Near the edge of the Central Glacier, where thick snow lies all year around, is a small area of geothermal activity: hot springs and bubbling mud pools. A little pocket of Chaos holds out against the slow advance of Order. The smell of sulphur hangs heavy on the air and thick clouds of steam billow all around. In this place where Order and Chaos clash, the fabric or reality is strained and other dimensions are brought closer to ours.

Here, chained in a rough stone temple, is found the Oracle. An ancient wizened man, clad in dirt rags, his eyes plucked out by his own hands in a vain attempt to blank out the images he sees but it does no good for they are in his mind.

Or so the legends go. Some say that the Oracle is tended by a small group of red-robed monks who scrape a living from a nearby valley. They record the ramblings of the Oracle and provide rough accommodation for suppliants. Others say that when an Oracle dies, the red-robed monks will travel the land, seeking out a child with the talent to see beyond the veil. These children are spirited away in the night, unbeknownst to their parents....