No sound, or movement emanated from the dark black cave that lay in the small mountain. It seemed so desolate, so unfriendly that no one would go near it. Little did they know, that was exactly what it was meant to do. Deep down, in the dark damp cave, there was a single lamp. The firelight in the torch, glowed an emerald green, meant to be a signal for all who could understand. There was said to be whispers in the great cavern of Taurus, but no one knew for certain. Only specific people had enough bravery to face the dreaded Oracle, or so the legend went. It was said that he had lived here from the dawn and birth of time. That he had taken many shapes and forms, that he could lay ruin to Emerald city, or victory.

Whether these were just hapless fairy tales, or true facts was a mystery, like so much of the Oracle was. He was said to be a humanoid, not a human, nor a demon. Of all the people that had entered his cave of secrecy, none had come out without being wiser than before. It was said that they had a glint in their eye, the glint of wisdom to be absolute. They had gone on to build castles, fortresses, things of beauty, of majesty. They were also said to have done terrible deeds that still spread from the lips of a mother to her child, to lull them to sleep. Kings had entered, and exited with peace in their eyes. But there were also many, that had entered and disappeared entirely. All who had seen them before they vanished, heard the stories from the king that they had felt the voices pry into their heads, and that things untold, and that they could never tell would happen in that cave.

It rained, constantly near the cavern. Golden rain, mayhaps silver. Beauty and riches beyond compare could easily be walled by the cavernous residence of Taurus. He was not all those things that people said he was, but he was great in his own way. He had no hair upon his head, his skin was green, and wrinkled from many years of living alone and visioning. A great shield mounted upon his back, covered in the runes of Emerald City, that only he and he alone could decipher. He had no teeth, for he had lost them long ago, yet had no lisp from this. His eyes were deep and soulful, rarely did he smile, but when he did wrinkles would fold, making him look older than ever. As the wise owl said, "When a turtle smiles, all will be happy in the world." His voice sounded like the flickering tongues of millions upon millions of flames. Crackling and laughing, cackling and singing all at the same time, synchronized, yet chaotic. His humble abode was not exactly humble. Adorned with workings of beautiful art, by the hand of Taurus himself. Beads and stones, candles were lit upon every available surface. It was musty in their, the candle's wicks set aflame the air with the scent of vanilla, sugar.. Incense burned on the window sill, while dozens upon dozens of shelves held salve, lotions, creams, and liquids of other mysterious pasts.

A book lay open on the table, it's pages shimmering with what seemed to be old magic. Yet, it was not magic at all. The paper had been crafted by the old turtle himself, who lay hunch backed on his chair. A wooden staff was clutched in his dull nail's grasp, ruined with mark upon mark of his claws. He had scraped symbols, and letters into it, for his own memory, and then those that would come after him, and before. He turned each page, relishing it's crinkling noise as the beautiful words rang around his mind. With a dull thud, he let the pages of the book slip between his fingers, closing the cover of his journal. He had done many things, been many places. But now it was time for him to stay here, and to suggest things,to see things for people who could not see as he did. He did not understand how they could not see the signs of the earth, how they couldn't see the beauty and the majesty, and the terribleness of what would happen, and what was to happen.

His eyes were sad by this, as he felt the growing depression that welled in him from inside. At his own, slow pace he got up from the table, and began to pace about, lugging the shell from left to right, which was the source of his slowness. Hesitating for a single moment, he took down a dark brown box, thus unconcealing it's contents. Green dust flew through the air around him as he blew on it gently, the light dust motes flying through the air before settling on everything, and anything. He sat down at the hearth with the box in his hand, deep in thought. It glittered with a sinister feeling, he knew that he should not open it, and like everyone else he felt the pull of curiousity. Bitterly, he let it fall from his fingers, into the burning fireplace, hearing the crackles and snaps as the wood burned quickly, and easily. "It is done.. He murmured in the crackling, croaky voice of his, so beautiful and perfect, and yet so flawed and imperfect. A contradicting air about him. Sitting back he sighed, his claws curling up feebly against the chair's arm as he waited for the one's with the destiny. Their destiny awaited for them.

Runes lay on the table, etched into their stones. They were waiting for his claws to come, and covet them. So he could read the pattern they were in. They wanted to inform him, yet they could not until The One's he was waiting for, would approach him. Only then would the beautiful stones give him the knowledge he needed, the guidance he could claim as his own, so he could pass it onto them.. Only then.

So begins...

Taurus of the Oracle's Story