Surrounded by a chorus of clamors and inquisitive glares, Parks, a fox-like merchant of cunning repute, found himself tongue-tied amid the turmoil. His usual shrewdness deserted him as he faced the uproar in the crowded market hall.
He had severely underestimated the tenacity of the Greymane family. More than that, he had not anticipated their voracious ambition; they were not just aiming to retaliate but to obliterate his network entirely.
In a matter of days, the intricate supply system that had been his pride for over a decade was shattered. They were thrown back to square one, to a time before their operations had even begun, back to the drawing board without any tools.
"Enough!" Parks finally exclaimed, his voice cutting through the maelstrom of voices. "This bickering wont solves anything! What's our next move?"
An orc merchant, his green skin flushed with frustration, turned to Parks with a mix of desperation and anger. "What can we possibly do? We're ants compared to the might of the Greymanes. We've been dealt a harsh blow; all we can do now is endure."
Their once-flourishing trade routes and partnerships had crumbled. The financial loss was bearable, but the true catastrophe was the loss of their strategic foothold, intangible yet devastating.
Then, with a sudden, eerie calm, Parks declared, "I'm going to apologize to Fisher and the Greymanes."
The room erupted in disbelief.
"Parks, have you lost your mind?" one of the beastmen merchants bellowed, his voice echoing off the stone walls.
The other merchants stared at Parks, flabbergasted. To think that after instigating such conflict, he would consider capitulation! It was an unfathomable strategy, inciting both shock and ire amongst his colleagues.
"What choice do we have?" Parks retorted, his tone icy. "If we don't seek a truce, do you think they'll ever leave us be? Unless you fancy spending your days hidden away in Canyon City, ostracized from any trade circuit?"
He continued, his voice laced with a steely resignation, "And even if by some miracle they disregard us, where do we stand? Our old camps are overrun. Invading new markets now would be akin to marching to our graves."
His words hung heavy in the air, leaving the six orcs to ponder their dire situation, weighing their limited options.
Meanwhile, the influence of the Silver Mane Tribe surged. Their territory, visible from the highlands surrounding their village, had expanded tenfold in just three months, a testament to their burgeoning power and strategic dominance.
Their last encounter had been under less amicable circumstances, when Mamuti had been captured and defeated.
"Please, allow me to meet with Lord Chief Logan," Mamuti requested earnestly, hoping to speak with the chief, a man near his own age and of similar fiery ambition.
"No," Begon responded abruptly, shaking his head.
Mamuti was visibly puzzled. "Why? Am I not, as a chieftain, worthy?"
He paused, reflecting on the stark disparities in power and standing between their tribes, which might explain his perceived lack of qualifications.
"The chief is not currently within the tribe," Begon clarified without deceit, noting the importance of transparency with the young chieftain of Duskin.
If Mamuti was genuinely interested in aligning with Silver Mane, it could smooth the path for the eventual incorporation of his tribe, a significant strategic gain.
Mamuti's surprise was evident, but he sensed no falsehood in Begon's demeanor.
"Convey your intentions to me, and I shall relay them to the chief," Begon proposed, fixing his gaze on Mamuti.
Considering his limited options, Mamuti agreed. Although he couldn't speak directly to Chief Logan, Begon would serve as an adequate intermediary.
"The Silver Mane Tribe has grown immensely, expanding its reach six or sevenfold in just a few months," Mamuti began, his voice low and steady. "On a recent visit to Duskin, Chief Logan caused significant upheaval, even wounding my father. It seems clear that Silver Mane intends to annex Duskin."
Begon listened, his brow furrowing in confusion. News of such a confrontation, especially one involving the shooting of the Duskin chief, had not reached him. Chief Habak of Duskin was a formidable leader, his prowess undisputed among his peers. That Logan, a younger warrior, could have bested such a seasoned chieftain was startling news.
"Logan engaged Chief Habak directly?" Begon questioned, his tone incredulous. "And prevailed?"
These revelations shook Begon. Logan must have achieved a breakthrough to the sixth level of warrior skill, for nothing else could explain such a feat.
The implications of this encounter were profound, not only for the dynamics between their tribes but for the balance of power within the region. Mamuti's news, whether fully accurate or not, was a critical piece of intelligence that Begon knew he had to investigate further.