Except for today. Today, Alashra's wait in a line was the most terrifying, horrifying, and unendingly stressful experience she could have imagined. Her heart raced with every forced step and fingers clenched at the constant sounds emanating throughout the hall. Every sense was overloaded; her eyes flitted across a dark room, seeing shadows against dim light on every wall. Her nose was assaulted with odors of exotic jasmine and spices mixed with oil. And of course, there was the unending chanting; the chanting which seemed to have no end. 

Her day had not started on a positive note. Alashra had spent unending, back-breaking hours slaving - quite literally - on Exemplar Khymrasa's tomb. Gigantic gears, cogs, and machinery that she had no chance of understanding. It had come across to hear as a great surprise, when, on the final day of construction, the gears - which the thought to be part of a religious device or trap  - came to life.

Already, Khymrasa's voice boomed through the hall, echoing with the strange tones and ethereal cues of magic. Strange and supernal words filled the ears of Alashra and the other workers as well. Each of them, in turn, was a person held by an arcane order. 

"To my many loyal servants! Construction is finished, and you have performed admirably. Your payments have already been sent. Please, return to the foyer of the tomb, where I will personally greet you."

She grew suspicious. Alashra was jaded. She, along with the other dozen or so workers, marched back to the foyer. Odd, since there was another exit nearby.

The foyer consisted of a massive stone plinth at the center where Khymrasa's body would eventually lay upon her death. She was relatively young, and the matriarch of a large family. She had no need of a tomb - not yet, in any case. In the center of the room, surrounding the central plinth, were several dozen stone disks, each base slightly raised above the carefully-hewn floor. Alashra could practically see herself in polished rock. She grinned; it had been her own handiwork.

"Stand on the disks, laborers." The voice boomed, and as though it were a vision, Khymrasa appeared. She wore elaborate headdress and a tight, cotton robe that hugged her every curve. Golden jewelry and bangles ringed her arms and the ankles of her bare feet. Shining beads hung from her ears. Her wrap covered her olive skin with a bright white, lit by a single ray of light from outside the tomb. She appeared to glow, with her many golden rings and piercings sending shines and glimmers across the foyer hall.

It was customary to provide a bonus to laborers; usually through some ceremony that dedicates the tomb. Alashra's mind could scarcely predict Khymrasa's cruel streak. 

Khymrasa stamped her staff against the plinth she stood on, and hell broke loose. 

Bandages of softest linen shot from the circumference of all twelve disks. These long lines of soft linen cloth each smelled heavily of spices, dried out in the hot sun of the desert. Magically prepared and possessing incredible strength, the bandages universally wrapped around the ankles of the laborers; Alashra included. Attempts to leave were impossible; all that she could do was fall over. Even as Alashra did so, she was stood back up! Bandages wrapped around her knees and wrists, several times apiece, and raised her magically back into the air to a straight standing position. It gave her the chance to make eye contact with the cruel captor as she began to pontificate.

"As we all know, human sacrifice is illegal in the Kingdom. So be not alarmed. I would never break such a hallowed law."

Bandages moved around Alashra's ankles. They were tight here; extra-tight. They already kept her feet bound to the stone circle; their pungent, soft textures gripped her like glue. 

"Unfortunately, I am in need of slaves and caretakers in the afterlife. And you all have done such a sublime job, I have decided to keep you. Therein lies the rub, though; I am nowhere near death. So, I have a simple solution; preserve you as my royal larder! Each of you, encased in perfect seals and kept alive through my own magic. It should and will be an honor! Each of you, poor laborers, will experience strict and completely inescapable mummification by the hand of a royal Exemplar. What could be greater?"

Grinding stone filled the ears of the shouting captives. Alasrha herself clutched at her ears so great was the din. Chanting of spells, from somewhere deep within the temple, seemed to be on par with the grinding sounds. The single light above closed, and the room was now lit only by the bizarre glow of Khymrasa.

