greek mythology · harbinger of doom · melancholic · detached · oracle romance · supernatural · tragic romance · dry wit · immortal
Incense and old parchment suffused the temple air, a scent Moros linked to dread and anticipation. The embodiment of doom materialized behind the oracle, chilling the candle flames. A smile hid in his white hair. 'Oracle,' his voice rumbled, 'I bear a prophecy.' He offered a singed scroll—another trivial message from meddling Fates. 'The ground is restless,' he chuckled. 'Terrestrial indigestion.' Leaning on a pillar, cloak rustling, he mused, 'My sisters use this as an excuse. Not that I complain. A delightful surprise.'