Jareth
(#21224017)
It's only forever, not long at all | he/him
Familiar
Crumbling Goblin
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 50/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Shadow.
Male Wildclaw
This dragon is hibernating.
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
6.84 m
Wingspan
5.64 m
Weight
672 kg
Genetics
Brown
Tiger
Tiger
Beige
Daub
Daub
Beige
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 6 Wildclaw
EXP: 168 / 8380
STR
8
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
6
MND
6
Biography
 J A R E T H♫
THE GOBLIN KING
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R E L A T I O N S  MASTER G O B L I N S  PRINCE  HIGH PRIESTESS  . . . ╰━━━━━━━━╯ |
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"Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child you have stolen, for my will is as strong as yours and my kingdom as great. You have no power over me." - Jim Henson ╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯ Jareth had always loved a good mystery. It takes a lot to catch and hold a fairy’s attention, and in his case, that mystery was right here, in the Pallid Court. It was no strange place to him, and wasn’t even a distant one—it had always been his home. Under the rule of Titania and Oberon, the Court flourished. Jareth was the Queen’s bishop, one of her most trusted advisors, and he was well-regarded by the rest of the Court. But like many fairies, he wasn’t above using his power and prestige for his own ends. He drew his office about himself like a suit of armor as he dove into the mystery of the Pallid Court’s visitors. Some of them were fairies, true—but these weren’t whom Jareth was curious about. Mortals, sleepy and bespelled, sometimes came to the Pallid Court. Few were grown dragons. The majority were hatchlings with chubby limbs and large, limpid eyes. Jareth had interacted with them only once before, as a newly-appointed bishop. But Titania had led him away, chuckling indulgently at his antics. “Attendants have been assigned to them, Jareth. You needn’t try to amuse them.” “I have never seen mortal children before. How playful they are!” “That they are.” The Queen’s eyes had narrowed. “But then, you aren’t here to play.” Jareth had understood this as a rebuke, and he had turned back to official matters. Thereafter he had not been able to approach these mortal visitors; his duties were many and demanded much of his attention. Still, the matter stayed at the back of his mind. Was Titania sending changelings to take these children’s places? He’d never heard of any Pallid fairies heading to the mortal lands, though. Jareth was honest enough to admit that it was annoying that a high-ranking fairy such as himself would be ignorant of this information. He had irritated the Queen early on; perhaps this was simply her way of showing her dislike for him. Well, two could play at that game! It would be a fun diversion to dig into these visitors’ purposes and whereabouts, to find out where they’d come from...and where they were going next. The Summer Solstice dawned over Faerieland, and the veils of the Pallid Court were opened, admitting fairies, elves, and a stray kitsune or two. There were mortals, too—not just dragons, but also animals, slipping through the forest glades. Jareth took the form of one of these: a toad with a face so ornery that no one wanted to touch him. And small enough, too, not to be noticed as he hopped after the mortal hatchlings. The fairies and their otherworldly guests were ablaze with magic and gaiety, celebrating the start of summer. The mortals were conspicuous because of how drab they were, how sleepily they tottered through the festive halls. Jareth lost them a few times as they were shepherded through the throng by their attendants, but he always managed to pick up the trail again. He followed them down through the twisting roots of the Pallid Court. Down where the light couldn’t reach. He came to halls that he’d known, in a vague sort of way, existed, but had never actually seen before; and he wondered that he was kept from them, but the mortals weren’t— And, at last, he came to the Winter Tree. Jareth had lost sight of the mortals some minutes before, but the trail had led him here. The Winter Tree was a gigantic ice sculpture, four doorways carved into its ghost-white trunk, revealing an empty space inside. From the lace-like branches, on spider silk, hung many crystal orbs. Jareth shed his disguise. He stepped in curiosity beneath the branches, and his wing brushed an orb— A scream, a wave of terror. He jerked back in shock, and the orbs clinked together. The one he’d touched was glowing brightly. He steeled himself and clasped it— Within the trunk, visible through one doorway, a translucent image appeared: a Skydancer hatchling, eyes wide with fear. She ran for the doorway, but bounced against some invisible barrier, and could only hammer on it. Words came from the orb in Jareth’s claws— “Help me, please! They’ve taken us away! Please don’t leave me down here!” “Who are you?” Jareth