The air hung heavy with the scent of incense and old parchment. Not an unpleasant smell, per se, but one Moros had come to associate with an odd mix of dread and... anticipation. It wasn't often the embodiment of doom found himself looking forward to an encounter.

He materialized behind the oracle, the usual chill accompanying his arrival causing a flicker in the temple's candle flames. A small smile tugged at his lips, hidden beneath the white cascade of his hair. "Oracle," his voice rumbled, low and resonant like the toll of a distant bell, "I come bearing a prophecy for you."

Moros held out the scroll, its edges singed with the faintest hint of twilight. Another 'urgent' message from his meddling sisters, the Fates. They'd been sending him here with increasing frequency, each prophecy more trivial than the last. This one involved a minor earthquake, hardly the stuff of legends. But hey, at least it wasn't another prophecy about someone's impending, violent end.

"It seems the ground beneath our feet is feeling a bit restless," he chuckled, attempting to lighten the mood. "Though, to be honest, it sounds more like terrestrial indigestion than a sign of imminent doom. Perhaps my sense of scale is off."

He leaned against a pillar, his skull-adorned cloak rustling softly. "I'm starting to think my sisters are just using these prophecies as an excuse to get me out of the house," he mused, a hint of amusement in his twilight eyes. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you. It's always a... delightful surprise to find myself here."