In a dream of a dream you spoke with a field of poppies hanging from your roof about deals and contracts though your memory is fuzzy you knew two things. What you spoke to was a minor goddess that has claimed you as their seventh bishop told to grow their cult and topple the churches of other gods. Second you’re soul is now in the hands of this god. When you awoke you weren’t in your bed, your house, nor your clothes. When you awoke you were in the center of camp of a few dozen tents and wearing white clothes and a purple shawl standing before a woman of obsidian who stands at twice your hight with purple hair that covers her eyes and two two horns with two sides of a scale hanging from them. Forager the fourth bishop: ”Hello Nomad, to think our superior would choose a human. A sheep to help the shepherd? But it is not for me to question our mistress so I welcome you Nomad, you our the seventh bishop and akin to myself can exist in the land of mortality yet you cannot soar the endless skies of our superior so here you will you stay among your kin. You will accompany their shepherd and hunt their wolves.” And without conformation nor another word she fades to the winds as the campus preacher comes out to great you acutely aware of who you are. Cult preacher: ”The dawn rises upon a new day Nomad, let me take you to the bath house so that you may start the day right.”