Ch. 02 - Mind Games

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-ōch, 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.

Aster found the task demeaning - being reduced to that of an errand girl - but Demeter was right that it would save them time. She only wished she had been given the choice to come along.

But it was well past high-sun, and the novice mage still had two more items to purchase before returning to the inn. Two items in a town like this may as well be a whole scroll worth of chores back at the farm. It was damn near impossible to find the precise shop she needed among the countless towering structures that tumbled in every direction. So, with her head low and her staff held firmly in hand, Aster pushed her way into a small post office.

"Good afternoon, young lady!"

The voice that called out to her was that of an old man, creaky but energetic. Aster opened her mouth to offer her own greeting in return but found nobody to offer it to. The shop was empty.

"May I help you with something?"

The sound of his voice drew Aster's attention to the one and only counter in the room where she suddenly realized the shop was, in fact, not empty. So short he was, that everything below the old man's bushy mustache was hidden beneath the great slab of wood. Blushing with embarrassment, she stepped forwards.

"Yes, please! I was hoping you could direct me. I'm afraid this town is a smidge too hectic for my liking."

"It would be my honor."

With a grateful nod, Aster set her staff on the counter and procured the list of items, drawing the old man's attention to two items in particular.

"Well," he began, adjusting his thick rimmed glasses and wiggling his oversized nose. "Greenbough root can be found at just 'bout any 'pothecary 'round town. Why, just down the road there's...uh..." He twirled his mustache in contemplation. "The Blue Bottle!"

Aster nodded in understanding, trying to mentally orient herself.

"But this other item...let's see..." With Aster's permission, he took the list to study it more closely, as though the words would change if he held them just a little closer to his face. "Nope. 'Fraid I ain't heard of no...mezcle."

"Mezcle?"

A new voice, smooth and sweet, made Aster eagerly spin around. Seated on a small wooden bench against the far wall of the room was a woman. A beautiful woman. Cascading black hair that tumbled effortlessly around a sharp, elegant face. Long legs, one draped over the other. Startling green eyes.

She embodied power. Unwavering confidence exercised with deliberation.

She reminded the novice mage of Demeter.

Had she been seated there all along? No, Aster certainly would have noticed a woman like this in her search for the old man. But she hadn't heard the door open behind her, either.

The woman's voice, temptingly reassuring, derailed Aster's train of thought.

"I sell Mezcle in a shop not far from here." She stood up and Aster felt herself swoon. "I'd be more than happy to open my doors if you're in need."

"Oh, n-no. I wouldn't want to be an inconvenience."

Aster regretted her words as she said them. She absolutely wanted to be an inconvenience if it meant the attention of a woman like this.

"Please, darling, not at all." The woman flashed a smile, as kind as it was dazzling. "I'd love to help."

***

Aster followed close behind as her new companion, who's name she learned to be Isobel, charged through the bustling streets with the confidence of a woman who knew the town very well. She clutched her staff tightly in one hand and her shopping list in the other, having taken it back from the old man without noticing the apparent confusion scribbled across his face.

"I take it that you're a mage?" Isobel asked, her eyes remaining fixed ahead.

Aster could barely hear her over the scuttling of the crowd, but she didn't dare make a woman so beautiful repeat herself, so she answered as best she could.

"Y-Yes! Only recently. Less than a moonspan. How could you tell?" Aster cursed herself at the question. Her staff clearly gave her away. She hoped Isobel didn't think she was stupid.

"In my experience, women as beautiful as you are almost always mages." This time, Isobel looked over her shoulder to flash a deadly smile. Aster nearly tripped over her own feet.

"Th-thank you," she stammered, feeling her face and chest and that spot between her legs getting hot. "Y-you're very b-beautiful, too."

"Oh, thank you, darling," Isobel chuckled graciously, turning her attention frontwards again. "When I was younger, I wanted to be a druid."

"Why didn't you?" Aster was walking as closely behind her guide as she could, now, straining to hear her words.

"Oh...I just found something else I'm better at."

***

Aster was so lost among the raging sea of people and towering walls of shops that she almost didn't notice Isobel had stopped walking. The two women were standing before a small shop, from which a small sign hung that read, in small letters,

Poffery's Scripts

. Aster was confident that she couldn't place herself on a map if given the rest of the afternoon.

"Now, I wasn't expecting any customers today, so you must forgive me for the mess inside."

Aster shook her head with a smile, trying her very best to keep her eyes on Isobel's face, and not elsewhere. "I don't mind at all."

"No, no. It's unacceptable. If you wouldn't mind waiting out here for just a handful of minutes, I'll tidy it up."

"Really, I don't mind!"

"I mind." Isobel's voice was firm, and Aster quickly shrunk beneath her power, nodding her head in understanding.

***

A handful of minutes was all it took, and Aster was welcomed inside Isobel's shop.

