The Goldtooth Tribe

No tribe in the Mountains of Mourn is greater, richer, or better fed than the Goldtooth, and none needs to be, for it is the tribe of the Overtyrant himself. Where lesser tribes count their wealth in stolen cattle and cracked skulls, the Goldtooth count theirs in mule-trains of gold, in tribute hauled up from a hundred cowed rivals, and in the simple fact that no ogre alive has yet grown large enough to take any of it from them.

The tribe owes its supremacy to an appetite of a rarer kind: not merely for meat, but for gold, leverage, and the slow art of the deal. Its Tyrants would sooner buy a rival's warriors than fight them, and sooner starve an enemy into surrender than trouble their own bellies with a battle. Whole tribes have woken to find themselves Goldtooth property, purchased overnight by a chest of coin and the unspoken threat of a very large club.

When the Goldtooth do march, they march in obscene splendour: Tyrants borne aloft on the shoulders of straining slaves, gut-plates blazing with looted treasure, a horde of hired Bulls at their backs who fight all the harder for having been paid in advance. Other tribes go to war hungry. The Goldtooth go to war fat, and win because of it.