Oats
(#15345076)
Level 8 Tundra
Familiar
Melprin
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Male Tundra
This dragon is on a Coliseum team.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
3.97 m
Wingspan
3.02 m
Weight
291.38 kg
Genetics
Maize
Basic
Basic
Chocolate
Stripes
Stripes
Rust
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 8 Tundra
EXP: 6320 / 16009
STR
34
AGI
7
DEF
6
QCK
17
INT
7
VIT
22
MND
7
Biography
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Oats Occupation: Founder, Hunter, Farmer - Oats and Barley Mate: Aloof | Secretly Caring | Aggressive | Fiercely loyal | Distant |
  
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Separated. Detached. These were the not the first complex concepts that Oats came to know all too well as a fledgling Tundra, but they were the loneliest. With his culture being known for their social structures, it struck others as odd to see a lone Tundra wandering the plains. Some would ask from where he hailed, to which he'd respond that he'd forgotten, though it seemed like that might be a lie. Whatever memories plagued him, perhaps they were still too fresh. So he grazed, he gathered, he even took up hunting game, which is another abnormality for his species. Other dragons that took pity on him along the way soon found his personality to be somewhat off-putting, though none really invested in getting to know him either. Admittedly, Oats is a tough shell to crack. He's gruff and often his motives seem one-sided. Selfish. In reality, he'll often act for the benefit of others even though it may not be obvious at the time. But on his own, he was also forced to learn how to look after himself. He became wary of others, one might even describe him as skittish. When Oats was a young adult, he happened across the ruins of what looked to be an ancient Clanhold. Cobblestone structures punctuated the territory, though they were in obvious disrepair, some no more than piles of wind-worn rubble. One building still seemed structurally sound, though just barely. Sharply cut stones that reminded him of the Sunbeam Ruins stood strong against years of weathering, though vines and mosses had worked their way into the cracks, taking root and giving the structure a verdant façade. Tall shoots of bamboo formed a resolute barrier, as if to protect the place. Oats entered cautiously, pushing open the heavy wooden doors. It seemed to be a common-room, perhaps some sort of council hall. Scrolls and tomes were tucked into a small alcove, some of the material so rotten they were beyond repair. Two long tables carved from the same wood as the doors sat parallel to each other, a smattering of silver goblets and platters lay strewn across the surface and floor. Whoever had lived here, it looked like they left in a hurry. Perhaps there were more riches at one time, but all items of high value had most likely long been gone thanks to bandits and the like. But Oats had no use for such things. The place resonated with him regardless of its monetary wealth. He could make something here. A life. Little did he know that, as he began constructing new buildings by using the ruins as a foundation, he would attract more dragons. Crane in particular, was not only the first arrival, but the most notable. He shared some core qualities with Oats, including the fact that he was far from his family. Oats was skeptical of the Skydancer, as he was with any dragon, but as evening fell, a band of rogues descended. Crane was instrumental in defending the homestead, and so he and Oats became the first two residents of what would become the Wild Oats settlement. Oats is still reclusive, preferring to live on the outskirts of town in a modest hut. Crane seems to know the most about Oats, though much is still a mystery. Despite this, Oats will defend the town and has referred to the settlers as his group on occasion and, even more rarely, as his family. His behavior is oftentimes contradictory to his demeanor. He will fiercely defend the dragons he lives with but also keeps them all at arm's length. He may be the founder of the settlement, but he never formally accepted any title as leader. The day Shavuot blew into town from Elsewhere was probably the best thing that had happened to Oats and his establishment, though he'd never admit it aloud. Her organization and skills in management keep the town running day to day. A firm believer in earning his own keep (despite being the founder of the town), Oats insists on working the fields just like the other farmers. Much of his time is spent with Mosley and Blake as they tend fields of oats and barley, the largest, most productive crop currently cultivated by the settlement. Elsewhere #2238 wrote:
Harvest was in full swing and every farmer in the Settlement was reaping the crops they sewed and tended the past season. It was hard work, but it was going well. The large sheaves of golden barley, oats, sacks of rice and bushels of crisp apples displayed the fruits of their labor. But work for Oats wasn't done when the scythes were put away. Back at his solitary cabin, the Tundra sat before a tanning rack, scraping the hide bare with a sharpened stone while a nice fire crackled nearby. It was work, but it was a mind-numbing reprieve that Oats enjoyed. And this would provide some nice leather when completed.
