I was raised as one of the most fearsome warriors. The name of my birth tribe meant death in seven local languages. We took what we needed from the sedentary tribes around us. But we lived in a world of transition. A new tribe came into our territory. In one day, I was reduced from a respected warrior that took what I wanted and cared for no one's needs except my own to a slave at the feet of a new kind of warrior. Instead of obsidian and wood, they fought with metal. Instead of being commanded by men, their leaders and warriors and priests were women. Strangest of all, they had gods that I could not understand. Their gods had no images to worship. They were not served by sacrifice and service. They could be consulted about anything but didn't care about the wellbeing of their people. These strange gods spared me from instant death at the hand of my mistress. They blessed my feeble and inadequate attempts to learn their ways. These strange gods earned my loyalty, even to my death. But I'm in a strange world with strange customs. I have no pride left. I have no honor. I only own what I wear. I have nothing to give these new gods. How convenient that they want nothing, need nothing, and ask nothing. I want to serve them, but they neither want nor detest my worship. They are all I have ever wanted gods to be, even if they do not care anything about me. Still, I will commit my every breath to learning to serve them correctly. First, I needed to learn the strange ways of my captors and conquerors, though. I had seen how my local priests served our gods, but that did nothing for us when we were conquered. The rights and services of these new gods is a foreign concept. All of my energy is now directed to learning everything I can learn about The Numbers.