šĀ THE COUNCIL GATHERS
When the Warchief calls council, it is not a suggestion.
It is a summoning of the tribe's spine, its brain, its beating heart.
One by oneāsometimes in crackling teleportation, sometimes rushing on footāthe leaders answer.
1. Shadowheart ā Queen & High Priestess of SĆ©lune
She arrives first, as she always does when it concerns the tribe's future.
Black and silver armor, hair tied back, eyes bright and steady.
She stands at your left side, hand brushing yours onceā
quiet support, unwavering loyalty.
2. Minthara ā General of the Snake Army
She enters like a blade walking on two legs.
Her armor still glows faintly with magical wards from last night's training sessions.
She bows her headānot as a servant, but as a warrior greeting her equal.
"Warchief," she says, voice low.
"Your summons reached me before dawn."
She stands at your right side.
3. Jaheira ā Ambassador to the Gold Dragons
Her hair still smells faintly of the wind from the Dragon Peaks.
Her new cloakāthe Chieftain's ceremonial cape you placed across her shouldersābillows as she walks.
"Let's hear what storm you intend to bring," she says with a wry, knowing smile.
She stands across from you, hands behind her back in that old Harper stance.
4. Orpheus ā Strategist of the Gith Counterforce
Golden tattoos burning with psionic fire.
Focused. Calculating.
He bows his head slightlyāGith respect is earned, and you earned it.
"I am ready, Warchief," he says.
"What we begin today will echo in the Astral Sea."
He takes position beside Jaheira.
5. Halsin ā Archdruid of the Circle of Snake Tribe
Still smelling faintly of the spider matriarch's den.
Leaves in his hair, a weary smile on his face.
He steps forward with the calm weight of a forest elder.
"The Queen rests. Her brood begins. I am here."
He stands slightly behind, observing.
6. Raza ā Myconid Diplomat & Youth Liaison
His body pulses with soft bioluminescent spores.
His steps make no sound.
He bows with both hands together.
"We are listening, Warchief."
7. Glubok ā Remote Ogre Commander (via Sending Stone projection)
A massive ghostly image of the ogre chief flickers to life.
He salutes with a tree-trunk-sized fist.
"Boss! Me here!"
Even Minthara smirks.
8. The Newly Promoted Village Guard Captains
The Druid Twins.
The Tiefling Archer.
The Myconid Spore-Scout.
All four kneel, heads lowered in respect.
"Warchief."
šĀ THE COUNCIL CHAMBER FALLS SILENT
Everyone is present.
Everyone is waiting.
A hundred torches burn blue with SĆ©lune's blessing.
A great carved serpent throne of stone and gold rests behind you, untouchedā
because the Warchief stands among his people, not above them.
Your voice breaks the silence:
šš„Ā "We must speak of the future of Snake Tribe."
The atmosphere tightens.
The leaders lean forward.
You see:
Respect
Expectation
A hint of fear
And overwhelming loyalty
This council knows you do not call them lightly.
The fate of kingdoms could be decided in the next few minutes.
You raise your chin.
Your two queens flank you.
Power radiates from you like heat from a forge.
The floor is yours, Warchief.
The stone doors groan open as Glubok, Minthara, Shadowheart, Orpheus, Jaheira (connected by Sending Stone), Raza (appearing through a myconid spore-projection), and the primary druid circle take their seats around the long crescent table.
The room feels full ā not just physically, but with purpose.
Every person here represents a pillar of the tribe.
And they all go silent as Mamba enters.
Your footsteps echo like war drums.
Your presence alone commands more respect than any title ever could.
You plant one massive hand on the table, leaning in.
"Council of Snake Tribeā¦ let us speak of our future."
ā” MAMBA'S PRAISE ā GLUBOK ā”
Glubok rises, surprisingly straight-backed for an ogre.
He looks nervous ā ogres always do when singled out.
But he tries to hide it behind a deep, rumbling grunt.
You point directly at him.
"Glubok. You have impressed."
A ripple moves through the council ā praise for an ogre from the Warchief is rare, and meaningful.
**"None of your ogres have challenged authority.
None have killed innocents.
None have given into greed or hunger."**
Glubok's yellow eyes widen, shoulders pulling back with pride.
**"Your ogres exceeded every expectation.
I haven't had to put down even one."**
That last line hits the room hard.
Everyone knows what it means when Mamba has to put down an ogre.
Everyone knows how often that used to happen.
But under Glubokā¦
Never.
You reach into a carved chest and lift a thick, rune-bound silver ring.
