Rebirth C1 Rough

	The woods that surrounded the small cottage of stone and wood were calm and serene, lush with the verdant life that accompanied a land that never experienced harsh winters or ravaging drought. Instead, calm springs fed brooks and streams that poured into larger rivers and eventually into lakes further along. But here the small streams and brooks were clear and sweet, filled with fish and crisp water plants. The cool shadows under the trees were inviting environments for mushrooms to grow, and in the meadows and gaps between the trees were bushes, some of which provided ripe berries. The trees themselves provided fruit from their branches. Among it all were dozens of other herbs and plants which had other, more special, properties.

	In the small cottage lived the herbalist Sam. He was a young man, an orphan who had been adopted as an apprentice to the herbalist who had lived in the cottage prior. That man had left to enjoy the life his skills would earn him in the city, but Sam was a quiet and private man. He did not care for the loud noise and crowd of life in cities. Even rural villages tended to make him uncomfortable. He sometimes fancied himself part elf, not just because he felt more at home in nature and away from the rest of humanity, but his lack of facial hair and soft features just seemed to make the joke more appropriate.

	He knew he wasn’t that special though. He could clearly remember his parents, his father had been a farmer and his mother a farmer’s wife. Both had been taken by illness that the herbalist had been too late to treat. He was a good man though and had freely taken Sam in as an adopted apprentice, but there was always the sense he wanted to enjoy the company of others while Sam did not.

	Their parting had been bittersweet, but Sam’s master had given him his home as a gift. In exchange he only asked that if anything happened that Sam come to him if he needed him. Weeping openly Sam had agreed and then his mentor had left.

	That had been only a few years prior but Sam had quickly grown used to living alone, though he did miss his mentor he realized that their relationship had been one of student and teacher and little more. They were friends, but they were not true companions.

	So Sam spent his days in quiet solitude, living off a garden he tended and the bounties of the land. Occasionally he was called upon to provide his services for villages that were in the area but for the most part he went long periods without seeing others. He was familiar with the secrets of the forest, and developed his skills as an herbalist, which he was already quite talented at despite his young age.

	To him, the forest was a place of safety and solitude, a place he could go to and never be harmed.

	One day though as he was walking off the normal path with his woven pack on his back and a basket slung over his arm, long hair braided down his back to keep it out of the way, looking for ingredients and food for his evening meal, he heard a noise he was unfamiliar with though he recognized it.

The crashing of underbrush and voices of men in his forest.

Unsettled, Sam tried to make himself unseen, a fairly simple task given his familiarity with the woods and the soft forest colors of his garb. The voices got louder and louder, until something broke through thick brush and into a place where Sam could see them.

It was a man, a large man. He seemed to be groomed and cleanly dressed, though his garb indicated he was prepared for hard travel. Most telling was the heavy sword on his hip, and the bow with full quiver on his back. He spit and cursed, and hollered for the rest of his compatriots.

Three, five, and finally seven men gathered together in the small clearing and Sam found his breath frozen in his chest at the sight. All were armed, most looked mean, and they were carrying four deer corpses with them. Sam was too far to make out their conversation but it seemed they had become turned around in the woods.

He froze and watched as they peered through the trees to get the bearing from the sun before they set off, away from him.

Sam didn’t know what to do as the men loudly crashed their way through the forest. It was obvious to him they didn’t belong their, and if his instincts were to be trusted they were dangerous.

Every rational thought screamed at Sam to run away, go home, lock his cottage and not leave until food ran out, but he knew he had to follow them. If the local guard or constabulary needed to be notified of poachers or thieves he needed to know where they were. He felt confident he could follow them safely without being seen, compared to the men Sam moved through the forest silent as an elf too.

It took them an hour, with the men having to regain their bearings again and again as they went to keep from becoming lost. Sam began to grow concerned. Certainly poachers would have more sense at tracking than these fools did. The men being thieves was becoming the more definite conclusion when he saw them hail someone out of his sight loudly.

Sam melted into the underbrush and crept forward slowly, his sense tingling as he came closer and closer to the camp. As he did, and the sounds of men and other things became louder, Sam was certain that these men were neither poachers nor bandits. There were strange sounds mixed in with the barking of orders and the chatter of campfire talk. Otherworldly, inhuman sounds.

