The Prophet's Dream

On the second day of the third month, nearing the end of the rainy season and Sunsdawn, a day of great glory for Voo and Zihth, you sleep in a nook in the padded recesses of the Temple of Fire in Ir Alatha. Flashes of flame sweep across your field of vision in your dreams, the sparks around your view are a familiar presence as you slip into a vision. A dark fortress, half built upon a hill A dock city, shoddily made and partially submerged A voice almost breathless. "...and the blood of the innocents stains his footsteps..." The face of the Arch Prophet Zakkai looking up in terror as an arrow pierces between his eyes A young Remnant boy looking around confused as several dark and heavily tattooed Alathaya surround him A gigantic stone ring covered in runes that glow a deep red You and several others walking over a vast stretch of wilderness, with hot springs gushing steam around you, glowing orbs hanging in the air, and what you would not know to be scattered piles of snow. An hourglass swung as a censor by a scarlet robed figure through catacombs. The elderly prophet Ombra and you, back to back, reigning down fire and flaming brimstone Those flames build till they form the hissing face of Zihth. "To the north, Lektalis, Fire's hand. To the north, where the heat is drawn from your bones, and my flames have long lain far too dormant. One of my brothers is to be awakened and you shall be the instrument of my wrath upon those who would do otherwise and the warmth of power to the companions who need your aid. It is time!" You awake, your body almost feverish. Many of the priests are sleeping, save a few in late night prayer vigils. You stretch and see upon the altar near the ring containing the bonfire that Zihth rises from a stack of coins. They glow lightly orange as if cooling down from a great heat and one sparks slightly. You understand that certainly and take the warm coins. 42 jofya. Six times six plus six. Surely a good sign. You step outside as the sun begins to stretch its furthest tendrils into the horizon. The priests of Voo stand outside their temple in observance of the sunrise, chanting deep notes against the otherwise stillness of a quite early morning. You begin to head into the heart of the city, where the large open market is already buzzing with activity. The clank of coins, it seems, is just as inspiring to some as dedication to a god. You know today will be a long day and the beginning of several more. Supplies then must be gathered for your journey.