"Glubokā¦ you will be rewarded with a Ring of Intelligence."
Gasps.
Even Minthara's brows lift.
That is practically a kingdom-level artifact for an ogre.
An item that changes a life, not just a day.
Glubok drops to one knee ā not out of submission, but gratitude.
"Your task, Glubok,"
you continue, voice soft but firm,
**"is to keep your ogres loyal.
To keep them strong-willed.
To guide them away from their base instincts.
To shape them into the beasts I know they can be."**
Glubok thumps his chest.
"Glubok obey Warchief.
Glubok protect tribe.
Glubok no fail."
ā” MAMBA'S DIRECTIVE ā MINTHARA ā”
Minthara rises like a blade being drawn.
She doesn't smile openly, but you can see the pride simmering under her discipline.
You turn to her with the weight of a general speaking to another general.
"Minthara."
She tilts her chin upward.
**"You know your cause well.
You set the expectation for Snake Tribe.
You forged discipline into their bones."**
She bows her head slightly ā a gesture she gives ONLY to you.
"But I want a new training regiment installed."
Minthara's eyes sharpen.
You continue:
**"Begin training forĀ Phase Spider Infiltrators."
"A stealth unit ā one that will one day fight alongside our spider allies."
"Teach them how to move unseen, how to strike unseen, how to vanish and reappear as shadows incarnate."**
A low murmur travels across the council ā this is a massive shift in doctrine.
Minthara steps forward.
Her voice is cold, clipped, and absolute.
"Consider it done, Warchief."
"Your infiltrators will be ghosts before the month is out."
"And when your spider queen's brood maturesā¦"
"ā¦I will forge them into the sharpest fangs the Sword Coast has ever feared."
Shadowheart smirks approvingly.
Orpheus nods, seeing the strategic value instantly.
The Moon Maiden's cleric rises.
There is a softness in her eyes meant only for youā¦
and a hardness meant for the rest of the world.
She bows in the Selƻnian way:
hand over heart, forehead lowered.
"A templeā¦ in your name and Hers."
She breathes slowly.
"It is overdue."
Her voice grows stronger with every word:
"I will gather clerics. I will train paladins.
I will build a sanctuary where the moon's light washes away fear and corruption."
Then her assassin side surfaces ā elegant, deadly, precise.
"And when Minthara's infiltrators begin trainingā¦
I will teach them the quiet step.
The unseen hand.
The kill that never echoes."
A rare smile curves her lips.
"Thank you, my love.
I will not fail you."
HALSEN ā ARCHDRUID OF THE SNAKE TRIBE
Halsen's massive, furred frame shifts forward.
He looks between the spider queen's holding chamber and the staff in your hand, his eyes widening.
He places one large hand over his heart.
"Hero's Feast taught widely? That alone will keep our warriors alive when nothing else can."
He accepts the Staff of Call Lightning reverently.
"It has been long since I wielded storm magicā¦
but I will wield it again ā for the tribe."
Then you mention the spider queen.
Something primal flickers behind his eyes ā a mixture of respect, fear, and druidic responsibility.
"I will make her brood stronger.
Faster.
More loyal.
And I will teach her that her family is not threatened ā but welcomed."
He kneels ā the Archdruid kneels.
"Your words honor us all, Warchief.
This staff will strike down your enemies as easily as a falling star.
And the Spider Queen will become a symbol of nature's fury ā under your banner."
THE COUNCIL RESPONDS AS ONE
All four voices ā
Glubok, Minthara, Shadowheart, Halsen ā
speak in unison for the first time:
"For the Snake Tribe.
For the Warchief."
Moonrise Tower shakes with the force of their oath.
The last of your gifts have been handed out.
Shadowheart with her ring of Spirit Guardians, Minthara with your chained greatsword, Halsin with the staff of storm-force power.
Glubok clutching his ring of intelligence like a holy relic.
But nowā¦
when you call Orpheus forward, even the ogres stop breathing.
No one knows what you're about to say ā only that it will be big.
ā” MAMBA'S WORDS SHAKE THE ROOM ā”
You walk toward Orpheus with your shoulders relaxed, your hands open.
The way you approach him is not like a king addressing a subordinateā¦
ā¦but like a warrior addressing a fellow titan.
Your voice is deep, steady, resonant:
"Orpheusā¦ you have been a vital part of this tribe.
You rival my own power ā disturbingly so."
A few Druids suck in breath.
A Myconid's cap flickers in alarm-colors.
Even Minthara tilts her head with a rare look of curiosity.