Finding a spot he could peer out from and get a view safely, Sam looked at the camp for the first time. As he did, all doubt disappeared from his mind about whether the men were poachers or bandits. They were neither, and they were far worse.

They called themselves body brokers, but their trade was people. Humans or otherwise they captured, sold, and bartered for people whole and in parts. They sold them as toys or for cruel amusement, or had them broken down into their parts for wicked alchemy. They were worse than slavers, who had a modicum of respect for the lives they were dealing in. Body brokers literally only cared about the weight of the body and what value it had.

There was about thirty of them, which explained the deer. They were obviously this deep in the woods because it was hardly possible for them to travel normal routes. Somehow they had managed to get a large iron cart pulled by draft horses up a game trail, a path of destruction behind them showed where they had to widen the trail at times. The cart had big iron bars and every so often it shifted, as if great weight were sliding from one side to another. In the center of the camp people of all ages and races, from young orcs to old elves, were chained together along a line. Most wore rags and looked ill or beleaguered, some seemed to slump where they were, perhaps even dead. All were shackled and slowly eating the slop they had been given. Just barely enough nutrition to live and make it to the next camp. The brokers knew their trade well, never give your wares enough to fight on, just enough to survive.

Sam watched as the men carried the deer in and laid them at the feet of an older man who was talking with another old man, this one wore a strange coat with trinkets attached of undetermined use. Spectacles were perched on his long nose and he had been having an argument when the carcasses were laid down. The man in charge, Sam presumed, yelled at the hunters and with some grumbling they took the deer out of camp and began to dress them down, setting the offal aside.

Not long later and there was four skinned and gutted deer being roasted over glowing coals, a man tended them with spices and sauce. It smelled good, and despite himself Sam’s stomach grumbled. But he watched as the offal was collected and then roasted carelessly, most of it getting burnt, before it was pulled off and a man was elected to take a platter of the organs to the iron cart.

He seemed nervous, and as his mates jeered he slowly approached the small gate to slide the food in. In his haste to shove the food in he spilled half of it. Sam couldn’t make out the voices clearly but it seemed like both the spectacled man and the leader were angry, demanding all the food be put into the cart. Whatever was in there must have value beyond the norm, Sam realized.

The man rushed to throw the remainder of the meat in, picking it up off the ground and throwing it through the hatch. Unfortunately he didn’t see the arm sneak out and grab his wrist as he threw a chunk of liver inside.

There was a harsh, shrill scream from the man as he was wrenched brutally forward, head slammed against the hard metal the cart. No one moved to help, the cargo was apparently pricier than the man’s life. Again and again he was slammed against the cart before he stopped screaming, but it wasn’t until his body was limply, wetly crashing against it was the hold on his arm released, his dead body collapsed in a heap.

Calmly and carefully someone closed the gate, and another pair of men stripped the dead body of its valuables and clothes before dumping the naked body off in the woods nearby.

Then life went on like normal. Sam felt like vomiting.

He also felt conflicted. They were clearly moving fast, the camp was very temporary, it was probably only a brief stop to hunt for a day before they moved on. By the time Sam could reach guards or constables they would be far gone. Maybe they could be tracked, but if they went into another county or country where jurisdiction didn’t lay who knew the contacts they had.

Sam felt moved to do something, but he had no idea what, other than the creeping sensation of an utterly insane plan. It was something Sam had never done, had never even thought to try doing, before in his life. But maybe he could sneak in at night and release some people. Maybe he could save someone.

He had lived his life in pursuit of healing and care. He was small and he couldn’t fight, but he could try to save someone. Maybe. The risk was worth his life, he felt.

So Sam gently settled in, finding a place to hide nearby so he could let night settle in. He was used to navigating the woods even at night, so he felt like he might have a good chance. Sam took advantage of the relative safety to eat some of the things he gathered, combining a few ingredients to create a makeshift sleep potion and another for later that would help him become more awake and alert. Sam intended to strike late in night, when the men in the camp would hopefully be least active.

As the food and makeshift sleep aid came together and he felt himself drifting to sleep, Sam wondered what he was going to do.

