Author's Note(s):
For those of you who are a little more uneasy with unconventional kinks, this story contains "brain fucking," although there is no actual penetration. It is all magical/simulated within Aster's mind, so no need to be concerned about any gore/strange anatomy. I am more focused on the physiological and emotional manipulation achieved through manipulating the brain, although there are still mentions of the brain's physical structure being "fucked."
This story also includes lots of extreme dubcon/non-con elements.
In this installment of The Iron Cub, we follow Aster as she is sent by Demeter to run errands around town. One errand in particular has her scratching her head, but a beautiful woman offers to help the novice mage. Is she simply a kindly soul, or is she leading Aster into a trap?
All characters are above the age of 18.
As always, constructive criticism is appreciated.
Hope you enjoy!
***
The journey from Hemmers-Phore to Stale is not a long one. Hardly a half-moon's journey, and a comfortable one at that. They were, after all, founded by brothers. Both in search of the holy land. Both convinced they knew the proper direction. And both unwilling to travel very far before setting up camp and calling it home.
Yet, despite their proximity, the towns couldn't be more different.
Founded upon the small but central river Trantis, Hemmers-Phore is a mercantile utopia. Cobblestone streets, just wide enough to accommodate beast and cart, branching and intersecting in deliberate patterns like a spider's web. Shops of every nature packed so tightly that they climb on top of one another. People, like ants, scurrying blindly in every direction. It is a deadly maze of wood and stone to those unfamiliar, and an even deadlier maze of riches and good fortune to those familiar.
So magnificent it looms, that almost nobody remembers the short-lived prosperity of Stale.
Convinced that the gods lurked deep within the ground, Brax Aaron sought his fortune north, where the Glint Mountains towered sharp and jagged. Gods he did not find, but veins of perott. Perott that turned a small commune of elders into an overflowing mining village within a single cycle. Perott that brought fame and opulence to the younger brother. Perott, blood red even beneath the sun, worn on the necks and fingers of nobility in every land, and inside every dazzling cut of which is said to lie a fortune spelled out in stars. Perhaps he did find a god. But if he did, it was a cruel and vengeful one.
In a mere seven cycles, the surface veins had run dry. Perott remained, to be certain, but it ran within the mountain - in tunnels and caves. Tunnels guarded by savage beasts. Caves inhabited by demons. Creatures of black form and unknown nature, said to be older than the mountains themselves, and which man carried no means to conquer.
Those few parties brave enough to venture in were immortalized on the cavernous rock walls as echoing screams and splatters of blood. Time would label them ignorant and greedy.
Brax abandoned his god that very same cycle, taking with him what little wealth remained and venturing south, to the flatlands he once deemed heretical.
Cycles passed, and with every number added to the lunar calendar, mankind took deeper and deeper strides into the valuable world of magic. Magic that, among countless other benefits, allowed them to fight the creatures they once feared. For the remaining inhabitants of Stale, the advent of magic promised new explorations into the mountains and a revitalization of their decrepit town.
But it was too late. Monumental deposits of Perott had been discovered further north, in Avon and Gain. What remained in the Glint Mountains was considered inconsequential, and certainly not worth the risk. And so, just like Brax Aaron 50 cycles before, Stale's hope died.
This cycle marked nearly 300 since its grand inception, but Stale was grand no longer. It existed as a memory, faint and distant, forgotten by all but a select few.
It was remembered by those whose ancestors chose to stay. Those living among scattered mining equipment and the skeletons of luxuriant homes. Having lost their only means of trade, they survived on what little they could grow from the rocky soil. They lived in the shadow of what could have been.
It was remembered by scientists. Historians, fascinated by the tale of prosperity and downfall that occurred within the lifespan of a child. Biologists, captivated by the undocumented flora and fauna lurking deep within those mountains. Braxonist clergymen, waiting for the day when their gods would deliver the mountain from the beasts to their loyal servants.
And it was remembered by Demeter Meridian.
Not because she pitied the townsfolk or held any particular interest in its history, but because of what lingered within those dark and desolate caves.
"The perott?" Aster questioned, furrowing her brown in confusion. She had known Demeter less than a moonspan, yet the older, wiser mage never struck her as one overly concerned with wealth or ornamentation.
"No," Demeter replied, her voice just as controlled and sterile as always. "The demons."
The demons.
While there were no documented reports, legend told stories of the demons who called the mountain their home.
Graa, the goat with two faces that wore a crown of flaming antlers.
Festhius, the dragon snake that swam through stone as if it were water.
Det-Εch, the man shaped insect.
Every last one an old wives' tale, told to the children of Stale so that they might keep away from the real danger of the mountain - cave dwelling beasts and diseases. But to Demeter, simple tales they were not.
Less than a moonspan, but already Aster understood her teacher well. Demeter sought, above all, experiences. Experiences in the form of sights yet unseen and moments yet unlived.
She required no guarantee that such demons - never before seen by living eyes - existed deep within those mountains. The mere possibility, even in the form of legends, was more than enough for her. After all, in her experience, legends held more truth than many gave them credit for.
The greatest mage in three generations - if Lady Liandra was to be believed - and Demeter sought not to have her name immortalized in Derian's history. Nor did she seek great fortune, nor to assist those in need. What little notability she had achieved was incidental and unwanted. What little aid she did offer was for her own satisfaction - killing a beast said to be unkillable or witnessing the unique spells of a raging demon. And what little wealth she possessed was for no purpose beyond adventuring. Traveling across the great kingdoms of Cantalia did not come cheap, after all.
That was the reason she and Aster had spent the past several days in Hemmers-Phore. Venturing through tightly packed streets and filthy crowds of merchants, they were in search of buyers for the collection of goods they had amassed. Gems and talismans, scrolls and items of rare origin - what Aster used to believe was a penchant for collecting she now realized was simply another means of work.
When she suggested they collect perott from the mine instead - a small sum of which would be enough to finance several cycles of travel - Demeter called such means of finance uninteresting.
Aster found the odd jobs they had to work far less interesting, but she decided not to say as much. At least it wasn't farmwork.
But as it turned out, Demeter's collection was far more profitable than Aster anticipated - enough to travel uninterrupted for five or six moonspans. Guided by experience beyond her years, the older mage traveled briskly from shop to shop, knowing precisely where each item would fetch the highest price.
And after only four days, there was but a single item left. An old cookbook, bound in terot leather and written some 500 cycles ago. Demeter knew a buyer on the very outskirts of town who would pay handsomely for such a treasure.
And that's where she was - venturing to the very ends of the spiderweb where the buildings thinned and the flatlands beyond became visible, leaving Aster behind to fetch supplies for their journey to Stale.
