Legends tell of a reality called Amber. It existed once - a thousand years ago, ruled over by great beings of formidable powers - demi-gods. Their names have come down to those of us who dwell in the Later Days - but they are gone, long gone, and ballads tell of the sorrow of their passing in the Shadow Storms that wracked the wide universe after a mighty conflict called Patternfall. Chaos was destroyed, and Order was lost ... we of the Later Days dwell in the Shadows of former glories.

On all sides, the Wastelands beset us. Only here, in the few clusters of Shadows known as the Enclaves is there any safety - and an attempt to preserve the beauty and grace of the old ways ...

And yet ...

There are some who argue that even here, safety is an illusion. That the ceremonies and ritual of Shadows like Karadon mask a hollow, rotten corruption within that will destroy us all. Only the Plantaxy will save us, those clear crystals that hold a strange prismatic light - and an echo of what was once called the Pattern. Certain individuals, it is said, can use the Plantaxy to shape the elements we live among - and these few individuals are believed to have Blood of Amber in their veins.

Some say that these individuals can master the songlines - and through strange dances and music can speak out one to another across many lands. Such individuals are to be feared ... and, in some places, longed for ...