Orson Maul had held his position as the Guildmaster of the Greenleaf Adventurer’s Guild for fifteen years. It was a position that he’d accepted with low expectations at the time, after having been driven from the capital due to a tangle of petty politics that he’d had neither the time nor the inclination to fight. In hindsight, it was one of the best things that could have ever happened to him and to the cause he strived for. Greenleaf was, after all, one of the most distant main cities in the Kingdom, but whereas most of the politically inclined would stagnate here, Orson flourished. The adventuring community had been fairly powerful already, and under his steady guidance, Orson Maul had turned them into something far greater than they’d been before.

From there, he’d spread his influence over the other adventurer’s guilds in many other cities throughout the kingdom, and with his political faction subtly maneuvering major detractors out of his way, Orson was now the Guildmaster in all but name. Perhaps with current events, Orson would finally be able to wrest even that title for himself.

But that was both beyond the scope of the talks he needed to have with Dane and Eustace, and at once far too small to concern them with. ‘If things go well.’ He corrected himself, ‘If nothing goes wrong. If we make no mistakes. If the Greenhorns rise higher, and if these two–no, three–rise even higher still… then perhaps we can pull off our grand scheme after all.’

There were many potential problems that could arise, but still they had a chance to lay claim to the highest power in the land. If they could do that, the Kingdom could finally excise the tumors plaguing its progress.

Orson drank his alcohol, his expression of warmth and friendliness both a mask and yet not at the same time. He was generally a happy and warm person, but he did have to make sure that was what the majority of people saw him as. There were moments, like right now, where he was keeping the frown from his features by virtue of sheer practice and will.

“Eustace, I apologize for pulling you into any kind of heavy discussion so soon, but I’d like to hear your retelling of events, if you would?” Orson lodged his first request, this one firmly based in his role as a Guildmaster. Most of the time, groups were debriefed of critical or sensitive missions immediately, almost irregardless of their current status. He could clearly see that the dirty-blonde headed man was holding things together, but only by virtue of willpower. Considering who Eustace Quillfax actually was, this Oath Sworn debacle had risen in magnitudes of importance. Orson had feared that the man had passed when he received the reports of all those who had been forced to go along with the poachers.

Already, there were two other names that he knew would be both boon and bane in their loss. As much as he disdained the use of the deceased in political maneuvering, he had to admit that what needed to be done had to be done. Carefully revealing what had happened in a controlled manner could potentially win over some of the neutral holdouts to the faction he belonged to.

“I understand.” Eustace began, before launching into his recounting of events. It was detailed, as detailed as Dane had presented, and more so than what he’d gained from the third of their number.

“Thank you for your report,” Orson said almost automatically, before he turned and subtly gestured to his attendant and friend. Crowe was a man of many talents, the least of which was his capacity to act as a servant. It was like using a dragon to carry groceries; the man could do so much more with his abilities, and not for the first time, Orson was glad he was willing to help him in these little ways. Crowe left the room then, but he’d be back before long.

“Your story of events lines up with what I’ve already found out, albeit with the addition of what happened when you met the Greenhorns.” Orson looked between the two men, “As of this moment, most people think there was only one survivor from this whole debacle, with exception to a handful of people. The Greenhorns can be trusted with this information,” ‘Probably,’ he added mentally, “And while there shouldn’t be any leaks, I can’t promise that you’re perfectly safe, either. Others will know about the Oath Sworn who were involved, there’s nothing I can reasonably do to keep that information hidden.”

“You have three choices, from what I can see,” He held up one hand and lifted his thumb, “One, you go to ground and hide until things cool off and try to pick back up your life. That might work if you’re willing to live the rest of your life as a nobody, but Dane has five tames, let alone the fact that they’re all Red Hawks,” the man in question had a bittersweet expression on his face as he patted one of the birds in question, “While Eustace…”

He left it unsaid, looking to the man with a silent question in his gaze. Eustace turned his eyes on Dane for a second, thinking, before he returned Orson’s own look. “I don’t plan on giving up becoming an Archmage of Blood Magic.”

Dane’s eyes went round as saucers before he regained control of his expression, but he still looked at his fellow ex-Oath Sworn like he’d grown a second head.

Orson nodded, “I thought that would be the case. You already know how the upper echelons feel about blood magic. The file I had on you said you were almost near the end of your ten year contract to be allowed to practice for the Kingdom, is that so?”