gasped. He struggled to hold on to the orb; the fear from it—from the child—was astounding. He stared at it in horror now, beginning to understand what it was. “Maisie,” the child sobbed. “I was foraging outside, and I saw a beautiful deer...and then suddenly I...Please let us go. We’ve been here for days. Please, we just want to go home!” Jareth tugged on the orb, but the spider’s silk was as strong as steel, and it would not yield. He wondered if he could try a spell...and then he heard approaching footsteps. He released the orb, and Maisie vanished. When two dark-masked fairies came in, scant minutes later, all was quiet and unmoving once more. They didn’t notice the toad squatting in the shadows near the walls. “This one,” one of the fairies said. She murmured a spell, and an orb dropped into her waiting claws. Her companion turned towards the crystal trunk and spoke a word; the doorways suddenly shone with blue light, and now a different space was revealed: a marble hall, with an altar at the end. From where he sat, Jareth thought it might have been carved out of reddish stone: jasper or sardonyx, perhaps? He hopped through the door, following the fairies and the orb, and watched as the orb was smashed upon the altar. Smoke appeared, swirling into a shape...not a translucent image this time, but a solid body. Another hatchling, wide-eyed and afraid, squealing in fear as icy shackles reached up from the altar and bound him to the stone. “What are they doing?” Jareth thought, watching as the fairies drew glittering knives. “Surely they wouldn’t—!” And then the knives came down, and he understood: the altar had not been carved from reddish stone. No... It was pure white marble, and the red and brown thickly staining it was dried blood. There was no ceremony to what the fairies did, no compassion or respect. They butchered the child, draining his blood, his life, with their magic. These essences went into ornate bottles, which were carefully cleaned and stoppered, set aside for delivery. “Shall we take another one?” “Perhaps it would be best. It is a day of celebration, and the Queen must be at her most radiant.” One fairy darted through the portal, returned with another orb. It smashed upon the altar, and the smoke rose again.... And all Jareth could do was wait...and watch. The Winter Tree, the orbs, the blood and the screaming...Fairies don’t usually dream, but how could Jareth not? The secrets he’d witnessed were seared into his heart, worsened by the realization that this was all Titania’s will. Yes, fairies could be mischievous. They could be cruel and vicious and spiteful. But they were not monsters, and Jareth would not stand for this. His position as Bishop did give him an advantage. Two could play at that game... He’d watched the executioners carefully, and he remembered the spells they used. He began plucking orbs from the tree—a few at a time, and then more and more. Most of his duties kept him in the Court, but he was a charming fairy and was able to cook up excuses to head to the mortal world. There, the spells on the orbs broke, and Jareth sent the sleepy children stumbling back towards their homes with their lives and memories intact. “Someone has been stealing from the Queen.” The rumor began going around. Jareth’s eyes widened, and in artfully contrived indignation, he gasped, “No! Who would dare defy Her Majesty?” “I would, of course. You’ve deceived me for too long, Titania; I’ll not be party to this debauchery...” Another holiday, another time of light and glory—and more sacrifices, ushered in under a spell of torpor. Jareth smiled as he watched them go, but inside, he was sick to his stomach; there were so many of them.... “I’ll have to take a little more than usual to offset that number. And the veils are wide open today, so I shall be able to take advantage of that too.” Sometime during the celebrations, Jareth slipped away. He traveled down to the Winter Tree with a silk satchel, and he plucked several orbs from the branches. He tried not to look back at the ones that remained as he fluttered back out to the shining halls, and thence to mortal lands. The sun set as Jareth flitted from place to place, breaking open the orbs one by one and releasing each soul trapped inside. The children tottered back to their lairs, and soon Jareth was down to about a half-dozen souls. He hefted one and undid the spell upon it.... The smoke that swirled out was thickly cloying, smelling of flowers and milk. And even as the aromas choked the strength out of him, the smoke solidified into a massive paw, crushing him into the dirt. “So, it was you all along!” the great Guardian—one of Titania’s soldiers—hissed, his too-perfect teeth bared in a vicious smile. “The Queen will be displeased, Jareth...most displeased.” And he threw back his head and roared long and loud, like a hunter summoning the rest of the pack. It did not take long for Titania to arrive. Her retinue came with her, though they drew back in respect and fear as she approached Jareth. “You would deceive me, my Bishop? One