They say that two days before the Night of Fire. the High Pontifex of the church in Rivershear went mad. She burst from her nightly meditation and spent the evening accosting people in the temple and giving them bundles of her dress she had cut and drawn charcoal on. A scullery maid, a guard, a low pastor visiting from the Lighthouse. It didn’t matter. Five times she did this, each time begging them to forgive her. At the night’s end she went mad screaming she could not find the sixth, and collapsed at the lectern clutching the last bundle of cloth. Would have been quite the scandal if the whole world hadn’t caught fire two nights later.

I want every touched scion, and every cloth spread to the winds and if they ever meet your head will decorate my desk. We have enough trouble already without the rattle of prophesy rearing up the anger of the masses. 

Sealed Commands – Ansie Alisae, Majordomo to the Regional Government, Rivershear

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