Mx Female Salves for the Flagellants | Industrial Fantasy | Long-Term

[Salt-In-The-Wound]

𝖂𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖌𝖊𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖜𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖓'𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖑 𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖓𝖊.
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Every moment was pain.​

Removing the bandages was never a pleasant experience for Luka. His plagued body's febrile attempts to repair itself would leave the bandages almost fused to his skin—removing them brought with the sensation of tearing off his own flesh. When he did so, it would leave burning rashes, bruises, and wounds on his skin, that would burn once the new bandages that were greased with salve were applied.



They did not cover his entire body—just his arms, legs, upper chest, neck, and upper-right quarter of his face. He supposed he was blessed that he still mostly was spared his face—and anything between his legs he would rather hold onto.



This process had to be done once every 3 days. If he waited any longer, there was a chance of infection, and the pain from that would be beyond anything the bandages could provide. Dying, too, would be a risk, and Luka would rather avoid that.



It had been this way for 13 years now, so he was mostly used to it.



The Flagellant's Plague: A fitting name for such a cruel ailment. A disease that did not—could not—kill on its own, but it was a terminal condition. It was present until one died, whether that be a month or 60 years.



The disease caused the body to fight itself, creating breeding pores, horrific rashes, and dark bruises across its own exterior. The body would also attempt to heal these injuries at the same time, leading to half-healed, weeping lesions across the boy. If not kept constantly sanitized and bandaged, these would universally become infected, eventually leading to the death of the host.



That was the only consistent thing about the illness. Sometimes hosts were contagious, other times they were not. Sometimes the damage would be relatively minor, and other times people would become walking husks of flayed flesh, oozing blood. What was not inconsistent was the pain. The constant misery inflicted by the illness was universal, and many chose to simply cease living after receiving their diagnosis.



Regardless, it was one of the biggest crises facing the Nation of Ombrona today. The capital of Wervily alone had an infected population of twenty thousand, contained within the Quarantine District. Across the entire country, perhaps three to five percent of people were infected.



This number was only expected to grow.



Luka had just gotten done wrapping the last of the bandages back around himself, when the door to his home was thrown open.



Well, more like the hatch to his home. Luka didn't live in a house—he lived in an abandoned root cellar next to a house that was similarly condemned.



A rather foppish man descended into the cellar. Dressed in twill and silk aside from his heavy leather boots, he could be mistaken for some hopelessly lost aristocrat if it wasn't for the brass medallion pinned to his lapel, displaying the insignia of the Guild of Alchemists and Physicians.



The hand holding the lancet ducked behind Luka's back, and he looked the man dead in the eyes. "Ambrose."



Ambrose smiled for a moment before adopting a sourer expression, placing his gloved hands upon his hips. "Luka, you are a Man of Science accredited by the Guild, you have no reason to be living in an abandoned basement like this. In-fact, what are you even doing outside of the Quarantine District? You weren't too hard to track down, but it was inconvenient all-the-less."



"I'm not contagious, Ambrose. I can go where I want and do as I please."


"Yes, Luka, you are correct! You can do these things, just like you can put mustard on cherries—that doesn't mean that you should. It is best for you there; it would have been easier for us. Now, I come to you as a fellow member of the guild and a fellow alumnus of the Carroncross acad- "


"I'm not going back to Carroncross! Never!" Luka presented the lancet, holding it out in front of him, his grip tight around the handle.


"Luka, Calm Down! Put the scalpel away and let me finish—even if we needed more samples at the academy, we've learnt everything we can from you. As of this moment, I am concerned with your academic attendance at the academy, not your medical attendance at it."



Shakily, Luka placed the lancet down. If he knew anything about Ambrose: The man was not a liar. If he had come to take him back to Carroncross, he would not obfuscate that fact.

Carroncross….



The greatest institute of learning in the city, and perhaps the beating heart of the natural sciences across the entire nation. Here is where Mages were taught the Arcanum, Alchemists were taught the Pharmacopeia, and Doctors were taught Physic.



