Oberon
(#28538193)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Snowflake Nymph
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Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Ice.
Male Imperial
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
28.38 m
Wingspan
18.17 m
Weight
6258.87 kg
Genetics
Pearl
Poison
Poison
Pearl
Toxin
Toxin
Sky
Glimmer
Glimmer
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
 O B E R O N♫
KING OF FAERIE
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I N F O Gender: Male Sexuality: Bisexual Mate: Non-exclusive ╰━━━━━━━━╯
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R E L A T I O N S  QUEEN (MATE)  BISHOP  KNIGHT  ROOK ╰━━━━━━━━╯ |
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". . ." ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ The dream was always the same: darkness, bitter and cold. A part of him was grateful that there was no moon, but there was still no relief, for danger closed in as the seconds passed. With eyes made sharp by fear, he saw the glint of a dragon’s smile—and more terrible still, the shine of a blade. It wasn’t enchanted, but it didn’t need to be, for though it gleamed coldly, its touch burned more excruciatingly than fire. Iron. Oberon smothered his scream as he woke. The same dream again...He’d had it since his earliest days, and even though he knew how it played out, he always woke up screaming. Dawn. He watched the sun gild the sky and the icy peaks. The sight of it warmed his heart, and the fear that’d plagued him earlier left him. There was something exhilarating about watching the Icefield awaken each day, and he would have liked to dance a jig...but he tucked his joy deep down alongside his earlier scream. His parents didn’t approve of dancing. Oberon dwelled in a hard-working clan, ”And there’s nothing wrong with that,” he found himself thinking. The lunchtime bell rang, and like clockwork, he and all the other fishers coiled up or set their nets before heading back to the lair. Oberon followed them, though he wasn’t really with them. Despite being nearly grown, he had no close friends in the clan. He couldn’t seem to understand their drive for work, work, work. He understood it was important, but then, so were times to rest and dream...right? His teachers had told him stories of far-off wonders, but only as part of their duty to give him a well-rounded education. When he had left school, he had been made to leave the dreams behind. Work was always beckoning. Well, not today. While other dragons headed back to their dens to eat, Oberon brought his lunch behind the lair. Here, screened by the dark pine trees, his mind could roam.... His magic flowed out of him. It took root in the frost and bloomed in spectral flowers that climbed the night-dark pines. As Oberon relaxed and took his midday meal, the clearing around him burst into splendor. The pine trees were transformed into crystal columns, shining with clear blue light. The pine needles became orbs of gold. A breeze blew, and the clearing rang with the music of unseen harps and the whisper of clear waters. For several minutes, the drab glade was an otherworldly paradise...and then the lair bell rang, summoning the workers back to their posts. With a regretful sigh, the Imperial reached out and reined his magic back in. The pine trees fell still and silent, and Oberon was again the only bright spot in the forest. It was a temporary paradise, but it was his paradise. Still, his pride in his work was weighed down by the pressures of lair life. His parents would not approve of such impractical magic either. None of them would. The day Oberon’s magic was discovered was simultaneously the worst and best day of his adolescence. A curious lairmate followed him as he went to take his meal. She caught him weaving his brilliant magic, and she rushed to tell the others about it. They burst into the clearing, the illusory branches snapping around them like glass, calling him “lazy” and “foolish”—again. Oberon’s magic had developed when he’d been very young. Snowflakes whirling around his head, only to suddenly disappear...Spectral images, flickering half-in and -out of vision around him, glimpses of otherworldly colors and lights. His talents had been scorned even then. “Illusions have no place in our lair,” the leader had decreed. She had glared sternly at the hatchling. “Idle pastimes must be eschewed for the good of the whole clan.” Now she stared Oberon down. He had grown since that last encounter, but she still intimidated him and was as unforgiving as ever. Around him, dragons whispered of how odd he was, how they disliked him because of this. All the magic was going to his head, they murmured. Illusion magic was among the worst, used only by deceivers and charlatans. It had no place in an honest clan—and neither did its wielder. Judgment hit Oberon from all sides. There was no sympathy to be found, for he’d never fit in, and thus he’d remained an outsider, easily discarded by the clan. The clan leader’s next words confirmed this: For his lackluster performance, his having antagonized everybody (it was no fault of his own, but why argue when they were all against him?), he was banished from the lair. And so Oberon left his birthplace. As dusk descended, he looked back. The lair lanterns were lit, but they seemed to him colder than the wilderness, for he’d never been welcome there. Ahead, however...the Icefield beckoned, as blank as new paper, yet also as full of possibilities. It was away from his lair that Oberon, at last, felt safe enough to dance. Out here, he was free. Oberon took a ship to the Viridian Labyrinth, and there he resumed traveling. It was exhilarating, being alone in the vast wilderness. And he discovered that here, perhaps due to the lack of judgment and pressure he’d faced in his lair, his nightmares finally faded away. Just as a whale breaches or an eagle screams, he danced often, for the sheer joy of it. Tracing patterns into fallen leaves, flinging them in