Banditry?

Under the dim glow of the firelight, commanders Crow and Lotts, alongside the ever-analytical Uncle Begon, cast wary glances toward Logan, their expressions etched with uncertainty. The air was thick with unspoken questions, as they struggled to grasp the implications of their young chief's query.

Logan, perceiving the confusion that clouded their faces, decided to probe further instead of offering immediate clarification. "What is our tribe most in need of at this moment?" he inquired, his gaze sweeping over the trio, who remained visibly perplexed by his line of questioning.

The room fell into a stunned silence, the question hanging heavily in the air. It seemed almost rhetorical; the answer was glaringly obvious to them all: their stocks were dwindling; their bellies were far from full. Food was the scarcity that gnawed at them most acutely.

Begon, with a spark of realization, broke the silence. "What are you suggesting, Lord Chief?" He was keenly aware that Logan would not have broached such a topic without a deeper strategy in mind. "Are you proposing an assault on the Youwa tribe?"

No sooner had Begon voiced this speculation than commanders Crow and Bagan turned to him, a flicker of surprise in their eyes. Yet, almost immediately, a dawning understanding replaced their initial shock, their gaze shifting back to Logan with renewed interest.

Logan acknowledged his uncle's acuity with a nod. "Indeed, you've hit upon the truth. But our current predicament extends beyond mere food scarcity. We face a dire shortage of manpower and labor as well." He paced slowly; the weight of leadership apparent in his stride. "Despite our aspirations to halt neither our land cultivation efforts nor the expansion of our livestock enclosures, the stark reality remains: The Silvermane tribe, with merely over two thousand beastmen, is severely undermanned."

He paused, allowing his words to resonate. "For a tribe with the potential for greatness, such a shortfall in our ranks is unacceptable. Therefore, the solution lies in bolstering our numbers through... unconventional means."

The suggestion hung ominously in the air, leaving Crow, Lotts, and Begon grappling with its implications. Was this a veiled declaration of war?

"Master Chief," Begon interjected, concern creasing his brow, "With our current food shortages, is this truly the opportune moment to wage war?" He was struggling to align with his nephew's increasingly audacious strategies.

The looming threat of a coalition led by the Youwa tribe loomed large over them, necessitating a defensive stance. Yet, here was Logan, contemplating not just defense but the annexation of neighboring tribes, a move Begon deemed reckless.

"Besides, expanding our numbers in such a manner will only exacerbate our food crisis," Begon argued, shaking his head in disapproval.

Crow and Lotts, warriors at heart, naturally leaned toward conflict but shared the sentiment that the timing was inauspicious for such ambitious endeavors. The path Logan proposed was fraught with risk, challenging the very fabric of their current survival strategy.

In the flickering shadows of their council chamber, the very air seemed to thicken with tension as Logan laid bare his audacious strategy. "Our tribe is teetering on the brink of desperation," he declared, his voice unwavering. "It's in these dire times that we must seize the opportunity to absorb smaller tribes, thus bolstering the might of the Silvermane Tribe."

Begon, ever the pragmatist, faced his nephew squarely, his concern palpable. "And what of sustenance? Should we expand our ranks, how do you propose we feed these additional mouths?"

Logan paused; the gravity of the situation evident in his thoughtful silence. "Indeed, securing food remains our greatest challenge. This is why, alongside our expansion plans, I propose the formation of a raiding party."

"A raiding party?" echoed the commanders, their astonishment clear. The notion seemed almost heretical in its audacity.

"Yes," Logan continued, a determined glint in his eye. "We find ourselves at an impasse, unable to generate wealth from within. Hence, we must look outward. The wasteland is a veritable sea of commerce, with merchant caravans crisscrossing its expanse daily."

"Who are the wealthiest denizens of the wasteland? The merchants," Logan asserted with an air of revelation. "Thus, we shall establish a band of marauders to prey upon them."

General Crowe and Lott exchanged uneasy glances. Banditry was a curse upon the wasteland, its practitioners reviled as the lowest of the low. For their chief to suggest such a path was unfathomable.

The implications were dire. Were their marauding activities to be uncovered, retribution would be swift and merciless. Mercenary bands and caravan guards, united in their disdain for bandits, would descend upon them, potentially spelling the end for the Silvermane tribe.

"Lord Chief, this path leads only to ruin," Begon implored, his voice heavy with concern. "To become what we have always fought against... It's madness."

Logan faced his uncle, his resolve unshaken. "I am well aware of the risks. Yet, consider this: a year of toil yields but a pittance, whereas a single raid could multiply our coffers tenfold."

He leaned forward, his strategy laid bare. "Fear not, for the raiding party will sever all ties with the tribe, save for the delivery of their plunder. This way, we mitigate the risk to our people."

Logan had pondered long and hard over this scheme. The Silvermane's coffers were alarmingly sparse, and traditional means of amassing wealth had proven insufficient. "As the old adage goes, 'No horse grows fat without grazing at night, no man becomes wealthy without some stroke of fortune.'" In his eyes, establishing a raiding party was a necessary evil, a means of drawing sustenance from the harsh wasteland to ensure the survival and prosperity of the tribe.

As Logan noticed Begon gearing up to interject once more, he swiftly gestured for silence, an air of finality surrounding him. "There's no need for concern regarding the raiding party. However, this matter is strictly between us; I trust it won't extend beyond this room," he firmly stated, locking eyes with each of his confidants to underscore the gravity of his words.

Begon, though visibly disheartened by his nephew's unwavering stance, could only nod in resigned acquiescence. It was clear to him that Logan's decision was immovable.

Sensing a pivotal moment, Crowe seized the opportunity to assert his role in the forthcoming endeavors. "Master Chief, with your strategy to integrate smaller tribes into our fold, allow Lotts and me to spearhead this initiative. It's apparent that once you've set a course, you see it through without falter."

Logan, intrigued, prompted him for further elaboration. "And your thoughts on the Youwa tribe's movements?"

Crowe, with a strategist's insight, shared his suspicion. "The Youwa tribe, despite its current weakness and the widespread famine, wouldn't ordinarily risk an assault on us without a compelling motive. It's likely they've been coerced into this position by external pressures, perhaps even incentivized by a third party."

After a moment of contemplation, Logan acknowledged the plausibility of Crowe's analysis. "Your perspective holds merit. I entrust you with the responsibility of either integrating these tribes into our fold or dissolving the burgeoning alliance against us."

Crowe's determination was palpable as he vowed to deliver results that would satisfy their chief, his loyalty and ambition shining through.

Begon, meanwhile, couldn't help but observe Crowe's zealous readiness, recognizing in him a fervent supporter of Logan's bold, albeit perilous, plans. He couldn't shake off a growing unease, pondering the potential ramifications of these gambles. Success could herald a new era of prosperity for their tribe, yet failure loomed as an existential threat.

"Master Chief, with your consent, I shall take my leave now," Begon announced, rising from his seat, his tone tinged with a mix of deference and concern, he needed some time to collect he thoughts after listening to his nephew's proposal.

Logan, with a nod, dismissed his uncle, turning his attention back to the commanders. "Stay, both of you. We have further strategies to discuss."

As Begon exited the council chamber, his steps echoed his heavy heart. He reminisced about times past when decisions were made with a collective nod, under the guidance of his elder brother. Now, confronted with Logan's autocratic leadership style, Begon felt an oppressive weight, a stark contrast to the camaraderie and consultation that once prevailed. The winds of change were indeed sweeping through the Silvermane tribe, challenging its very foundations, he couldn't help but worry about its future.