“Mmm.” Eustace agreed, all the pep he’d had flagged rapidly. Depression and a flinty, aggrieved hatred flickered in his eyes, and Orson suspected he knew just about how well any of the high courts would respond to his request for clemency in breaking his Oath early.

Still, Orson needed to hear the man’s opinion, fully. “Will you try to appeal your wrongful discharge from your service?”

Eustace groaned, “I have to. Nine and a half years of service on a ten year contract to be allowed to operate as a Blood Magus and practice legally is a long time. I can’t just restart that. In the first place, the Oath isn’t–wasn’t–it’s–” he stumbled over his words furiously, “–It’s not right that it could count against me! We were victims, it’s not like I broke the Oath myself.”

Orson nodded slowly, “Yet they will not see it that way. The high courts would love an excuse to push the Quillfax line out of favor.”

The man’s expression darkened as he looked up at Orson. “Yes. I imagine they would.”

The Guildmaster took the words as his warning to step back a touch in the conversation. “Apologies, I’m sure this is all a very raw wound for you.”

Eustace didn’t fidget at all as he said, “Incredibly so.”

‘He’s got some bite in him, for certain.’ Orson heard the sounds by the door, and knew that Crowe had returned with another in tow. Dane and Eustace both straightened in surprise, but Orson could see the hurt and wariness rising in Dane’s expression, with Eustace expressing one of open curiosity.

“Y-You are… Are you okay?” Dane asked the woman.

“No. Thanks for asking.” She curtly replied. Dark brown, nearly black hair sat tied up in a ponytail, out of her sight line. She had a narrow jaw line and very dark brown eyes, reflecting an inner resilience and smoldering anger. Angular and lean muscles carried her with a litheness that reminded Orson of a hunting raptor. Dark bags hung under her eyes though, hinting at issues beyond what was physical. Dane opened his mouth awkwardly before setting his lips in a grim, thin line and nodded to her.

Orson approved, and so did Tanya, as she came to the table and sat between the two men and across from the Guildmaster without any hesitation on her part.

“Dane Venn, Eustace Quillfax, Tanya Lenn,” the Guildmaster stated aloud before continuing, “Option one isn’t an option for any of you. Going to ground and being normal has been taken from you.”

Eustace raised an eyebrow and tilted his head questioningly to Tanya, who shrugged, “I made a berserker pattern; I’ve also lost… a lot.”

The blood mage nodded, countenance heavy at her words, figuring that she wasn’t really talking about her. He remembered the ones who couldn’t get away, and he remembered working with this woman. The Tanya sitting next to him was harder and sharper than the one he remembered, and considering she’d lost a loved one, he was shocked that she was here sitting at the table at all…

Tanya's resilience after all that had happened no doubt amazed her former workmates, though Orson wondered how they would react if they knew what she had to endure to be as functional as she appeared. He wondered how they would feel if they knew that she, as she was now, had to imbibe tremendous amounts of emotional suppressants to keep from tearing the nearest person apart. The berserker’s pattern was prized for its power and utility, but there was a reason why no one used it as their foundational pattern. Tanya had potential, though, she just needed to get better control of her pattern, rather than the reverse.

“Option two,” He pushed onwards, “You can stay under my care while we wait for all of this to blow over, but I can’t say when that might be, or even if it might be. As much as I’d like to say that I can punish what happened here, I’m still finding out the scale of what’s happened here. At risk of sounding rather prideful, I’m confident in dealing with any issue that the lesser and even a few of the greater noble houses can throw at me.However, this issue seems to only be getting bigger. I can’t promise you justice yet, at least, not the way you are.”

There was a moment as they listened that Orson knew they were angry. The idea that what had happened to them might go unpunished was too much.

Eustace spoke first, a millisecond before either of the other two could explode in anger, “You said ‘yet’, and about the way we are, what does that mean?”

Orson waited for the other two to calm before he responded, “Option three is what I mean. The Greenhorns are going to be embarking on the Champion’s Pilgrimage as part of a reward for being involved in this. Whether or not they can climb is up to them, but I suspect that with the Phorus, they should at least be able to climb to… ah, at least the Elderwood without issue.” He paused, before shifting his gaze to the birds gathered around Dane, “Maybe the Primordial, if he’s really as special as he appears.”

The siblings cawed loudly at him once before fluffing themselves up in offense, and while the display was supposed to be threatening, Orson couldn’t help but find them adorable.