Later when he had woken and was peering at the camp and at the armed men who sat watch near the campfire, Sam wondered again what he was going to do. He had taken his second concoction to help wake himself up and make himself more alert, which he thought would certainly give himself an advantage since he was rested as well. But the spears and swords the men carried, the number of them, around six, that were awake and the patrols they would seemingly do on a whim made Sam nervous. The people Sam wanted to save were in the dead center of the camp, and he had even less an idea now than before. Even with more than half the camp asleep and the men not looking into the woods, they were still in the place that mattered most.

A distraction would be ideal. A big, loud, scary distraction.

The iron cage loomed menacingly in the flickering light of the campfire, Sam began to feel his stomach churn.

Moments later and he had crawled closer, having left his pack and items back at his hiding spot. He was well hidden in the shadows of the carriage, laying near one of its wheels in the darkness. Sam could now hear the men more clearly, but his attention was focused on the carriage. It was heavily built, made of sturdy wood and heavy iron. It looked travel-worn and rusty in places, hardly comfortable accommodations for whatever was inside. Sam’s heart was beating rapidly and he found himself breathing heavily. He tried to stay calm, but the reality of the situation was weighing in on him.

What was he doing?! If he had simply ran he might have been able to find a guard or constable in time to bring them here. This was such folly!

No turning back now, though.

“Who’s there?”

A low voice whispered nearby. Sam almost screamed, his skin crawled and he clamped a hand down on his mouth. He stayed silent, waiting, thinking maybe he was hearing a guard talk to someone else.

“I know you’re there, I can smell you. Who are you?” The voice whispered again moments later. “You don’t smell like them. You smell like flowers.”

The voice was low, but it was soft and husky. It sounded like a deep woman’s voice, though there was an accent on some of the syllables that Sam couldn’t place. It was a strange, though pleasant, voice.

“Where are you?” Sam finally swallowed back enough fear to respond, wanting to know where the owner of the voice was.

“You are near my prison,” The voice murmured.

Sam realized the voice emanated from the carriage and he swallowed down a lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. What manner of beast was in there that spoke so clearly and yet had such ferocity as to kill a man like it did?

Suddenly he liked the idea of using it as a distraction even less, but now he felt burdened by an even more worrisome idea - that he would have to try rescuing this intelligent creature as well. He could do no less.

“I ask again, who are you? You are not them, you are not the stock they drive. Where did you come from?” The voice was calm, cool even, but insistent.

“M- My name is Sam. I am a healer in these woods,” Sam explained in the softest whisper he could managed, terrified of alerting anyone to his presence. Thankfully the creature’s hearing appeared to be sharp as it didn’t ask him to speak louder. “I saw the men while gathering things in the woods and when I followed them I discovered the camp. I... was going to release you as a distraction since I thought there was a wild beast in here after earlier.”

Sam had let the last part slip out, and there was a tense minute or two of silence. He could imagine a wicked form processing what he had said, and he wanted to hit himself.

“So you saw what I did earlier,” the voice said coolly.

“Yes.”

“Do you fear me?”

“... yes.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you are strong.”

“Not strong enough to break free.”

“Strong enough to scare them.”

There was a soft noise, almost like a “hmph” of amusement.

“I’m glad you feel that way. But I tell you they are not afraid of me. Not in their numbers.” There was a pause, and the voice continued. “But I might be able to provide aid if you help me.”

Sam hesitated, “You already said they don’t fear you.”

“Fear? No. Value, oh yes. I am quite valuable to them, alive and as untouched as they can manage.”

His stomach churned and Sam thought about his options. He had few, other than abandoning the place entirely and running away. He still could, he thought. But he wouldn’t.

“How do I free you?” Sam whispered as his response.

“The keys are held by one of them, the head of the camp. He and the other one are the only with tents, and his has the symbol of a blade on it. You must take them from him.”

Sam swallowed nervously and scanned the camp. Sure enough there were only two tents, the rest of the men slept under lean-to shelters facing the fire. If he skirted the perimeter he could avoid being seen, slip into the tent, and steal the key away. Then he would come back and...

“How will you aid me?” Sam finally asked.

“Hm... a good question. If you free me, as I said they value me far more than any of those others. I shall make a good, loud escape, maybe injure a few before I steal away into the forest. At night they shall try their best but never find me. And they will try. In that moment, when the rest are forgotten, you may come out of concealment and save them. This way all are satisfied. Do you find this acceptable?”