It was just as small as it appeared, with low ceilings and walls made of bookshelves. The floor was lined with scraps of paper and uneven towers of books, leaving just enough space for one to maneuver from wall to wall. Miscellaneous drawers and cabinets were scattered wherever there was room. The only source of light, besides what little sun shone through two smudgy windows, was a single candle mounted upon a small, one-person counter in the far left corner of the room.

It was a striking difference to woman who ran it, cluttered and disorganized where Isobel was pristinely kempt and dignified.

The click of a lock drew Aster's attention back to the door.

"I'd rather not have anyone else wander in," Isobel smiled, and Aster nodded in understanding.

In the silence of her shop, Isobel was finally on full display, and Aster was drinking her in. She was tall - maybe as tall as Demeter - and her physique was visible even beneath the layered clothing she wore. Firm muscle atop a slender frame. Her legs were long and shapely, disappearing into tall leather boots. Her fingers appeared delicate and graceful, each one accented by a sharp black fingernail to match her hair. Her face was a picture of royal beauty - sharp and fair - imposing in its elegance. Ruby red lips, plump and shiny and smiling, dripped with motherly affection - a startling contrast to the sharp, verdant green of her eyes.

Aster realized she was staring.

"Oh...um...thank you again for helping me," she blurted out. "This town really is too confusing for me."

"Of course, darling. It's just this way."

Isobel strolled to the far right corner of the room, picking up the candle along the way, where a small wooden door - going unnoticed by the mage until this very moment - was crammed haphazardly into the wall. It opened with a creak, and a spiraling set of wooden stairs disappeared into the floor on the other side.

Taking slow, delicate steps, the novice mage traversed the landscape of books at her feet and joined Isobel in her descent.

"Are you from a smaller town?" the black-haired beauty inquired.

"Um...a farm."

"A farm? What bring you all the way out here?"

"Stale. My teacher and I are going to visit the mountains." The steps were getting darker and the air colder. With only the candlelight to guide her, Aster was becoming increasingly nervous that she might slip and tumble into her gracious host.

"The Glint Mountains? Those caverns are terribly dangerous, I've heard. Full of demons."

"Oh y-yes...but they're only...um...traalvectus. Beast demons. Still very dangerous and capable of...um...magical savagery, but not cunning. Not like the human demons." Aster was doing her very best to recite the information just as Demeter had, but was having trouble. Her focus was on the steps below her feet.

So focused, in fact, that she didn't even notice Isobel had stopped moving, running right into her with a muffled oomph.

"Oh, gods." Aster stumbled backwards in embarrassment. "I'm awfully sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Hush. No need to apologize, Aster. It's my own fault for keeping such a dark stairwell."

The sound of her name carried on Isobel's lips was enough to send another wave of warmth rippling through Aster's body. She opened her mouth to reassure the shop owner that her apology wasn't necessary either, but Isobel was already speaking before she got the chance.

"Here we are!"

She swung open a second creaky door to reveal a room much larger, much neater, and much better lit than the one upstairs. The mage stepped inside with a look of surprise and fascination.

"Wait here just a moment while I fetch the mezcle."

Aster nodded politely, planting herself in place as Isobel disappeared into another doorway. Her eyes wandered around the room, trying to discern its purpose, but finding no obvious hints. Whatever the room held, it was tucked away in various chests and cabinets and drawers, leaving nothing to see but various textures of wood.

In her solitude, it occurred to Aster for the very first time that she didn't know what she was buying. Twenty cycles as a farmer had left her without much knowledge beyond that of crops and livestock, and mezcle was neither. Isobel seemed to be in the business of selling texts and scrolls, but that only confused Aster further. She couldn't imagine what use Demeter might have for a miscellaneous script, or why such a script would be referred to as mezcle.

Then again, she and Isobel weren't upstairs anymore.

No, they were far below the ground, now. Hidden from the hustle and bustle of the town above. Hidden among strange cabinets and chests. Hidden from any prying eyes.

Aster felt a slight unease rumbling in her stomach. So enamored by the promise of what she sought that the novice mage never once stopped to ask herself where she was being led. She just followed.

Just like she had with Caroline.

The thought of that monstrous creature made Aster nauseous. Without the lingering effects of her neurotoxin, that's all Caroline was anymore. A monster. Glowing red eyes haunted Aster's dreams. Shame and regret haunted her waking moments.

She lived incomplete, an important piece of herself forever lost in that cave.

And yet here she was again. Following blindly another strange woman. Another

beautiful

woman. Aster knew it wasn't just the promise of mezcle that made her so willing to abandon all caution.

Why had Isobel been in that post office?

The room began to spin as Aster's unease grew, spreading to her limbs. She couldn't bear a second violation. A second rape.

As quietly as she could, the mage inched backwards, towards the staircase. If Isobel really had mezcle, she could just bring it upstairs, right?

Sudden footsteps made Aster raise her staff, ready to strike, but it was already too late. Isobel traversed the length of the room in a single heartbeat and, before Aster even realized it was there, placed a single thumb on her forehead.