In his time there as a student, Luka had floundered at the former and comprehended the latter. However; he had excelled at Alchemy. It was his most burning passion, and the thing in life that he was the best at.



Thus, it was unfortunate that the education he had received there wasn't of his own volition, but as recompense for what he was truly there for: To be a test subject.



He shivered as the memories surfaced once more. Hours every day having flesh stripped off him, the constant blood-letting, the unending parade of bizarre treatments, some humiliating, some disturbing, and some excruciating.



The research at Carroncross wasn't a secret, in-fact, many ill with the disease flocked to the place hoping to receive deliverance from their suffering, or at least something warm to eat. They omitted the worst parts of the tenure there. Many didn't survive, some of the treatments would backfire, or their bodies would go into shock from the invasive procedures.



Test Subjects were entitled to free tutelage at the Academy, though. Something that Luka took distinct advantage of. He was an Alchemist who had completed Academy tutelage and could now move onto training under a master—He had made the jump from 'Initiate' to 'Apprentice,' and that did come with a shiny guild medallion.



He wasn't wearing his.



"If this isn't about Carroncross, then what are you here for, exactly?"



Ambrose breathed a sigh of relief, adjusted his tie, and continued to speak. "You are a very highly graded student of the Academy, and a member of the Guild who has been waiting for quite some time to continue their education. Well, we've found you a master to train under. I've come to collect you and bring you to her."



"…I see. Thank you." Though he did not show it upon his face, Luka was deeply elated. This meant he had the opportunity to advance the one craft that he was good at, and furthermore—It might mean that he had a home, somewhere that he could lay his head. Someone to call a friend.



"Yes, well, gather up all your necessities and meet me outside. This should include a few changes of clothes, hygienic supplies, all your equipment and glassware, and any personal effects you would rather not be without." Leave everything else here, we will send someone to have it moved to your new place of residence."


Ambrose ascended back up the hatch, and immediately Luka got to work packing everything up. He would miss this place—though it was just a cellar, he had done a remarkable job in turning it into a home. Still, he was off to better places now, and at least he would get the rest of this stuff eventually.



Before he left, he looked in the mirror to make sure he looked… presentable. Well, as presentable as he could ever look. His skin that wasn't bandaged was a milky white coloration, the result of too much time spent indoors. His face was heart-shaped, and despite everything that he had gone through still had a vibrantly youthful appearance. His eyes were large, and strikingly green. His hair, most people would agree, was his best attribute. A shining golden blonde head of hair that was rather shaggy in nature—it was messy on his head, and fell around him in locks, reaching his chest and upper back. He made some effort to fit and style his hair so that it didn't look too messy, and he otherwise did not have to do much. He already took stock in his appearance, what he wore and looked like—it just never hurt to double check.



He emerged from the cellar, covered in his rain-cloak. A haversack on his back, he turned to Ambrose, nodding at him. Ambrose, though, looked concerned. "Your gait is extremely unsteady, like you're about to faint—and you're as skinny as a lark! Your clothes swamp you. You haven't been eating properly, not at all."



Luka looked down at his feet, not meeting Ambrose's gaze. "It… hurts."



Though the main symptoms of the Flagellant's Plague were on the exterior of the body, they did have an interior effect. Not nearly as pronounced, but noticeable. Perhaps one of the most noticeable effects was that digesting food was an actively painful experience, enough to dissuade one from eating at all. This symptom was treatable, either by maintaining a primarily liquid diet, or by preparing a specific medicinal fortifier that would allow the stomach to digest the food without issue—at least for a while.



It wasn't easy to make though, so Luka had to make do with eating only light soups. He had lost a great deal of weight as a result. He wasn't emaciated completely, but most would agree his weight was unhealthily low. He frequently felt light-headed and faint due to hunger, as well.