"You are a rival.
A goal.
Our ace in the hole."
The compliment sinks into Orpheus like a blade of honor.
He bows his head just slightly ā the deepest sign of gith respect he can give without surrendering pride.
You extend your hand.
He takes it ā wrist-to-wrist, warrior grip.
ā” THE BIRTH OF A NEW ARM OF POWER ā”
Your voice becomes the voice of a Warchief making history:
"I hereby create the Snake Tribe Police Force."
Shockwaves ripple across the chamber.
Ogres look at each other.
Harper scouts lean forward.
Myconids pulse in curiosity.
The Druids pause mid-breath.
A police force is unheard of among warrior tribes ā a structured, disciplined, internal guard.
Then you place the weight of authority directly on Orpheus's shoulders:
"You and your gith are responsible for Snake Tribe safety."
"You are the enforcers of order here."
"I trust you with my lifeā¦ and even more ā my people."
A silence thick enough to choke the air.
Because this isn't just delegation.
This is trust on a divine level.
ā” ORPHEUS' FACE BREAKS ā JUST FOR A MOMENT ā”
When you add the last line:
"I know you won't fail me."
He actually blinks ā stunned.
Githyanki aren't used to trust.
They're used to command, fear, and brutal expectation.
But what you give him is something he hasn't known since before the Absolute:
Respect.
Responsibility.
A purpose beyond war.
ā” THE BOW THAT SHAKES THE TRIBE ā”
Then you do something no one expected.
Not Minthara.
Not Shadowheart.
Not Halsin.
Not the ogres.
Not even Orpheus himself.
You bow.
A full warrior's bow.
A gesture of equality.
The ultimate sign of honor.
The chamber explodes in murmurs, disbelief, awe, pride.
Myconids flash in bright gold tones.
Druids clutch their chests.
Harper scouts whisper, "Warchief bowedā¦?"
Glubok wipes a tear and then pretends he didn't.
Orpheus goes still ā utterly still ā like he's frozen in time.
Githyanki culture does not comprehend being bowed to by a superior.
You have just broken the chain of his old lifeā¦
and forged a new one.
ā” HIS RESPONSE ā A VOW IN THE OLD LANGUAGE ā”
Orpheus drops to one knee, fist to chest, the highest oath-sign of the gith.
His voice trembles ā not from weakness, but from meaning:
"Warchief Mamba.
I accept this burden.
Not as your rivalā¦
but as your sword."
He lowers his head deeper ā a gesture no githyanki has given another in centuries.
"My life for Snake Tribe.
My blade for our future.
My soul for our unity."
Then, quietly, so only you can hear:
"This honorā¦ heals something in me I did not know was broken."
ā” THE TRIBE REACTS ā”
The entire council erupts in energy:
Ogres
Pound their chests, chanting:
"OR-FE-US! OR-FE-US!"
Harper Scouts
Stand straighter, relieved to finally have formal internal protection.
Myconids
Pulse in unison, telepathic approval echoing through every mind in the room.
Druids
Bow respectfully; they recognize the depth of the responsibility you've given him.
Minthara
Smirks, deeply impressed.
"Warchief," she murmurs, "your instinct for leadership isā¦ exquisite."
Shadowheart
Touches your arm, eyes glowing with pride.
"You chose well, my love."
Orpheus rises and turns toward the crowd ā his new people.
His presence radiates discipline, danger, loyalty.
He is no longer just a prince.
He is the Warden-General of Snake Tribe.
And everyone knows it.
ā” MAMBA'S FINAL WORDS CEMENT THE FUTURE ā”
You clasp Orpheus's shoulder.
"Thank you for everything," you say.
"I hope you like your new position."
Orpheus answers without hesitation:
"I will not simply like it, Warchief.
I will redefine it."
Moonrise Towers shimmers with torchlight and fungal glow as the last of the council steps forward.
Where Glubok thundered, Minthara prowled, Shadowheart flowed, and Halsin radiated druidic calmā¦
The Myconid Sovereign simply arrives, gliding more than walking, his cap shimmering with muted bioluminescence.
Behind him, spores drift like drifting stars in the dark.
The entire chamber grows quieter ā more reverent, more focused ā whenever one of his kind speaks.
This is the one member of the council who never needs to raise his voice to command attention.
ā” MAMBA'S ADDRESS ā”
You rise from your throne and meet the Sovereign halfway ā a gesture of respect that even your generals notice.
Your voice softens, but remains powerful.
Almostā¦ fatherly.
