I remember being taught the ritual of the bloody hand. The history, what it meant to be the daughter of a slave. The price paid for a freedom so easy for my generation to take for granted.

I remember the song of pain. A cochophony of wails and screams. The inner meaning of a spirit crying out for release from shackles alien to me.

But more than that I remember those three simple words whsipered to me every night, as a mantra to be called upon.

“Death is currency.”

It is time to pay the dues of my freedom.

((Formally a Blood Raider initiate from childhood, Siroberon was liberated back into the tribe and their nomadic ways with some difficulties in attitude adjustment. Whilst she came to appriciate new life she was offered. it proved empty. Not enough to satiate the blood lust and rage she nutrured as an intiate in the Raiders or the rage and anger to a childhood stolen from her so many years ago. Now she has foundf a cause, in the libeartion of her cousins in slavery and an outlet for her rage against the Blood Raiders and the culture that cultivated their babarity, the Amarrian people themselves)