Oberan moves like a story told in motion. He is light on his feet with a dancer's balance and the habit of tilting his head as if listening to a distant refrain. His clothes are well-worn but tailored; each fold seems placed to catch attention. He carries a rapier at his hip that is nicked and lovingly half-parked in its scabbard; when he draws it he does so with a little theatrical bow. Unexpectedly, his left forearm is wrapped in faded sailor's tattoos that peek from under his sleeve and depict a ship beating windward, a constellation, and a child's small, simple anchor. The tattoos look older than him and are meticulously inked in a style from a distant port, creating a contradiction between his polished city manners and the rough sea-legacy ink.