In a world where probability was a currency and certainty was a myth, the ancient ones foretold of an event that would shatter the very fabric of reality.
The Prophecy of the Infinite Improbability was written on the walls of a forgotten temple, hidden behind a waterfall in the depths of the Abyssal Wastes.
It spoke of a day when the laws of physics would bend to the whims of the absurd, and the impossible would become the new normal.
They said that on that fateful day, the probability of events would be so skewed that cats would spontaneously combust, and the sky would turn a shade of purple that would blind the uninitiated.
And so, we wait.
For the signs.
For the portents.
For the Infinite Improbability.