[center] [h1] [b][i][color=ed1c24]The Night Thirster[/color][/i][/b] [/h1] [/center] 

Jaralia slowly made her way out of the Yimosha’s gloomy stone halls, and into the searing light of the sprawling desert which lay ahead. The heat was beyond sweltering, and the sands beneath her feet boiled under the twin suns. 


The Night Thirtser’s vision began to clear up as she adjusted to the intrusive brightness, and it was then that she noticed the not-so-distant squawking in a language she did not understand. 


Two dark-skinned men, dressed from head-to-toe in loose white robes and silken scarves, stood by the entrance of the Yimosha, a small grey elephant with a great stoney trunk and glistening ivory tusks standing between them. 


“Yataba justamon kimrocknette!” One of the two men barked at Jaralia , shooting her a seething look from beneath his white headpiece. 


Jaralia’s bodily functions were still flickering back to life, but the gift of the tongues was one of the first spells her tutor had taught her, so she had little trouble casting a quick charm to dissolve any language barriers which may have created further obstacles for her. 


[i] Now to try something a bit more complex…[/i] 


It had been countless centuries since she had last dined on the flesh of another, and she had no way of knowing how potent her Taberyat magic would be. Hopefully whatever being had resurrected her had possessed enough sense to replenish some of her power. 


“What business do you have here?” She asked in perfect Vashelee. Her arcane magic began to crackle through the air, seeping into the minds of the two men who stood before her. Her spells burned through their very persons, washing away any hint of resistance, and replacing the spark of will with an unwavering desire to answer their new mistress. 


“We are servants of Magistrate Vaqnaaris,” one of the men replied almost instantly “hailing from the city of Ahak. Our master sent us to tend to his grandfather’s tomb.” 


“You have no master other than me.” Jaralia said calmly, and the two men nodded in agreement. 


“How far from here stands Ahak?” 


“Five miles westward.” 


Jaralia’s eyes fell upon the grey beast which stood between the men. 


“Which of you does your master value more highly?” 


The first man pointed to his companion, before speaking in a flat monotone “Magistrate Vaqnaaris has taken Lonatis as his lover.” 


“It is true.” the man called  Lonatis replied in the same dull voice. 


Jaralia could feel her mind being stretched to its limits as the manacles of her Taberyat ensnared the two men, which meant it was very unlikely she’d be able to cast such a spell on this Magistrate, without nourishment. She had no idea how sincere Vaqnaaris’ feelings were for Lonatis, but she suspected that he wouldn’t want word of their affair sweeping through the streets, so one way or another she had a hold over him.  


“Help me up on to the beast.” She commanded her new puppets. 


Taking hold of her tree-trunk-like legs, the two men heaved Jaralia’s massive bulk up onto the Elephant, pushing their strength to its limits. 


“I need only one of you,” She called down to them, as she sat atop the creatures grey hide “Lonatis; you will guide me to Ahak.” 


She placed one finger on her full-lips. 


“You. Servant. What is your name?” She asked of the second man. 


“Shaventis, mistress.” 


“Bury your head in the sand, Shaventis.” 


Lonatis guided the Elephant through the sandy dunes of the Plains of Dust, with Jaralia sat comfortably atop it.  It wasn’t long before they arrived at the gates of Ahak, with its vast sandstone walls and towering silver spires. 


Two guardsman in  pale shawls and metal hardhats came striding out from behind a bronze portcullis, scimitars glistening in the sunlight. 


“What business have you in Ahak?” One of them called out in a voice like coarse gravel. 


“Business which concerns the Magistrate Vaqnaaris.” Lonatis declared, as Jaralia fed him the words through a hushed voice in the corner of his mind.  He reached inside his white robe, and pulled out a disk-like silver medallion, which he presented to the guardsman. The Seal of Vaqnaaris.


Lonatis was permitted to enter Ahak, with Jaralia swaggering in behind him on her elephant. 


The cobbled streets were awash with bustling parades of bright colour and flamboyant silks. Beggars lined the gutters, whilst noblemen and women sauntered past on veiled litters, carried on the shoulders of scantily clad slaves. Authentic stone arches adorned the great sandy towers which sprang up from the ground, and great palace-like houses with vast silver domes swept across the upper-echelons of the city. 