verdant arcs...It was one of these dances that led him to others like him. It was dusk, and while his campfire and the wind whispered their music, he danced. His wings shimmered in the moonlight, the flames drew dappled lights upon his scales...and as he turned, he glimpsed a pale face peering through the trees. Someone had seen him! He would be chastised again....But the branches snapped back into place as the watcher retreated. He heard the flutter of their wings and a snatch of shy, sweet laughter.... He decided to stay. Over the next few nights, he danced. Flashing wings, shimmering scales, firelight and starlight glittering upon the dew... He turned around, and there she was, framed by the night-dark trees. “You dance beautifully,” she whispered. She looked shyly up at him through a pale, silky mane. Oberon’s breath caught in his throat. She seemed like an illusion in the moonlight; so beautiful was she. He managed to stammer, “M-My name is Oberon.” “I am Titania.” And her next words hit him like a thunderbolt: “What Faerie Court do you hail from, Oberon?” Faerie—a word from legend, from fairy tales. And Oberon was one of them now. Well, he always had been. Titania brought him to her parents’ court, where Oberon learned of his magical heritage. “Some fairies leave their children in mortal homes,” Titania’s father explained. “It is not cruelty that drives them, but...instinct....Still, fairy parents bestow their familial dance upon their offspring. It’s these dances that guide the children back to fairy lands, where they are welcomed—as you are welcome here, Oberon.” Oberon was dizzy with delight. Those words explained so many things at last....Here in the Faerie Court, he was treated with respect, and he and the beautiful Titania spent more time in each other’s company. Their affection for each other deepened, and it wasn’t long before he agreed to become her lifelong mate. He’d at last found a place where he belonged, had even found true and steadfast love. Still, perhaps he should have paused to wonder: What would compel beings as wondrous as fairies to abandon their children among mortals? The sword left only a shallow cut, but it sizzled like acid, and the dragon screamed and leaped away. It didn’t fly so much as lurch through the boreal forest, unsteady with pain and fear—and the precious cargo it carried. It held the egg against its chest, and the two hearts beat in synchrony, fluttering in stark terror... Oberon awoke with a gasp, staring into the darkness. “That dream again.” He hadn’t had it in years. He had been living happily since settling in the court; why had it returned now? —And with new sensations, to boot. That had never happened before. When his mate asked him what was wrong, he did not answer. He instead turned his mind to things outside their kingdom. Mortal clans dwelled among the Gladeveins. They knew of the fairies, and the two races occasionally encountered each other in the rainforest. The mortals left offerings for the fairies, and the fairies repaid them with small, beneficial spells. Oberon, who had spent time among mortals, was less afraid of them. Although his parents-in-law discouraged it, he frequently snuck away to watch these other dragons, curious about their daily doings. His mate accompanied him, and soon she was speaking to the mortals as freely as he did. The pair got to know their mortal neighbors better—and later they decided to teach fairy dances and songs to the dragons. There was magic in these lessons, though the couple were too young and naive to understand this. They saw only how they generated wonder in others and delighted at being able to share their world. They especially enjoyed teaching magic to children, who were eager, optimistic...and trusting. So trusting... Dawn. Where once the sight of it had energized Oberon, now it filled him with dread, and the thought of dancing made his stomach churn. For the hunters had been led to them by the dances...and the child. Fairy hunters pursued their prey for various reasons. Some claimed they’d been slighted by the fairies, a loved one stolen away, maybe. For others, the need was simpler: fairy parts, eggs, and artifacts fetched astronomical prices. This particular band of hunters had been investigating stories of Nature dragons who danced with fairies. Posing as travelers asking about the dangers of the wild, they questioned the local clans about the fairies. Many locals were secretive and repeated only basic warnings. But the children—so eager, optimistic, and trusting—said more. One of them led the way to the hollow where the door to the Faerie Court was concealed. Then the hunters shed their rough clothing, revealing enchanted armor beneath. They readied their weapons and spells. And in the deep hours of the night, between moonset and sunrise, they attacked. With magic they stormed through the doorway. The fairies rallied, wielding weapons and magic of their own, but quickly realized it was useless: In addition to protective enchantments, the hunters carried iron. Magic splashed harmlessly across their iron shields; fairy warriors collapsed as iron swords raised fiery wheals across their bodies. The hunters cast great nets over their prey; the fairies trapped beneath screamed, for iron charms had been woven among the ropes, and the merest brush of them was agony. In the palace, the royals were preparing to flee. Oberon’s father-in-law showed him and Titania a portal leading out of the realm. “This will take you to the Sunbeam Ruins. Once you are beyond, fly far and fast.” His face grew tight with fear. “They won’t rest until they have us all.” Titania was distraught, begging her father to come with them and asking if there was anything else they could do. The old king remained resolute, however. He assured his daughter that once he’d repulsed the invaders, he would find her and Oberon. They would rebuild their court elsewhere, hidden from mortal rapacity. Oberon and Titania went through to the Sunbeam Ruins. Around them, golden sunlight