"This is why you should have stayed in the Quarantine District. We don't gather the plague patients there because we hate them, we gather them there because this condition is a very dangerous one, and we need to be ensured of their safety. Have you considered how weakened your immunities must be as a result of your lack of care towards yourself? Forget infected wounds, a bad case of Pneumonia or the Grippe could have easily killed you!" Ambrose voice raised, and for a moment, rose above the drumming of the rain.



He grew silent, and the look on his face was a sad kind of affection, almost paternal in a way. "Nothing we have done, has been done out of malice. We have only ever cared about providing the greatest quality of care for the greatest amount of people. Your situation was terrible, yes, most people do not last a year in the Research Ward, you lasted for 11--while attending the Academy as a student. Thanks to your sacrifice, we now have a deepened and more productive understanding of your Illness."



Luka finally looked up at Ambrose. "If cattle could understand and truly appreciate that their deaths will prevent many from going hungry, do you believe they would still go willingly to the sledge?"



Ambrose sighed, and shook his head. "Maybe not, Luka. Maybe not."



The two men began walking down the street. The city was in a strange kind of turmoil. Next to old stone churches and halls that were old when Luka's grandparents were his age, were massive, hulking brass monstrosities spewing steam and smog, chewing up the earth itself to produce new shiny baubles for the nation. In the harbor, ships fueled by steam were becoming just as common as those that moved by the wind. Though horses were still the norm, it was becoming more common each day to see one of those loud, smoking hulks crawling down the road.



Luka turned to Ambrose. "So, what is this woman I am going to be working under like?"



Ambrose glanced in Luka's direction, but otherwise continued to keep his head forward. "Oh, well, she is very pretty."



"You see, Ambrose, I don't think that's what I asked."



"You see, Luka, I don't have much to tell you. She is an accredited and respected member of the guild, and that's about where my knowledge ends. I didn't ask her how spicy she likes her chorizo, I didn't inquire about her favorite composer, she is a master of her trade and that's all I need to know. Everything else is your problem, Luka."


"Well, in that case, is she just an Alchemist or something else besides?"


"I admit I didn't check her medical commendations, she might be well-acquainted with the Physic, and If so, she would have much to teach you. If or if she is not proficient in the Arcanum is the domain of the Magi, which we are not. Perhaps, if she is a mage, she might bring out some latent magical potential within you—but I doubt it."



"I see…" Luka was silent, as they approached a quaint looking shop in the tradesman's sector. Ambrose looked to Luka, and smiled.



"Well, Luka, this is where we part. I don't want to impose on her, and I hope you too get along well. I'm sure we'll see each-other soon. You're a very smart young man, taking the role most only adopt in their 30s at only 19 years old. You should be proud of yourself." And with that, he parted.



Luka approached the door, and knocked firmly.

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Hello Again!

So, for this prompt I am asking for a female partner. I am always willing to accept Trans partners as well. Just keep in mind my character will never be interested in being penetrated sexually.

Now, as for your character, you can go wild! Demonic Sorceress? Sure! Elven Witch? Of Course! Do anything you wish, as for their personality--there is a lot of room to wiggle there. I just don't want them to be disinterested. Building up towards a relationship can be fun. Building up towards a recognition of my existence is less fun. She can be sultry, tired, shy, and everything in-between!

As for smut, I want there to be smut, but how much and how often is up to you. Your character can grab Luka's arm and drag him upstairs for a toss in the sheets the moment she meets him, or it might take a while for that tension to build up. It's all according to your preference.

My intention is to start-up where the prompt leaves, with our characters meeting. However; so long as the characters remain vaguely the same, we could think of something else completely if you think it would work better for your character! Just run it past me.

As for kinks, here is what I have to offer.

Kinks: Excessive Cum, Cumplay, Aphrodisiac/Potion Play, Cock/Ball Worship, Premature Ejaculation, Kissing, Outercourse, Dirty Talk, Teasing, Femdom, Maledom, Mind Break, Ahegao

Limits: Musk, Shit, Vomit, Feet, Armpits, Underaged Characters, Sexualized Death

If it's not a limit, I'm probably okay with it, just verify first.​

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