Logan spoke with an unsettling calm, his gaze sweeping over the gathered assembly.
"The Age of Famine has ravaged far and wide, claiming not only the beastmen in the southern deserts but also those dwelling in the northern barrens and the western savannahs."
He paused, considering his next words carefully.
"These boars and gnolls, they might very well be refugees fleeing the harshness of the northern wilds."
His voice grew emphatic, echoing slightly in the tense air.
"They rob to subsist, not out of malice! It's a misnomer to label them mere thieves. Rather, they're refugees, driven to desperation."
He glanced around, his eyes locking with those of his companions, Tyton and Cardia, who wore expressions of surprise mixed with realization.
"A true thieves' guild operates with precision, structured, militarized, and hierarchical, akin to a mercenary corps. What we see before us is nothing of the sort; it's a disorganized, desperate clutch of survivors."