“What I want to do is to keep you all here for some time, but I need you three and the siblings here to stay off the radar. Because I want to do the same thing for you all, but with a bit more… investment.” Orson folded his hands together, knowing this was the part where he could lose them. It sounded every bit like the sleazy thing nobles were known for, and while he also disdained this part, it was even more necessary if what he hoped he’d seen in Dane was true.

Eustace's eyes narrowed, “So you allowed them to walk out for a little while today without any arguing because you want them to be a visible distraction, possibly even bait to lure out those responsible.”

‘Not the way I wanted this to go, but that’s a fair assertion,’ Orson noted the rigid posture in Dane and the tired expression on Tanya’s face. “I let them go because of Niko's pressing obligation. However, I am okay with letting them go on the pilgrimage after a few more days to take the spotlight for themselves, but only after ensuring their safety. Admittedly, letting them outside again so soon is a greater risk than I’d like to take, hence why I have my best men on their guard detail from afar. The spotlight is on them and your enemies might reveal themselves trying to find more information.”

“With all of that said, when they get back, none of you are leaving for a week at least. Perhaps longer, especially if you’d like to undertake the Champion’s Pilgrimage.” Orson gestured to them at large, “The choice is firmly yours, of course, and I’ll respect whatever you choose to do.”

“I have many questions.” Tanya started, her breath coming just a little more quickly, though her tone remained calm enough. “Will you be upfront with us, or will you manipulate us? Do you plan on manipulating the Greenhorns? What about anyone else that we meet?”

The three men at the table looked at her, before her companions slowly turned to look back at Orson. He waited with a calm expression, “I will answer all of those questions, but first understand that there are some things I cannot tell you yet. Not because I don’t want to, but because it would be incredibly dangerous information for you to possess for others. I promise you that you will have those answers eventually, but it will take time.”

After a few seconds of silence rolled by, Orson began to worry that this wouldn’t be acceptable to them. Tanya especially could be quite volatile; she’d only just gotten the pattern, and only just healed enough to walk around.

“Before I agree on anything, what would going on the Champions Pilgrimage mean?” Dane asked, “What changes?”

Orson spoke, “The Champions Pilgrimage is an ancient ritual known in detail by the upper echelons of the Kingdom for several generations. You’ve surely heard as much, yes?” Orson waited for them to acknowledge his words before saying, “Powerful and talented people embark on the pilgrimage, hunting after their predecessors' legacies. Those who complete the pilgrimage to any real degree are known as Champions. You might hear people talk about Champions with reverence, but what would you say if I told you that the Champions of today haven’t passed even the halfway point of any of the pilgrimage trails?”

Confusion was shared among them before Eustace asked, “Are you saying that people are weaker than they used to be?”

“Oh, no, not that,” Orson smiled, “Though some got much further many generations ago, they weren’t that much further ahead. No, what changed was the world. Essence levels rose several generations ago, making the full pilgrimage that much harder to complete. But there’s more to it than even that. Many people of power are eventually called upon to champion the cause of one of the gods, but one problem is that those on pilgrimage aren’t allowed to use the power of another. They can’t call on the power of the god they serve, in other words, they’re alone in that connection. Moreover, when on pilgrimage, leaving the area must be carefully considered. Fate twists around those seeking to become Champions, testing any who make the attempt’s resolve, ability, and ingenuity. For the aspirant, this is a trial, but for the bystander? This can be anywhere between life-changing to life-ending.”

“What all this culminates in,” Orson declared, “Is that those who reach farther on the pilgrimage are favored by fate. They are more in tune with essence, able to move and form their own patterns easier. But the part you all would really need to care about is getting far enough that no noble could casually brush you aside. Champions are important, and I’m not exaggerating that if you completed the pilgrimage in its entirety, you could easily be in line to become the next Monarch of Arnost.”

Orson watched them as he finished his statement, taking in their reactions. In his many years, he had developed a confidence in his ability to accurately read others, and as he took in their responses, Orson was satisfied that he was seeing their true opinions on the matter in their subtle tics and postures. None of them were interested at all in becoming the next monarch, that was good, too much desire was poisonous for such a high position. Instead he saw a fledgling resolve form among them, each unsure of each other, their positions, or the future, but willing to take the path less traveled if it meant the chance of righting the wrong done to them.

Orson, smiling, began to explain everything they would need to know. He’d be repeating much of this by the end of the week to the Greenhorns, and he only hoped they responded as well.