Way out among the shepherd-haunted hinterlands of some place or another stands the remains of a once-gilded temple to a partially forgotten goddess of complex statistical analysis and probability whose only remaining worshippers are quantitatively minded shepherds, their apprentice flock-minders, and desperate wool market speculators.
Surviving on the alms of wealthy, tax evasive “shepherds” (really just merchants living in far off towns/cities who bought out local sheep herders on flights of bucolic whimsy and who haven’t been seen getting their hands on any wool in years), the few remaining clerk-priests, nascent fume-addled oracles-in-training, and the lady-of-visions herself live in relative comfort in the remains of the temple. On particular holy days, in the midst of political upheavals, or near tax season, the temple is crowded with those seeking the oracle’s guidance (guaranteed accuracy within a margin of error narrower than any in the biz, really sets the industry standard). Unlike most in the augury game, this temple is a cleanly run establishment. There’s a flat rate and everyone gets the same style of pseudo-cryptic pronouncements as befitting their questions.