Oren wants his own Party

It was one night, during my long day of training and practising my control magic, that every changed. I was eating a warm meal, Rumith bringing over a few drinks to share with me. The inn was quieter than usual and allowed her a moment to relax. I enjoyed her company as she asked how the low rank listings were going.

Little did I know that this one night would set into motion my dreams beyond what I could imagine.

The heavy wooden doors of the Adventure Guild inn burst open with a BAND, rattling on their hinges as they slammed into the walls. A flood of noise spilled into the room as shouting, laughing and the sound of heavy boots stomped against the stone floor. A large, raucous group entered, drawing every eye in the inn. They moved like a living wave of chaos, creating a storm of noise and colour that stands in stark contrast to the quiet atmosphere of that night.

The group is a wild mix of races, each more imposing than the last, but they are unified in one thing - their vibrant, blood-red armour. The armour seems to almost pulse with energy, a visual representation of their boisterous personalities. The group fills an empty table, immediately placing orders to the inn. Rumith excuses herself to go help the other staff, sensing this will be a big order.

A few Orcs leads the charge, easily towering over everyone else, slapping each other on the back so hard the sound echoes through the inn. I also see a Wolfmen for the first time in my life, covered in shaggy fur that spills out from beneath their red pauldrons. One swings his arm around the shoulders of a burly human, as they cheers their mugs together in a loud yell.

I even spot an Elf join in with unexpected gusto, lifting a tankard above her head, her features delicate but her laughter loud and carefree. Among the group, a Dwarf stands on the table, waving his arms wildly as he leads a chant that the group joins in with hearty enthusiasm. His voice, high-pitched and brash, echoes above the others, and the air is thick with the smell of both mead and sweat.

The table groans under the weight of tankards and plates. Half-eaten food is piled everywhere, pieces of bread, cheese, and meat scattered around. A large roast boar rests in the middle of the table, surrounded by empty mugs. The noise around the table grows, each member shouting something, exchanging jokes, and tossing items like bread crusts at one another with playful growls and howls of laughter.

And among them sits one who is clearly the leader.

She's a big, towering woman with muscular arms the size of my tree trunks. Her body is a shade of crimson, a beautiful bloody red. Her hair is wild, cascading down her back in a thick cascade of black, tangled locks like a storm of nightfall that contrasts with the warmth of her skin. Atop her head, two large, curved horns spiral from her skull, dark and smooth, gleaming in the low light of the tavern. They twist backward, forming elegant, menacing arcs, with the pointed tips angling upwards.

Despite her display of sheer power, there’s an undeniable feminine curve to her waist, hips, and chest that gives her an almost sculptural balance, as if she’s made to embody both strength and beauty in equal measure. The breastplate hugs the curves of her chest, with her midriff exposed to show off the rippling muscles of her stomach—hard, sculpted, and yet somehow still soft.

Rumith falls back into her chair beside me, her face flushed and sweat staining her clothes.

"Who are they?" I ask.

She pinches her nose bridge. "They are the Red Hunters. Started off as a party here but eventually decided to branch off. They take in anyone who's strong enough and take more...private listings."

I point to the large red woman. "And who's that?"

Rumith squints and follows my finger. "Ah, that's Moriana, Leader of the Red Hunters. Half Orc, Half Fawn. She once started here as an adventurer but grew a Party of four into an army of hungry, battle thirsty warriors."

I nod. That would explain the strange balance between strength and beauty she naturally displayed. I watch as she slams down her large twin battle axe and downs a full mug of mead, grinning. Her teeth gleam in the firelight with a playful yet predatory look dancing in her eyes. They’re eyes that have seen battle, tasted victory, and perhaps, more than once, gazed **** in the face.

The Red Hunters suddenly fall into a hush as Moriana engages in an impromptu arm wrestling match with one of her companions, a hulking human fighter with a thick neck and stubby beard. He looks like he’s been hardened by a thousand battles.

She takes her place with deliberate grace, resting her hand on the table and locking eyes with him, giving an almost teasing smile. The inn holds their breath in anticipation and the air grows thick with excitement. Her opponent, full of cocky bravado, slams his palm against the table with a loud THUD, ready to engage in the contest of strength.

However, the moment their hands touch, there’s an audible strain, a flex of muscle. And then - before he can even adjust his grip - Moriana pushes down. Her expression remains calm, utterly unphased, and with the effortless grace of someone who has done this a thousand times, forces his arm to the table in one smooth motion.

The man's eyes widen in disbelief, his whole body shuddering with the effort he puts into resisting, but it’s no use. The sound of his defeat is drowned by the deafening cheer of the Red Hunters, who clap and stomp their feet in a great, unified show of admiration. A few even shout her name with respect and admiration, calling out, “Moriana! Moriana!” The loud clatter of cups hitting the table and the slap of backs reverberate through the inn as the group’s approval roars through the room.

Moriana doesn’t stand up in triumph, but simply sits back, her massive tits jiggling against her arm, threatening to spill out. She smiles down at her companion, the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes.

“You’ve grown soft, my friend,” she teases, her voice low and husky.

The man, breathing heavily, looks up at her. The fight drained from his face, he lets out a sheepish laugh. “I’ve met my match, then.”

“Don’t worry,” she says, lifting her mug of mead with a casual grace, “I’ll let you try again in a few years.”

With that, she takes a long drink from her mug, looking around the room as if she were simply surveying a battlefield. The entire room is alive with admiration for her, including other adventurers besides the Red Hunters. There's no doubt that she is the centre of attention now - Moriana, the Crimson Warrior, the Leader of the Red Hunters. A woman whose name rings like thunder on the wind, whose presence commands the deepest respect, and whose power is beyond compare.

"As you can see, she's quite popular around here." Rumith informs me. "Something of an inspiration and goal for warriors."

And for a brief moment, as the clamor of the inn surrounds her, I can almost feel the weight of her legend. It was here, where everything changed. As I watched her, fixated by her, I knew in that moment...

She must join my Party.

It was something I had considered for a while. My plan had been to eventually, when the time was right and I was stronger, to form my own Party. However, Moriana was the perfect first choice to be the warrior, tank and fighter of my Party - someone of name and respect to shepherd my dreams into reality.

I knew my control magic wasn't perfect, but I could make it work. As I watch Moriana and the Red Hunters continue to drink and feast into the night, I begun to work a plan to ensure Moriana would join my party, whether she liked it or not...

And that plan would begin tonight.