Barnett's eyes met Logan's with a mixture of sorrow and determination. "In times past, the ascension of a new chief was marked by grand ceremonies, sacrifices to honor the spirits, and celebrations that echoed through our lands. Yet, in this hour of mourning, with your father's spirit barely departed to the ancestors, and our tribe besieged by crises, such traditions cannot hold.
The mantle falls upon you now, not with fanfare, but with the urgent call to lead us through these troubled waters. There will be no festivities to herald your succession," Barnett declared, his voice carrying the weight of their shared reality.
Logan, absorbing the gravity of the moment, nodded solemnly. "I grasp the necessity for that, Grandfather," he acknowledged, his thoughts heavy with the reality of his father's passing and the inappropriate timing for celebration. Deep within, he recognized that the title of chief mattered little without the wellbeing of his tribe.
The absence of a ceremonial succession was a trivial sacrifice for the greater good.
Turning his attention to the warriors who had returned from the expedition, Logan's gaze eventually rested on Commander Crow. "Commander, the expedition you led with my father; how many of our brethren have we lost?" His inquiry, though expected, resonated with an unspoken depth, acknowledging the likely toll on their warriors should his father have fallen in battle.
Commander Crow, momentarily taken aback by the young chief's presence and the authority that seemed to emanate from him, hesitated before standing to deliver his report. "My chief, out of 422 warriors, only 289 have returned, over a hundred bearing wounds," he stated, the loss reflected in his somber tone.
Logan received the news with a calm that belied the gravity of their losses. "So, we have indeed suffered greatly," he mused aloud, his expression unreadable yet commanding respect.
As Commander Crow averted his gaze, burdened by the loss and his own responsibility, a voice rose in Crow's defense. "My nephew, the weight of this tragedy should not fall solely upon Commander Crow's shoulders. The battle was fierce, claiming the lives of many, including your father.
That Crow managed to return with two-thirds of our warriors is nothing short of heroic," argued Logan's uncle Reynolds, attempting to shift the focus from blame to the valor exhibited under Crow's leadership.
Reynolds, Logan's uncle, bore a name that carried the weight of tradition and expectation within the Silvermane tribe.
"Ah, dear uncle, it seems there's been a slight misunderstanding," Logan began, his tone even and devoid of accusation as he addressed his fifth uncle. His gaze was cool, a stark contrast to the warmth often found within familial exchanges.
Upon hearing this, Reynolds's demeanor shifted subtly, his expression tightening as if caught off guard by Logan's diplomatic tact.
"To Commander Crowe, let not your thoughts wander towards self-reproach. The tribulations we face are beyond the that of mortal control. Yet, for a tribe of our modest stature, the impact is great," Logan continued, turning his attention towards the commanders. "Thus, I beseech you, Commander Crowe, alongside Commander Bagan, to marshal our warriors.
Barnett, with a gaze as seasoned and profound as the ancient woods, directed Logan to seek wisdom from his second uncle. "Let your Uncle Begon elucidate the matters that weigh heavily upon us. He has long stewarded these concerns with a steady hand."
The undercurrents of familial discontent, borne from his sons' skepticism towards Logan's ascendancy, were not lost on Barnett. Yet, the spark of leadership he discerned in Logan's actions, albeit raw and unrefined, sufficed to instill a sense of pride and reassurance.
Logan turned his attention to his second uncle Begon, a figure whose decisions had significantly shaped the tribe's destiny alongside his other uncle Raynolds during the reign of Logan's father.
In contrast to his father's modest acumen in matters of governance, Lot's prowess and sagacity in navigating the complex web of tribal politics were unparalleled, embodying the wisdom and strength that had long eluded his predecessor.
Begon exchanged a series of contemplative glances with his father before finally rising from his seat. With a discernible weight in his voice, he turned to Logan, stating, "The tribulations we face are many, yet none so pressing as the scarcity of food."
"Food?" Logan echoed, his response tinged with a calm understanding rather than surprise.
It was a well-known fact that among the orc tribes, a crisis of sustenance often lay at the heart of their strife, propelling them into frequent skirmishes with one another. Even the royal court's forays into human territories were spurred by this relentless pursuit of nourishment.
Begon painted a grim picture of the current state of affairs. "A drought has besieged the wilderness for months, severely diminishing our crop yields to nearly half. Given our current reserves, our sustenance will not stretch beyond a month and a half. Without a proper solution..." His voice trailed off, leaving the dire implications hanging in the air.
In Begon's eyes, Logan, once a mere child indulging in the simple joys of life under his uncle's roof, had been transformed by the mantle of leadership. This transformation rendered him almost unrecognizable, imbued with a depth that belied his years.
Logan, probing further into their predicament, inquired about the tribe's financial reserves. "How much savings do we have? Could we not procure grain from the merchants with what do we have?" His line of questioning unveiled a pragmatic approach to the crisis, acknowledging the gravity of their plight should famine besiege the Silvermane tribe.
The consequence of inaction would be dire, leaving them vulnerable not just to the famine but to the opportunistic predations of neighboring tribes.
Begon, momentarily taken aback by the query about savings, admitted, "Our coffers hold slightly over sixty gold coins. While it's possible to secure a modest supply of food with this, the soaring prices mean that it will scarcely cover our immediate needs."
Logan's dismay was palpable. "Only sixty gold coins after decades of our tribe's existence?" The realization that his tribe was teetering on the brink of financial ruin amidst a crisis was a bitter pill to swallow, underscoring the severity of the challenges ahead.