In his old age he seems to get lost in memories far more than when he was younger. Perhaps there comes a time when you don’t make memories anymore, and all that’s left is what has happened already. Oberon sighs, when did he become so melancholy? Glancing at his little pet, he chuckles. “Remember when we first met?” he asks the little creature. All bones and cloth, the little thing chitters at him....

Oberon had been alive for a long time, longer than well he’d care to admit. He thought he’d crumble by now, turned to ash in the hooves of those that come after him. Instead, he runs a small shop, inventoried by those only caring to dive and explore a little bit. Gives them a sense of purpose when they cannot dig deeper like others in small groups....