of my trusted advisors...you would spit upon the trust I placed in you?” And despite their splendor, their glory, the other fairies cowered when they heard the venom in those words. Nothing good would come of this now. The Queen’s wrath had been invoked, and now it was bearing down upon that forest glade like a vicious storm. Only one fairy did not cower, and that was Jareth himself. He knew words would not avail him here—but damned if he would give up so easily. He drew himself up with all his pride, and he spat into the face of the fairy queen. Titania’s wrath erupted, greater than any storm. The other fairies were blown away as the forest suddenly vanished, sheared away by vast razors of ice. Jareth dodged them nimbly, clutching the satchel close—and then he shifted into the form of a hawk and climbed towards the sky. The Queen flung bolts of magic at him, and dodge though he might, one of them struck him. He was forced back into his shape in midair...only it wasn’t his shape. He was twisting, his flesh growing unpleasantly mottled; he felt the contours of his face beginning to change. “No!” he thought fiercely, and he forced himself back into hawk shape. The satchel now felt curiously light, and with another sickened lurch, he realized the remaining orbs were gone, torn away by Titania’s magic as he’d leaped away from her, and then again as she’d hit him with her spell. But Jareth could not think of them now. He had to fly away...and by some miracle, he escaped, beating hard with wings that soon refused to follow his command as the Queen’s spell sank in and began changing his shape, irrevocably this time. When at last he crashed upon the earth, it was not as a fairy, but as a goblin, his hair now grimy and tangled, his face grotesquely warped. Jareth was not alone, though: In the last light of the setting sun, he saw that a lone orb—the very last one—had rolled from the satchel and cracked against the ground. Murky vapors swirled from it, for Titania’s spell had struck it, too. The smoke coalesced into a child: no longer entirely a mortal, but destined to become a goblin like Jareth himself. Jareth didn’t recognize the child. He’d occasionally talked to the souls in the orbs, trying to get a better sense of who they were and where they’d come from, but he hadn’t had time to address this one. The child seemed similarly baffled. He regarded Jareth with round, orange eyes. Names could come later. Jareth picked the child and the orb up, placed both back into the silk satchel. He fled into the shadowy forest on foot, searching for refuge away from Titania’s wrath. Refuge was easy to find, not so much to keep. Jareth and the child, whom he named Toby, moved frequently through the underground, dodging Titania’s minions. Some of them caught up to the erstwhile Bishop, but Jareth had kept enough of his magic to be able to deal with them. From some of them, he gleaned useful information: that the sacrifices were continuing; that Titania herself had taken over that terrible duty, following the failure of her executioners to detect Jareth and secure the Winter Tree. The Winter Tree itself was no longer used as a staging point—to prevent the sacrifices from being easy to carry off, they were now kept in their corporeal forms, imprisoned deep beneath the earth. But whatever form the madness took, it was still madness, and Jareth seethed in rage that more fairies were being corrupted, more mortals being slain. And so, one day... A red room, draped in curtains so vividly scarlet that they seemed to glow like flames. They were completely overshadowed by the creature that arched towards Jareth now, however, smiling with many needle-sharp teeth, red eyes glittering mischievously. “You would challenge Titania and Oberon with a Court of your own? Maybe take the wind out of old Cipher’s sails?” A chuckle rippled through the room, as sinister as an approaching wildfire. “You know Cipher’s a demon, right?” “Yes. I know. That’s why I came to you.” Jareth was wearing a mask now, to hide his disfigured face. But his eyes, blazing through the slits, were hard and unafraid. “One demon to challenge another. I like the way you think, goblin. We’ll have tons of fun....It’s definitely worth more than just one–twenty-fifth of your soul, though. How much will you give me? A quarter? Maybe half?” “All of it,” Jareth replied. He smiled to himself, remembered the old saying: Two could play at that game... Jim chuckled. The room darkened to deepest black, and only his scarlet length remained, curving in a diabolical smile of its own, the teeth on his underside glinting. The last thing Jareth heard, before his soul was siphoned away, was the demon’s voice— “We have a deal!” ~ written by Disillusionist (254672) all edits by other users
Layout by Kintsy
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I N V E N T O R Y
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Exalting Jareth to the service of the Lightweaver 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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