Laugh at me again, and I’ll deflate your lungs. The Kirab should unite. I’m dead serious! We could own the Vermillius Gap.
See this handful of sand? They say it’s red on account of the oxidized iron content, but I know different. I know it’s all the blood soaked into this place. Look at the Fremen. They used to do their heathen, woo-woo tripe here, till the Sardaukar spilled their juices.
Then those ghouls from House Nehtalos take advantage and start iron mining. But they overreached. All us scavengers and reavers pick the profits clean off the skeleton of their big plans. The sand drinks their blood.
Then the War of Assassins. More blood. Chaos and opportunity! We get our mitts on all those abandoned mining rigs. We have a chance at something bigger. But what do we do? We scatter like beetles at the first outside pressure. They laugh at the Kirab, but they’ve never seen all of us coming down on them. No one has.
The sand is thirsty. Either it’s our blood that quenches it or someone else’s. Our choice.