Reynolds cast a warm, knowing smile across the council table to his brother Begon. "It seems only fitting that our esteemed brother lead us today," he said, his voice filled with both respect and a touch of jovial camaraderie.
Begon, taking in the familiar faces around him, felt the weight of his role. As the manager of the winery and an integral part of their tribe's economic health, he knew the importance of his update. His younger brother, Reynolds, always vibrant and eager, brought a spark of youth to every meeting, reminding Begon of his own early days.
"Very well, I shall begin," Begon declared, his voice steady but his hands betraying a slight tremor. Since their nephew, Logan, had elevated him to oversee the winery, the sense of responsibility had grown, especially now that Logan had achieved the remarkable feat of advancing to the sixth level.
This not only brought pride but also an intensified pressure, both psychological and physical, as he stood before the tribal council.
Logan, watching his uncle with a supportive smile, nodded encouragingly. Over the past months, he had watched the tribe transform under his leadership; the people had grown just as much as he had, adapting and thriving.
Begon cleared his throat, focusing on the numbers that told of their growth. "To start, our tribe's population has notably surged. The Silver Mane Tribe now proudly counts over 22,000 orcs within its ranks."
Logan's eyes twinkled with pride. "Surpassing 20,000 is no small feat indeed!" he interjected, already well-aware of the numbers but delighting in hearing them confirmed aloud. The actual count stood at 23,657, a detail that Logan, ever meticulous, kept close track of from his base in Canyon City.
Begon, buoyed by his nephew's enthusiasm, continued, "Just half a month ago, we welcomed nearly a thousand orcs from two smaller werewolf tribes. They sought refuge with us, choosing the Silver Mane Tribe for the promise of stability and growth."
The room buzzed with a quiet excitement. Every orc in attendance understood the significance. The Silver Mane Tribe wasn't just growing; it was becoming a beacon of hope and strength in the region.
Begon's voice was full of optimism as he concluded, "Every day, I am reminded of our tribe's potential and the wisdom of our chief. Under Logan's leadership, we are not just surviving; we are thriving."
Logan nodded solemnly. The Silver Mane Tribe had indeed become the dominant force within a hundred miles. As smaller tribes faced the brutal reality of famine, they increasingly looked to the Silver Mane Tribe as a sanctuary and a leader. The decisions made now, in this council, would pave the way for a future that could very well reshape the landscape of their world.
"That's a good thing," Logan affirmed with a slight nod, knowing well the strategic advantage they held. As they continued to discuss, it was clear that the Silver Mane Tribe was not just growing in number but also in spirit and ambition.
Their deep-rooted establishments meant they could withstand years of famine, a stark contrast to the more vulnerable small and medium-sized tribes that might falter within mere months.
Begon, reflecting on the strategic moves of these larger entities, noted, "Commander Carl has embedded our members within these tribes, though we've yet to receive any updates."
"Understood," Logan responded with a nod, his mind racing through the implications.
Switching topics, he added with a casual confidence, "And concerning the victims of these harsh times, there's promising news. I've secured a deal with a werewolf slave trader who will supply us with around 10,000 slaves each month."
"Ten thousand slaves?" Begon echoed, his voice laced with surprise.
Reynolds, too, was taken aback. "A month? That's a substantial number!"
Begon's mind quickly turned to the economics of such a deal. Slaves were not free; they were an investment. "And the cost?" he asked, his brow furrowed in concern.
Victims of the famine could be integrated without financial outlay, but slaves were a different matter altogether.
From his seat, Logan observed his uncle's apprehension and offered a reassuring smile. "The financial burden is minimal, really. Less than a thousand gold coins in total for such a number each month," he explained calmly.
He elaborated on the pricing structure negotiated with the slave trader: "For the most basic level of slaves, level two and below, the cost is merely five silver coins each, regardless of gender, age, or race. Level three slaves are twenty silver coins, level four go for a single gold coin each, and level five are priced at twenty gold coins.
There are no slaves at level six; those are high-level warriors, rarely captured by regular slave-hunting parties."
The strategic implications of these arrangements were clear. By bolstering their numbers with slaves, the Silver Mane Tribe could maintain a robust workforce and potentially convert these individuals into loyal members of the tribe, further solidifying their burgeoning power in the region.
This pragmatic approach to expansion underscored Logan's foresight and his commitment to securing a dominant position for his tribe amidst the shifting dynamics of the wilderness.