The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Algori’s neatly banded map of the World showed that the first concentric zone the Strangers encountered would be a wide band of grassland circling the southern pole. The Strangers often first showed up here as weak and un-coordinated as children, and in fact would be easy prey if predators there had been. But the grassland was a bucolically peaceful place, and Strangers new to the World would often spend hours wandering it, at play in the fields, collecting the various weapons and magical objects that were randomly strewn about. Then, at some point, they would move into the more populated latitudes directly to the north, and there they would usually perish quickly; perhaps at the hands of an Elf guarding a treasure trove; perhaps at the hands of an Orc or a Tree Wizard; and sometimes even at the hands of another Stranger.

Of course the Strangers did not seem to really die, so much as just evaporate from the World. The Algori noted that many of them would then return later, seemingly wiser and stronger for the experience, and head north again. Some of the Algori actually believed the Strangers were supernatural projections or avatars of some sort, from another world perhaps, although no such worlds were known.

The Algori kept track. Out of every thousand Strangers who arrived at the southern pole, no more than five hundred made it past the grasslands. Some of the Algori theorised that they got bored, or were simply incompetent, and never came back again.

Of the remaining five hundred, four fifths would never make it past the World’s equator. Perhaps they would be slain in battle of one sort or another. Perhaps they would mis-negotiate a Trembling Bridge over an Infinite Chasm and perish in the Flame Pits at the centre of the World. Perhaps, if they managed to cross a Trembling Bridge, they would find the various fire weapons they had accumulated along the way useless against the Ice Dogs guarding the Central Zone.

In any case, out of every hundred or so Strangers that crossed the equator, no more than ten would ever make it sufficiently far north to reach the Forest of Thorns that ringed Gargaz’s castle at the pole.

Of these ten, on average just one would find themselves with the wit and wherewithal to traverse the vast miles of the Forest of Thorns without evaporating in the slow death of a thousand tiny poisonous cuts or being impaled by a Black Unicorn, and manage to fight their way through to the Tower itself, kill the sentries, and face Gargaz himself.

At which point, that single survivor would inevitably die at Gargaz’s hands, and that was the limit of the Script, so far.

But a few did keep coming back, trying over and over again, and over time they returned more and more frequently. As Gargaz had told me, these particular Strangers seemed to be getting more skilled and more powerful with every return. It perplexed him. The powers of his mind had no effect on them whatsoever, and he had to fight them physically. What kind of creatures were these Strangers, who could resist even Gargaz’s powers?

To this day, nobody—not even the Algori—had any idea what or who they were, or where they came from.

I, Eleni, had actually observed some of the Strangers in the wild soon after they had first started to arrive. Gargaz had taken me, concealed beneath his cloak of protection, into the deep southern zones. Hidden, we had watched as a new Stranger materialised for the first time. His movements seemed jerky, uncoordinated, at first, as if he was struggling to control his own arms and legs. But after a while, he seemed to learn, and stuttered off into the grasslands, limbs twitching at random. What were these creatures, I wondered?

We had stayed for a while, there at the southern pole, until another Stranger came. This one was a returnee, explained Gargaz. He had visited before. You could tell such things, he said, because the Stranger’s movements were purposeful, smooth, coordinated. Hidden beneath Gargaz’s cloak, I saw the Stranger immediately set off northward into the grassland, and before long he had acquired a number of weapons and magical objects of various powers and hues. Carefully, we followed him through the quiet landscape. This one seemed to know exactly where he was going, as if he had followed this route many times before. The savannah rustled around us.

And sometimes, as we followed him, we heard the voice of the bees. It was as if there was leakage from whatever magical communications the Strangers had in place with their—what?—Stronghold? Command Centre?—and the voices buzzed faintly sometimes as the Strangers searched through the unfamiliar land.

It was clear from their actions and strange words that the Strangers didn’t have access to the Script. The Algori had explained this to Gargaz. However, as the Algori also explained, the Strangers appeared to be able to deduce and learn certain elements of it, by trial and error and repetition, and sometimes guidance through the faint buzzing voices. For example, a Stranger might have died at the hands of an Orc, perhaps in a surprise attack in the woods. Returning, that Stranger would be better prepared, better armed, and more wary of those woods. An Orc attack would no longer have the element of surprise, and the second time around, or the third time, the Stranger would triumph instead, and move on northwards. The Trembling Bridges might stop a returning Stranger once, twice, three times; but rarely a fourth. And so on, and on, killing everything in their path.

There was intelligence and intent at work here. The World was becoming a slaughterhouse. And always, the distant voices and the buzzing of the bees. It was all terrifying and incomprehensible to me, and I hated them.

Now, there was a Stranger at the gates.

As the Script demanded, Gargaz hustled me into the tower room and told me to put on the white dress, the maidenly one, as the Script decreed. I knew the routine, of course. He watched me dress, impassive. He seemed lost in thought. It was dusk now, and torches guttered on the wall.

At length, he spoke. “Eleni, I know this Stranger. He has been here before, and more than once.”

“Master?”

“He has learned how to negotiate the Forest of Thorns with ease. It presents no barrier at all to him now.”

“No!”

I was aghast at this. No barrier? The Forest of Thorns was our last best bulwark. Without knowledge of the Script, it was almost impossible to find a way through except by unlikely accident, which seemed to be the way the lucky few Strangers had ever managed it. Most Strangers did the obvious thing: to hack and hack at the branches and vines seeking to create a clear passage. But with every branch that was lopped, three grew back, and then another three, until the Stranger was trapped and suffocated.

Some Strangers were more cunning, and tried to carefully edge their way across, inching gingerly through the thorn bushes. But it was nigh impossible to avoid touching the thorns, and each tiny prick drained the Strangers’ lives and powers a little, then a little more, until they were spent. Either that, or they’d be ambushed by a Black Unicorn, the fiercest creature in the Forest, and one which I had never seen.

There was only one way to get through, the Algori had explained, and that was to turn logic and instinct on its head. Logic and instinct said avoid the lethal Black Unicorns at all costs. But they were the only things that knew the safe paths through the Forest of Thorns—so the trick, we knew, was to track one of the vicious little beasts, follow it carefully and quietly, stepping exactly in its footsteps, and just pray to the Great Designer that it didn’t notice it had company.

“I have defeated him before,” continued Gargaz. “Several times. Each time with more difficulty than the last.”

“How many times, Master?” I asked.

He contemplated me for a moment. “Thirty-seven. And the last occasion was … very difficult indeed.”

I remembered Gargaz entering my room, after that last battle, which had seemed to go on for hours. I recall he had struggled even to unlock the door, that time. Even in victory, he had been bloodied almost beyond recognition, and his sword arm had hung limply at his side. I had gasped at the sight. He told me then that this Stranger had very nearly won; and if the Stranger ever did win, he did not know what would happen to me. That part of the Script was closed to him, he said, because if that were to happen, he would be dead.

Gargaz seemed almost worried, now. I had never seen him like this before. “I think the Stranger has brought something new,” he said. “An unknown weapon.”

I embraced him fiercely. “You will win, Master. You will always win. I know you will protect me.”

“Maybe, Eleni. We have unknown weapons of our own.”

He stroked my cheek, and held me silently for a long time. At last he left. He locked me in, for the purposes of protection, and I sat down by the window to wait.