Despite the lump in his throat, Sam managed to respond. “Yes.”

Then he snuck away, crawling on his belly through the underbrush dimly illuminated by the fire towards the tent. He would freeze whenever he heard a noise, but with his clothing and the fact that any time a man who had spent his night staring into the fire turned to look and saw nothing but inky blackness in the forest he made good progress.

The tent had one entrance, but was hastily assembled so the sides only loosely draped to the ground. It was merely a shelter tent with no floor to speak of, so he slowly wiggled his small body inside.

He heard the slow draw of breath and as his eyes quickly adjusted he saw a prone form laying on a cot. Sam lay still but saw no reaction, so he very slowly rose to a crouching position.

It was very dark in the tent, but the glow of the fire provided a faint illumination. He could see the cot and its occupant, next to the bed was a folding chair and table with items strewn on them. His eyes strained and made out clothing on the stool, neatly folded, and by the bed he noticed a heavy looking sword which made his eyes bulge out.

Sam shook his head softly and focused on the table, looking for a keyring of some sort. He finally saw the corner of something that looked like keys protruding from beneath a handkerchief.

He took a deep breath and still crouched moved over, eyes fixated on the item in question. His fingers reached out for the keys to remove them when he heard the soft rustle of fabric and froze.

Then he suddenly felt something impact him on the side and he tumbled, sprawling on the ground and frozen with fear. The next thing he felt was the weight of a foot on his back, pinning his small form down. Sam struggled briefly before he realized there was no way to get free.

There was a sound of something rasping then the pop and hiss of a match being struck. Dim light grew brighter as a lantern was lit and then Sam felt increasing pressure as whoever it was kneeled down to look at him.

“Before thieving, ought to make sure the person in bed is truly asleep.” The voice said with cruel glee.

Sam wanted to cry with fear and frustration as he heard the thump of the lantern being set on the table and then the chilling noise of a blade being drawn from its sheath.

“Still, I thank yeh for showing me that meh guards obviously need to be reeducated on how to keep watch.”

Then Sam was yanked up off the ground and spun to face the leader of the camp. He wasn’t ugly, in fact by many standards he would have been handsome had it not been for the cruel grin and the ugly glint in his eye that unsettled Sam immediately.

“Pretty one ain’t ya?” The leader mused rhetorically, not that Sam could have responded with his tongue suddenly being numb.

“Hm... I could hand yeh to ‘em now, but I think it ought be a better lesson if I show you off in the morning,” the leader said as he grabbed a set of manacles off the table and bound Sam’s hands in iron.

“You don’t strike me as a troublesome type, girlie, so I’ll just have you take a nap on the ground till sunrise.”

“... not a girl...” Sam said softly, the only thing he could manage.

“Hm?”

“Not a girl.” Sam said, only a little louder.

“Ha! Well, lad or lass ‘t won’t matter come tomorrow morning.”

With that the leader shoved Sam down to the ground, wrapped a chain to his cot, and with the keys under his pillow and Sam’s arms held up in an uncomfortable position almost sure to guarantee sleep would be an impossibility, the leader tucked himself back in to bed.

Morning dawned with a misty haze over the camp, and Sam was roused from a dazed half-sleep by being roughly drawn to his feet. The leering face of the camp leader was twisted in a sadistic grin as he shoved Sam out the tent and into the camp.

Like a ripple, the camp stopped as they became aware of the fact that the leader was standing there expectantly, with a new person bound in irons in front of him. Murmurs erupted and the night guards began to look nervous.

“Caught a rat sneaking in meh tent last night,” the leader said with a nasty grin and a pointed look at the guards from the night watch. “Wonder how that could be. Say, Cyrus, how do you think this rat snuck in?”

The man from the night guard shivered and tried to stammer out an answer.

“Cyrus seems at loss for words. “Meyvin? Toren? Anyone care to answer?”

All of them tried to avert their gazes, all standing stiffly together.