A scuffling noise close by caught his attention, but he quickly dismissed it in favor of returning to his task. But again, another *scuff scuff* and what sounded like talons on wood. Grumbling at the interruption, Oats stood and looked around the property, small as it was. Nothing in the drying shed, nothing around the farming equipment... *scuff ruffle scuff* again! Flustered, Oats stomped around to the side of his hut only to find a mound of freshly shifted earth near the foundation. Scratch marks punctuated the base of the wooden planks and at the center of it all, the rear end of some critter, half-buried and apparently busy at work. Hullo, dinner, Oats huffed, grasping the beast by the back legs and dragging it from its burrow construction. It spat, hissed and snarled, throwing quite a fit. Oats held it out from his body, examining the creature. Cloven hooves tipped its back legs, while dextrous little paws flailed on the front end. It looked like some strange mash up of a raccoon and a goat, complete with a pair of curled horns jutting from its skull. At that moment, Blake sauntered by heaving a large bundle of barley. Awwh, you made a friend, her typical snark colored her tone. Friends don't deface friend's property, Oats quipped back, futher examining the creature. A designation came to mind then, Melprin...he thought he'd heard about them once. Oh he's probably all bark and bite on the outside, but I bet he's a tender little lap pet deep down. Kinda like someone else I know, she raised her brows, knowing he'd take the hint. Oats shot her a look and rolled his eyes. Yeah, I bet he's tender on the inside...cooked medium rare on a spit. The Tundra gave the little critter a jostle, which caused it to writhe and growl again. Blake shook her head, hefting her load higher up on her back as she continued walking. Don't kid yourself. You'll be best friends by morning. Oats didn't deign the comment worthy of a response and tossed the Melprin into a crate for safe keeping while he set about preparing a base stew. Melprin meat looked like it needed softening. Some hours later, night had fallen and Oats was eager to begin cooking. The Melprin had worn itself out trying to escape the crate and had curled up defensively in the corner furthest from Oats. The Tundra grabbed his buck knife and strode towards the crate to retrieve his prisoner. Lifting the latch and quickly grasping the Melprin by the scruff, he held it up and gave it a once-over. It didn't struggle this time and wouldn't make eye contact like it had before. No challenge or fight at all. Oats narrowed his brow, wondering if the beast was sick. If so, it'd be better off as fuel for the fire rather than food. Who knows what sort of pestilence it could spread. Oats held it up higher to get a look at its face, checking the eyes and nose for signs of illness. But it met his gaze then, staring at him defiantly. Oats knew then it wasn't sick. He tried to look away, really he did. But maybe...there was some truth to what Blake had said. Oats heaved a sigh, fighting tooth and nail against the inexplicable attachment he began to feel for the Melprin. It was no use. Damn it...The Tundra muttered.
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The next morning, Blake trekked wearily out to the section of field she had yet to harvest. She passed Mosley on the way, gave him a greeting nod and continued on to her plot. When she arrived, she saw Oats in the next grid, busy at work, threshing the oats. On his shoulder was perched a little Melprin, its tail swishing idly against the Tundra's back. The Skydancer grinned and had a skip in her step for the rest of the day. 
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He was too quiet, or he was too loud.
He took things too seriously, or not seriously at all.
He was too sensitive, or too cold hearted.
He hated with every fiber of his being...
Or he loved with every piece of his heart.
He took things too seriously, or not seriously at all.
He was too sensitive, or too cold hearted.
He hated with every fiber of his being...
Or he loved with every piece of his heart.
Click or tap a food type to individually feed this dragon only. The other dragons in your lair will not have their energy replenished.
This dragon doesn't eat Insects.
This dragon doesn't eat Meat.
This dragon doesn't eat Seafood.
Feed this dragon Plants.
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Exalting Oats to the service of the Windsinger will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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