When God pulls his gun out, he's not running out.
The journey begins with our "heroes" face-to-face with one another, tensions high as the realization settles in that one among them is not who they say they are. Seven unique individuals stand within the inn room, having been directed there by the Prophet's letter. Each bears the ritual dagger and the letter each, none of them differing in the slightest from one another. They are alone together in the room, far from the eyes and ears of common public.
Eyes shifted back and forth across the heroes present, each one receiving scrutiny judging their appearance, expression, and aura. Undoubtedly, many of them had already begun forming opinion on particular individuals, sizing them up with stares. The silence was stiffening until one of them spoke up.
"This certainly leaves us at a poor start," said a dark-skinned cat-girl. Najila held her ritual dagger out before the rest of the heroes as was done by the rest before returning it back to a sheathe slung on her hips. She crossed her arms and frowned. "I see little in the way of means to reveal the liar among us, unless of course they would oblige us by dropping the act here and now," she grinned. For some, it seemed possible they merely forgot what the Prophet said, and that they were to expect 7 heroes originally. But given all seven of them remembered the number 6 with near-certainty, it was increasingly doubtful that they were all merely forgetting.
Najila herself held some opinions on the best course of action, but withheld them until someone else spoke up.