"Myconid Sovereignā¦ please step forward."
The Sovereign inclines his head, the spores around him pulsing in a calm, steady rhythm.
Silence deepens; everyone knows this is an important moment.
"I made you the head of logisticsā¦ and the treasury of Snake Tribe."
The Sovereign absorbs the words in perfect stillness.
You continue:
**"When we helped your people with the Duergar attacks,
it was done out of kindnessā¦ and out of justice."**
Some council members nod ā remembering the brutal battle beneath the earth, where your warriors cut through Duergar lines to save the Myconid circle from extinction.
You continue, voice warm:
**"Little did we know thenā¦
that your people would become the backbone that holds this tribe together."**
At this, even Orpheus nods respectfully.
The Harper scouts bow their heads.
Minthara places a fist over her heart.
Your tone deepens with sincerity:
**"Myconid Sovereignā¦ the potions you craft,
the alchemical brews,
the fungal medicines,
the communication spores,
the food storage,
the scouting websā¦
your people keep this tribe ALIVE."**
A collective murmur of agreement ripples through the council.
ā” THE NEW OFFER ā”
You take a breath ā the real request coming next.
**"You already wear many hats.
Treasurer.
Logistics Master.
Alchemist.
Medic.
Keeper of stores.
Advisor."**
His spores flicker ā a sign of modest discomfort.
You bow your head slightly in apology.
"And for thatā¦ I truly, deeply apologize."
No chieftain has ever apologized to the head of logistics before.
But Mamba is not an ordinary chieftain.
Then comes the new honor:
**"Despite already doing more than anyone shouldā¦
I would like to ask one more thing of you."**
The council leans in.
Shadowheart raises a brow.
Minthara's expression grows calculating.
Halsin tilts his head, curious.
You straighten.
**"Myconid Sovereignā¦
would you accept the role of Head of Communication for the Snake Tribe?"**
You gesture with one hand, palm open.
**"Your spores allow instant messages.
Your telepathic network spans miles.
Your scouts can send warnings faster than any rider.
Your peopleā¦ are nature's messengers."**
The Sovereign's spores shift color ā lavender, a sign of deep contemplation.
ā” THE OFFER OF HONOR ā”
You don't wait for the answer.
Instead you turn, extending your arm toward the side doors.
A group of deep gnomes ā the newly integrated Svirfneblin ā roll open a massive latticework structure made of living vine and magically reinforced glass.
A greenhouse.
A colossal one.
Filled with fertile soil, arcane sunstones, irrigation runes, and fungal beds.
The Sovereign's cap glows bright golden-green, the Myconid equivalent of astonishment.
You speak:
**"In your honor,
the deep gnomes have constructed this greenhouse.
A place where your people may craft stronger oils,
better spores,
greater tonics,
and anything your hearts require."**
You take a step closer, lowering your voice so only the Sovereign truly hears:
**"You and your kin have carried us farā¦
let us carry you now."**
ā” THE SOVEREIGN RESPONDS ā”
The Myconid Sovereign lifts one slow, deliberate arm ā
and places his palm against your chest.
The spores flash white-gold.
A Myconid gesture signifying:
Honor.
Acceptance.
And unity.
Everyone in the council recognizes the meaning instantly.
The Sovereign bows ā deeply, the way his kind only bow to the Circle of Elders.
And in a voice that resonates like wind in caverns, he speaks:
"Warchief Mamba.
We accept your charge.
The Myconid people shall become the voice of Snake Tribe.
Wherever we walk, messages shall walk with us.
Wherever we grow, unity shall grow as well."
A ripple of spores sweeps across the room ā a Myconid celebration.
ā” THE COUNCIL REACTS ā”
Glubok pounds his chest proudly, almost knocking over a pillar.
Shadowheart smiles warmly ā she always had a soft spot for the Myconids.
Minthara nods, already plotting how communication networks will strengthen her future strike teams.
Orpheus stands straighter ā impressed by the tribe's expanding infrastructure.
Halsin clasps a hand over his heart, elated at the collaboration between druids and mushrooms.
This decision strengthens the tribe in ways military power never could.
ā” THE TRIBE IS EVOLVING ā”
The Myconid Sovereign has become one of your most powerful leaders:
Treasurer
Logistics Master
Head Alchemist
Medic Division Lead
Spore Communication Network Commander
Diplomatic Liaison to Underdark communities
Greenhouse Overseer (new)
Head of Communication (new)
A king among his people.
A pillar of your tribe.
And one of your most loyal allies.