shone and birds sang, but they noticed none of these, for immediately they began their frantic flight away from the destruction. The old king’s words rang in their minds: “They won’t rest until they have us all.” Exhaustion overtook them at noon, and they found a clearing where they could rest. But their sleep was uneasy, and many times the dream of iron, searing-hot, woke Oberon from his slumber. He now knew whom that dream had come from. And he understood what it meant. Night fell. Titania begged to go back and see if any of her family had made it. Oberon was skeptical, but he followed her back to the clearing where they’d emerged. Tranquil, almost pristine: The trees around it shone silver in the moonlight, and the crickets sang. But Titania wailed, for the rock that had contained the portal had imploded into minute pieces. The Faerie Court was no more. Weeks passed. Using his illusions, Oberon and Titania had disguised themselves as mortals, submerging themselves in mortal clans. It was easier for Oberon to fit in, not so much for Titania. In anguish she whispered, “Why did the children betray us? We taught them so much....” “Not now,” Oberon cautioned, for other dragons would be listening. His illusions were good, but the mortals were wary of outsiders, were cold to him and Titania. They were tolerated, for Oberon had retained some of his working skills, but they whispered that he was odd, that his mate was not much better. This was not the first clan they’d hidden in. Oberon realized they’d have to move again. They were so tired....They were harmless and willing to work, but other clans shunned them, seeing only how different they were, not caring that they needed shelter and food. Oh, some of them smiled, declared that they were willing to help any dragon in need, but Oberon wasn’t fooled. After days, without fail, suspicion sank in and the whispers started.... That was the last mortal clan they sought shelter with. After that, they lived rough in the wilderness. They shed the illusions, but there were no more dances. They spent their nights cursing the misfortune that’d reduced them to beggars. Cursing the hunters, the children...the mortals... Such angry words, rising on the wind—and eventually someone heard them. In his cathedral, a golden demon smiled. He cast his own words into the air, luring the fairies with honeyed promises. The cathedral was largely empty. It was inhabited by only a few quiet servants...and the demon. Cipher, his name was: a golden Spiral with shining eyes and a soft voice. He had beckoned Oberon and Titania here because he had heard their lamentations. “The mortals shun us,” he sympathized, “without bothering to understand.” A servant poured a fresh goblet of wine for Titania. She clutched it tightly and queried, “You have also faced persecution?” “Indeed! They hear the word ‘demon’ and immediately shun me. They say I ought to disappear.” Cipher’s voice took on an injured note: “What right do they have to say that? It’s no fault of mine I manifested here. Surely I, too, have my place in this world.” Though he was addressing Titania, his words also struck a strong chord in Oberon. He’d encountered the same discrimination from birth—even before he’d known the dragons who’d raised him weren’t his real parents, he had been injured by how they’d favored his other nestmates; how callous clanmates had been to him, simply because of who he was. “Now this cathedral serves as my sanctuary,” Cipher explained. His eyes warmed as he looked at his guests. “It can be lonely. You would be welcome here. There is much space, as you can see, and you would be safe from harm.” “You would share your home with us?” Titania asked. She only seemed surprised; Oberon, however, was wary. “There’s a price, isn’t there?” he bluntly inquired. “Of course.” Oberon clenched his teeth. Of course there was a price. Some menial tasks those mortals liked so much, like hauling fish or planting crops... But Cipher was not a mortal. The demon spread his wings invitingly. “Your magic will assist me. You fairies are skilled in enchantments, aren’t you? You can make our home a little more wondrous, a little safer. That’s all anyone needs—a wonderful, safe place to call home.” “But the mortals...They have magic of their own. What if they find us?” Titania asked, and it was the fear in her voice that sealed Oberon’s determination. Even before Cipher answered, “They won’t find us unless we will it. But together, we can deal with them accordingly.” “Your price seems fair,” Oberon replied. He looked at his mate, who nodded slowly. “Yes,” she agreed, “we are tired of running....Let us rebuild our Court here. Far from mortal eyes...and any who enter uninvited will be dealt with.” As she spoke, her usually-gentle voice changed, become steelier and colder. It was a sibilant hiss when she finished, and her eyes were glinting gold, the same as Oberon’s eyes...and the demon’s eyes. “Spoken like a true Queen of Faerie! You’ll fit right in, I’m sure—you and your majestic King.” Cipher nodded to Oberon as well, and the new Fairy King felt pride surge through him. It turned to power in his limbs; he felt stronger and braver than he had in days. The demon was right; what wonders a safe haven could do for them! They could not let go of this place; they wouldn’t be able to find it again....They didn’t want to have to find it again. They might have found a home with a demon, but it was their home. No mortals would tear it away from them. No mortals...Oberon and Titania bared their teeth. How infinitely safer and more wondrous the world would be...without mortals. “There is a garden you might like. Let me show you where it is,” Cipher suggested. He undulated down the marble halls, and his new servants followed him. Ahead of them lay the darkness of the Cathedral, as featureless as a pool of ink...and just as full of possibilities. ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) all edits by other users
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