“Well I’ll tell yeh. You lot have spent so much time lazing about near the fire at night, passing yer time joking and laughing and ignoring yer duties. How many times did yeh walk the perimeter? Did yeh all do any more than glance into the woods after staring in the fire to the point you’d be too blind to see in the dark? Were yeh passin’ round the bottle too?!” The humor was gone, Sam flinched as he felt the accusing gazes of the guards for daring to ruin their good times.

“Now begone with yeh, we’ll go over your new duties later.” The leader dismissed his men and they sullenly trotted off.

“Now little rat we are going to meet with someone about the duties expected of you. I did a bit of thinking before sleeping last night and I think I have a perfect fit for you here.”

Sam shivered as he was unceremoniously dragged to the only other tent in the camp. Outside this one he saw a symbol he recognized, the crest of the alchemical school.

As an herbalist, Sam sought cooperation with nature. Work with it, not dominate it. There was already enough answers to life’s problems out there that with the right effort and ingenuity most ailments could be treated. It was harmony.

Alchemy used many of the same ingredients but it sought domination to control nature. It was about bending the world to suit their whims rather than work with it. They were able to accomplish incredible things but Sam knew it was a dangerous pursuit in many ways, and philosophically he disagreed with the practice.

He didn’t feel any better when he was dragged into the tent either and saw all the chests and medicine cabinets stacked along the walls. How they dragged this man’s baggage this far into the forest boggled Sam’s mind.

The alchemist himself was unsettling. He was hunched over a table, already busy at work despite the early hour. On the table Sam could recognize a number of herbs and other ingredients, alongside items he only recognized by reputation, like the bluedrop liquid, and others which looked disturbingly like they had come from something living.

“Oi,” the leader said. “I might have found yeh a volunteer. When can we do it if he checks out?”

The alchemist looked up from his work a bit annoyed, but that vanished the moment he saw Sam. Sam shivered and wished he could crawl away from the suddenly intense scrutiny of the alchemist.

“He? Oh my yes. Give me an hour and I will tell you if he is suitable as a subject, but if he is I have all other preparations made. We could do it today, if we have the time.”

The leader scratched his chin and thought deep about it. “We can do it,” he finally said. “Just check him out quickly and get started. Let me know if he’s appropriate as soon as yeh can.”

The alchemist nodded impatiently and motioned for the leader to go so he could start. The leader handed the keys to the alchemist, and as he left the tent he sent another man in to stand guard.

Sam’s heart was pounding so intense and loud he was sure everyone could hear it, his breathing was on the verge of hyperventilation. Still he tried to remain calm, even as the alchemist grew close and Sam could smell something on his breath, a foul tobacco smell laced with something else, a plant that Sam knew as a mild narcotic.

“Hard to believe you’re a boy, but the examination will make all clear,” the alchemist said as he clapped his hands once, loudly.

From outside the tent two hunched figures in robes entered the tent silently.

“Remove his bindings, strip the boy, and then secure him. Make the preparations for examination,” the alchemist commanded.

Without even so much as a nod the two robed figures complied. Sam tried to resist, but one of them slapped him without so much as a word of warning. The herbalist went limp, his body feeling drained from fear and lack of sleep. He wasn’t a fighter, he was a peaceful man. But here he was, being molested by body brokers, and probably soon to be subject to some wicked alchemist experiment.

After he was stripped naked, the misty air coming in from the outside causing him to shiver and goosebumps to rise on his flesh, his legs were bound together by leather cuffs attached to a long cord which the guard held, who sat down in a chair and watched with intense interest. Next his arms were bound again, in more leather cuffs, and these two had a cord the guard held. He felt like a dog on a leash, except with even less freedom.

Naked and afraid, the herbalist tried to keep watering eyes from releasing a deluge of tears as the alchemist poked and prodded him, occasionally asking for a new tool or instrument from his silent attendants. Sam was violated like a medical experiment, like a cadaver being opened up except with less respect. After a point, and he couldn’t recall when, the tears just began to flow.

The alchemist paid no mind.

“Hm... ideal. Quite ideal in fact. Form and body are perfect, health is outstanding. Very little trauma so far, yes...” The alchemist chuckled and gestured to his attendants.

“Begin preparations,” he motioned to one and to the other, “Take this note and inform our benefactor that it begins. It has detailed information, do not lose it or you’ll be missing more than just your tongue. When you have done so return and aid in the preparations.”