Guiding the elephant forwards, Loantis cut a path through the tightly-packed crowds, and brought Jaralia to the villa of Magistrate Vaqnaaris. 


 “We are pleased to see you return, Master Lonatis,” A guardsman called out as the robe-clad servant helped Jaralia clamber down from the elephant. 


“Who is this?” The guardsman regarded Jaralia with a look of confusions “and where is Master Shaventis?” 


“Shaventis had personal matters to attend to.” Lonatis said plainly, as he lead Jaralia up the bronze steps to the villa. 


“The Magistrate will be most displeased-”


“That is for the Magistrate to say. Return to your post.” 


A marble floor lay beneath a vast silver dome, and Magistrate Vaqnaaris was taking his dinner in at the far end of the hall when the pair approached him. He sat on a raised dais, enthroned upon a chair of ornately carved jade twisted together with bands of gold. 


“Ah, Lonatis!” Vaqnaaris’ face lit up when he caught sight of his favorite servant, but dropped as his eyes fell upon Jaralia’s doughy form “I didn’t realize we were having guests.”


The magistrate was a slender man, with wispy brown hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He had olive skin, and deep brown eyes the colour of rich chocolate. 


Jaralia extended one hand to the vast dining table, gesturing to a slender silver knife. 


“Pick it up.” She commanded Lonatis, whilst the Magistrate looked on in shock. 


“My lady, this is a private villa, I’m afraid I must ask-” 


“Press it against your throat.” She commanded the servant. 


Lonatis scooped the knife up off of the table, before pressing the blade against his skin, so firmly that a thin band of bright red began to tumble down his neck. 


“What in Orthus’ name are you doing?!” The magistrate barked, his eyes wide with horror. 


“Do I have your attention, Lord Magistrate?” Jaralia asked plainly, as Vaqnaaris’ let his spoon plop down into the soup bowl below. 


“I suppose you do.” He said quietly. 


“I’m well aware of the relationship between you and this...lowborn,” she began, the distaste evident in her honeyed voice “and I can’t imagine you’d want the rest of Ahak to be aware of it as well…”


“You told her…?” the Magistrate’s voice quivered as he cast a glance over to Lonatis. 


“It's amazing how quickly love is forgotten in the face of power and wealth.” Jaralia sneered. She felt no obligation to divulge the existence of her manipulation magic to Vaqnaaris. 


“I wouldn’t have made something of you…” Tears began to pearl beneath the Magistrate’s eyes, dripping slowly down his olive cheeks. 


“You took too long.” Lonatis replied in his dry monotone, as Jaralia toyed with the strings of his mind, blood still dripping down his neck. 


“By the makers!” Vaqnaaris wailed “Drop the damn knife, my love!” 


“You will surrender this villa, and all of your assets to me.” Jaralia declared “Or Lonatis will slit his own throat.” 


“D’you have such little regard for your own life?!” the magistrate sobbed “Such little regard for my love?!” but whilst Lonatis screamed from within the confines of his mind, the magistrate’s pleas fell upon deaf ears. 


“Why are you doing this?!” He shrieked through tears, as Lonatis continued to press the knife into his flesh. 


“Life with you has no meaning,” Jaralia spoke through Lonatis “I’d rather die than live on as your [i]salve[/i].”


“S-slave…?” She could practically see Vaqnaaris’ heart split in two as he mirrored his lover's words. She had broken him.


“I think it's time you left, [b][i]former[/i][/b] magistrate.” 


Casting Lonatis one last mournful glance, Vaqnaaris padded slowly from the room, his shoulders slumped. Jaralia knew she could rely on the magistrate to transfer everything over to her. His weakness was that his love for Lonatis was genuine, and his desire to keep his loved one safe transcended all sense of reason. Lonatis must have understood the politics of Ahak, so it couldn’t be too hard for him to draft up some form of excuse as to why Jaralia had replaced Vaqnaaris as magistrate. 


The Night Thirster plopped heavily down in the Magistrates' throne, her vast girth spilling over its jade seat. 


“Now,” she grinned “I do believe I have an empire to rebuild.”