicken scratch would be Spaz. Dusty, his sister's ghoul, had apparently drawn some complex Gnomish equation. Midnight's had stick figures in various compromising positions. Oh, and a whip with some chains.

The adults' eggs were harder to discern. They all had stuck to the boilerplate, making use of a variety of pretty flowers and designs. The more intricate ones were likely the girls, while the Captain's designs were more rigid. The colors absolutely did not run into one another. He guessed Abigora's was the one with complex elven characters interwoven, while his sister's flowers tended to look more like battleaxes. Fulguralis even saw his own. It was all black. Though his wife had apparently drawn a curly purple design on it after he'd finished. Apparently her own sunburst egg hadn't been enough.

Stepping outside, Fulguralis shivered. There was still a touch of winter's chill in the air, though after an extended tour in Northrend, the Warlock wasn't' going to complain. He was happy simply to feel warmth again.

Eggs in tow, Fulguralis began to look for hiding places. There were rules to follow, of course. The eggs had to be reachable, so he couldn't teleport up to the roof and hide them there. They also had to be at least partially visible from at least one angle, so he couldn't bury them out in the graveyard. Instead, his eye was draw to places like the nook behind the rain barrel, though that was always a popular spot and sure to be checked.

Think, Warlock, think! He couldn't make this easy on them. What kind of Warlock would he be if it were easy? A successful hiding would mean that even after a full day of looking, there are one or two missing that even he can't find. It would only be by smell after several weeks that they would be discovered. That was a successful hiding spot.

As he wandered around the house, he placed the eggs in what he deemed "mediocre" locations. Hidden amongst the flowers. In the arms of a bush. Nestled in a corner of the house. Behind a rock. The usual.

But then, when he had only one egg left to hide, he found the spot. It was perfect. There was a depression that was almost egg shaped, and it was obscured by it's surroundings. In fact, you could only even glimpse the spot if you craned your neck just so, and twisted ever so slightly to the side. Upon inspection, Fulguralis wasn't even sure how he'd first noticed the spot. It was like it had called out to him, begging for an egg.

Cackling with glee, he removed the last egg from the carton - the black egg with a purple design - and placed it in the spot. No one was finding his egg this Noblegarden.

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