The alchemist then began to busy himself with his concoctions, and as Sam noticed with increasing dread, there were many, and there was a lot of it.

“What- what are you going to do with me?” Sam finally mustered the strength to speak, his throat felt dry and it cracked.

He was ignored.

“What are you going to do with me!?” he demanded with a shout that shocked even himself.

The alchemist sighed and looked up with a frustrated expression, but his eyes told Sam all he needed to know. He was meat. There was no consideration for Sam’s life, merely his role as an ingredient in some forbidden alchemy.

“Here,” and Sam thought for a second he was being addressed before he noticed the attendant was given an object.

Sam had a split second to see what it was, a gag, before it was shoved into his mouth, a tube of hard leather wrapped around a core of soft leather meant he could chew on it as much he liked but it would merely spring back to shape. The strap holding it in place was secured tightly around the back of his head. It hurt.

But there was something else he noticed, as his breathing came in and out of his mouth with how intensely he was worked up. A faint aroma.

Some sort of drug? Sam could only conclude ‘yes’ as his head began to swim. He suddenly felt the need to fight back or ask questions noticeably diminished, everything seemed to suddenly occur to someone else in the distance. If he could describe it, he would say it was like falling backwards but floating infinitely into the sky. It was unsettling.

He felt like a distant spectator as his body was first cleaned with water, soap and soft towels, and then it was coated in a light oil. The second attendant returned soon after and the two began their work.

With razors they soon had removed all body hair on Sam from the front of his face down to his ankles. Sam couldn’t understand why, but he was in no position to ask. He tried to object, tried to stop them as the gag was finally removed and they took scissors to his long hair to trim it down, but he could only stand in place drooling like a fool.

Finally, razors were taken to his scalp and he was ultimately removed of all hair from tip top of his body all the way down. The attendants then washed him again and the alchemist approached.

Sam felt his skin pinched, bony fingers ran down his flesh to check and see if any hair remained. He felt his body violated as the alchemist inspected his genitals. His final inspection satisfied, the alchemist went to his table and returned with a massive beaker of dark, thick fluid and a leather funnel.

“Hold his nose, pour this down his throat. If he rejects it, wait a moment and do it again. He must drink this much at least,” and the alchemist pointed to a line on the beaker.

The attendants complied, and he could feel the sensation of his breathing constricted, could feel the leather funnel stuffed down his throat, but even though he wanted to struggle it was beyond him to move. Instead his body simply gagged and he became aware of a terrible burning sensation as something moved down his throat.

The moment it hit his stomach it was rejected, and he heaved and gagged and a moment later it came right back up. The attendants waited for him to clear his stomach, gave him a moment to quit heaving, and tried again.

And again. And again.

Finally Sam held the mixture down, and the attendants silently waited for their next instructions.

As the hours passed more and more things were shoved into Sam’s belly. He became used to the bloated feeling as more and more alchemical concoctions were forced down his throat. It was awful, but he couldn’t resist.

Something seemed to be happening, his body tingled and his head spun more and more. A large pill was thrust into his mouth and he was forced to swallow it. Something pricked his arm and he saw the alchemist remove something from his arm a moment later. Sam’s head bobbed with weary exhaustion, the “examination” had been awful, and it wasn’t over yet.

“Inform them we’re ready,” the alchemist commanded as he handed a note to one of his mute attendants. The hunched figure scurried off, and in passing Sam finally noticed it appeared to be a woman.

“Good help is so hard to find,” the alchemist must have seen Sam look. “They used to be a husband and wife, but in exchange for their lives they sold their tongues and service to me. I do consider myself more a benefactor than others though, I do allow them to enjoy each others company on occasion,” the alchemist smiled with sadistic glee.

Sam slumped, body burning from the strain of standing in one place so long. His skin felt sensitive and raw from the razor treatment, every cool breeze set him off in chills and goosebumps. His stomach churned and felt bloated, stuffed to the brim with potions and concoctions forced into him till he could contain no more.

“Let’s get some sunlight,” the alchemist commanded and a moment later he was leading Sam, nude, hairless and mortified into the center of the camp. All eyes were on him as he was led to where the leader was waiting with a group of tough looking, armored men.

“The subject is ready, lets get the vessel prepared,” the alchemist said with a smile.

