The clutch tender slowly shuffles past haggard piles of moldy straw, pausing before each to briefly inspect the mottled eggs nestled within. A worn, ragged claw taps each egg, the resulting sound echoing off the humid walls of the small hatchery. Those he deems worthy shall have another day, but those unfortunate ones, those poor meager specimens who do not pass muster shall not see the light of the following day. With abhorrent glee, the wizened iksar grasps the fetid egg and raises it to his greedy, waiting mouth. Deftly, the beast crawcks the egg open, swallowing the contents whole with a nary a thought. His vile deed done, the keeper trudges forward, coming to the last pile of straw. Sitting atop it, rests a lone speckled egg. The claw tap reveals a well-formed shell, the sound bringing a rare smile to his yolk stained lips. Holding it up against the feeble flickering candle he carries, he sees the small form within shift ever so slightly. "Sssssleep well, Sssskathis. Gather your strength, for Fear itself will be your master when you awaken. You must be ready." Gently replacing the egg atop the rotten pile of straw, the aged tender exits the damp cave.
