Cartographers have for the most part abandoned attempts to describe the vastness of burnt sand and blackened dust that makes up most of Red Xoros. Yet this does not stop yellow-clad pilgrims from sketching with charcoal on parchment the number of paces between withered trees, the site of a half-engulfed building, or the temporary positions of dunes that obscure the sight of their goal: the Plateau. To seek the plateau is to seek all expressions of light, its gentleness and cruelty, as lost children seek their mothers. Many brave the wastes, some reach the plateau, fewer its towering pinnacle, but all who come here find light.
Beyond the Plateau it is said there is more desert, more wild swirling desert, but some say there is a realm apart from the dry waste. From the pinnacle, it is said, one can descry a pathway that leads to a verdant strip of land that, unlike the wastes, does not burn, but is of burning.