The leader nodded tightly and gestured to his men. They began to approach the carriage and Sam began to feel a mix of confusion and dread. One of them had a bundle of herbs tightly wrapped around a stick which he lit from a torch and slid into the feed gate.

All of a sudden there was a screeching and thrashing that rocked the iron carriage on its wheels, the sound of groaning, creaking metal as something huge threw its weight about. Then the sounds began to slow down, the screeching lowered to a soft cry, and then the carriage was still.

The men waited another minute before slowly opening the loading gate, half the men were armed and pointed their spears at the entrance while the other half, armored more heavily than the others, stood by and waited. One man peered inside cautiously, then motioned to the others.

They moved swiftly and efficiently, men jumped inside as others passed heavy irons and chains. There was the sound of clinking metal and a moment later there was a call and the men outside began to pull on the chains. Sam heard the sound of a body being dragged, and prepared himself for what was coming.

Whatever he had expected it was not what came out. The first thing Sam noticed was that she was beautiful, but then as she was being removed by her limp arms and the chains wrapped around her body Sam saw how large she was. She was easily a foot, maybe two more than a normal man and it only got stranger.

His dazed brain finally registered her nudity, her large breasts bounced and jiggled with every pull of the chains, and her burnt orange hair sparkled like something was in it catching the light. He saw strangely colored patches of skin, which made sense as her torso was pulled out and he saw her lower body.

She had a mostly normal human set of hips, but right around there it went from human straight to serpent. Sam had never seen a lamia before, but he knew what one was. A tight wrapping of cloth covered up her maidenhood, and Sam realized with some awe that she was more than just a few feet taller than a normal man as her snake body seemed to take forever to be pulled free.

Her snake body was colored a rich golden brown, and it looked both powerful and elegant. Sam found himself quite captivated despite his state.

“Admiring the view?” The alchemist snickered. Sam’s face burned and he realized the haze of the drugs was clearing up. “Well, don’t worry, you’ll get a very close look.”

Sam found himself shivering, not even daring to guess what that meant.

The men moved quickly and with stakes, rope and more chains they secured the lamia to the ground, from her shoulders and arms all the way down to the end of her tail which was weighted down by hastily filled bags of dirt and sand.

“Now, time is of the essence,” the alchemist said and as he said this his attendants placed a table of instruments next to him and began to busy themselves with the contents of medicine cabinets they had brought with them.

A few moments later and Sam watched as blood was taken from the lamia by a strange tube with a needle attached, all the while the mute attendants forced more concoction down her throat. They moved quickly, and as they did he saw the lamia begin to moan and writhe as best she could in her imprisoned and unconscious state.

It all seemed horribly surreal and cruel and Sam realized this was a similar procedure to what they had done to him. What were they going to do to them?

The lamia moaned louder and louder and as she did her hips began to swing and buck randomly. Sam’s eyes were transfixed on the captivating body, many others around him stared as well.

“Time for the final arrangements,” the alchemist said and immediately his attendants took Sam and set him down in a chair. They wiped him down a final time and they washed his feet off. His bindings were removed and though he wanted to move, the raw feeling of the skin, the men surrounding, and something else was keeping him from struggling.

The alchemist came over with a large bowl of some concoction, Sam watched with a little horror as a vial of what he presumed was blood was poured into it and gently stirred in.

“Coat him,” was the command and the attendants complied, starting from his feet and working up to his hips. Every bit of exposed skin was coated, and the dark, sticky stuff burned where it touched.

The alchemist inspected the quickly drying stuff, which was hardening into a texture not unlike lacquer but flexible. Satisfied, he gestured to two other men standing nearby.

“Prepare the entrance,” he commanded and the two men took a pair of pry bars and walked over to the prone lamia, standing on either side of her hips. With unceremonious crudeness, they ripped off the cloth which covered the lamia’s hips and revealed her large, quivering entrance.

A growing sense of dread was forming in the pit of Sam’s stomach. Everything was falling into place like the pieces of a puzzle, but the picture it was forming was so far beyond awful he couldn’t believe it.

The entrance to the lamia’s womanhood was large, and surrounded by scales. The two men inserted a pry bar into either side of the lips and began to pull it open, spreading her out.

