The role of an oracle was a lonely one since most people were afraid of what oracles stood for. Everyone knew within an oracle's soul there flowed ancient dark magicks of an era long since past; just waiting to erupt and cause great pain and destruction to all those nearby. That was what most people believed and Melissia gave a little snort of knowing satisfaction to herself as she stood outside alone in front of the village inn.
Melissia leaned heavily on her stave which was twice her height and looked very well used; not just from helping her move about either. It appeared to be made from an ebon black substance looking more metallic than wood as the moonlight reflects off it showing random patterns making no sense or order at all. She wore a fur around her shoulders to keep out the night chill and was dressed in tight fitting grey leathers that glinted under the moon after being buffed to remove any dullness to them. Her eyes were a deep soulless grey and her hair was pure white, tied back in a long pony tail falling to her waist.
At Melissia's waist was a blade tucked into her belt with a red insignia etched along the sides, she had had this blade for many cycles and it never left her side; it was granted to her as a gift which now seemed like a millennia ago and from a life now long since forgotten. Touching the blade at her waist, Melissa resolves herself and heads towards the door of the inn hoping she has done the right thing and not condemned them all.