Oh no, Sam thought.

“Let’s make final preparations,” the alchemist said to no one in particular as he walked over to the lamia’s head and knelt down next to it. In his hand was a stoppered vial of some clear liquid. He opened it, poured a powder into it, and it foamed. This he poured down her throat.

A moment later and she woke screaming and writhing but the bindings were secure, and all she did was struggle and weaken herself.

She cursed loudly at the men, at the world, at the gods, and then as she saw Sam she cursed him. She was irrational and furious, her eyes were bloodshot and veins bulged along her body as corded muscles strained. The men holding her open strained to withstand her strength.

“We are now almost ready,” the alchemist said with a grin that could only be called wicked.

The attendants nodded and together they lifted Sam up, keeping his coated bare feet off the ground. They shuttled him over to the lamia’s hips, and her quivering, waiting entrance.

“No...” Sam said softly, trying to struggle but finding no strength in his limbs. In fact, it wasn’t just weakness, he felt like his limbs weren’t his own. A fact reinforced when he found his legs being neatly positioned at the lamia’s open channel.

“No...” This time the voice was from the lamia and they shared a look that they both understood -- both were terrified and helpless.

The alchemist finally took another one of the needle tubes out and from yet a beaker drew out a dark liquid that looked like blood, tapped the tube and inspected it, before he stabbed it into the lamia’s arm and pumped something into her. She hissed loudly, and cursed him anew.

“Now, do it,” he commanded, and the attendants began to slide Sam into the lamia. Even through the lacquer like coating on half his body her heat, the softness and dampness of her walls, it was all so stimulating. Maybe it was because of his raw body, or an effect of the coating, but Sam found himself overwhelmed with the sensation, suddenly breathing heavily and overstimulated. He had felt nothing like this before, and he was soon whimpering with the stimulus.

The alchemist sneered. The lamia moaned, Sam could feel her twitching against his ankles.

How much more would he have to bear?

Then his calves were slid in and he knew it was only going to get worse.

One attendant steadied Sam and the other got the bowl of coating and began to finish, going up from his hips and coating his entire body up to his bald, smooth head. The sensation was overwhelming and Sam was breathing heavily, eyes blurry and squinted shut to try and keep the stuff from his eyes. Some got on his tongue and the bitter flavor caused him to wretch, it had a metallic taste like copper.

The most excruciating part, besides the sheer horror of the situation, was the way they made him wait partially embedded in the lamia. From the way she twitched, glared and moaned Sam could infer she felt the same too as the attendants waited silently for the second coat to dry.

When it finally was the same consistency as the first coat, they began to shuttle him further into her birth canal. Sam and the lamia moaned with mutual sensory overload, somewhere in between the fear and the violation their basest senses had been induced by the potions and unguents and all the other things forced into them. Sam could feel the walls of the lamia’s sex pulsing as she didn’t just grip, but worked to pull him deeper into her.

He feared what was coming, but couldn’t focus on it, his brain was scattered. Sam’s eyes were screwed shut, his breathing was fast and ragged. It seemed to take forever for him to sink in deep enough to reach his knees, and the sensations weren’t diminishing. He could feel his legs being massaged and caressed by the powerful, but soft and warm walls of the lamia’s sex.

By the time it had reached his pelvis he was shivering with pleasure, like an endless rolling orgasm that blotted out the horror but granted him no release. He was panting, and by the time he had been shuttled in to his hips he could see his body bulging out the lamia’s womb. The attendants had ceased to push him in, the contractions in the lamia’s womb were now slowly, safely pulling him in.

The two moaned in harmony as he was pulled further and further in, only disturbed when by the time he was up to his elbows, tucked in to his side, he felt something slither up his side. He couldn’t place the sensation till it burrowed in to his navel and he felt warmth flood him. There was a sense of relief and he sighed, and there was a similar noise from the lamia as the two connected.

Sam’s last view was of the lamia’s hard clitoris as his head was engulfed and pulled in, then the walls shuttled him in deeper till he occupied the womb. His body naturally took up the fetal position, and his breathing slowed and stopped as his body relied on the lamia to nurture him.

Consciousness fled Sam as the alchemical concoctions did their work, and he fell into a deep sleep, pleased and distressed all at once.