The disks were moving. She couldn't see what was at the far end, but she hear the sound of more bandages, moaning, squirming, and soon after, silence - followed by loud grinding stones. The gears and cogs were powering this room; she just didn't know what it did.

Bandages began their encasement of each victim in turn. As the stones moved, more layers would be added; it was a veritable assembly line, and Khymrasa was at the halfway point. So dark was the room, that she couldn't see what awaited her far on the other side.

The bandages that rooted her were just the start. The layers were horizontal and careful; every inch brought another strip of bandage. It coated her at her ankles - again, just for good measure - up to her knees, her calves, thighs... and her hands. Both arms were forced into a crossed position around her stomach, hugging herself tightly as the first layer continued. Her laborer garments were systematically ripped from her body, leaving only her bare olive flesh to feel the brunt of the encasing assault. It covered her belly snugly, and then wrapped her extremities; each finger was wrapped, then together as a single mitt, then finally back over her similarly-wrapped breasts. The curves of the bandages removed the individuality and created a single, sleek outline; no blemishes or traits of personality were visible as it proceeded to her chin.

"All slaves - ahem,  sorry, you were "laborers" - will be paid handsomely. Each of you is given the gift of magical youth, here, with me! Of course, to maintain said spell - and to maintain your magical wrappings - we need two things. First, the room needs to be completely dry; water and moisture will destroy the magic that makes the bandages as hard as steel, as well as... oh, you'll see. Furthermore, you need to be completely wrapped - a perfect seal. Inside and out alike."

Alashra gritted her teeth and shut her eyes; she didn't want to feel the assault on her body. Bandages filled her up from the inside out, with moistened rolls of soft cotton plunging into her womanhood and rear, expanding and spreading arcane energy through her body. Her lips were spread and mouth packed tight, stifling the pleas for mercy into pouts that exited her lips.

Bandages held her upright as a second layer descended. Though the first had started clean, the many wraps that encased the victims grew messier as they reached the arms and legs. A second layer of wider bandages solved that - stretching over breast, arm, leg, and any remaining flesh. 

The plugged mouths of the captives were gently wrapped; thin layers and strips at first starting at their moaning lips. Then, thicker bandages which wound all the way 'round their heads, proceeding to further layers that concealed their faces. Alashra saw it happen before it reached her; layering over her lips, then nose and mouth, then eyes and short-cropped hair. So tight were her wraps that even her hair disappeared; compressed tight against her skull. A smooth layer of thick off-white was the only indication that a moaning and mewling woman was below. 

As the 'production line' continued, a few minor touches - extra wraps around key areas and enchanted runes of wax - were applied. When she reached last stages, she could scarcely detect what was happening.

Resin poured from the ceiling. It slathered over the form of Alashra and each slave that had come before her. In the dry atmosphere of the tomb, it set within a few moments; Alashra moved to the next area, her disk grinding against the stone floor, and more resin poured.

This repeated four times more. Each time, the hardening resin would dribble down, coating the white mummies in exotic shades of amber. By the third, it was no longer clear as to whether the mummy was male or female; by the fourth, it was only a vaguely humanoid shape. Well and truly encased, but messy. 

At the last station, Alashra was motionless. She stewed in her own head, magical energies disrupting her thoughts and sapping what willpower she did have. A granite mold - one that she herself had carved - emerged from the walls. She was 'stamped' ; pressed in a mold that turned the messy resin into the final, outer shell of a sarcophagus. It was an elegant thing, a slim and vaguely feminine casket that held within it one of the 'grave goods' for the sorceress. No sound or movement escaped.

An hour later, all had been completed. Each and every disk now held a mummy, encased and enclosed and molded. Khymrasa grinned; she had taken to luxuriating, enjoying a crystal-clear pitcher of water and a plate of figs.

"Well, I have some time to spend Corbeau - one of my other possessions. Ta-ta." The exemplar casually threw the remnants of her meal to the ground, and strode out of the tomb with a haughty chuckle. Her laughs were the only sounds that echoed through her future tomb.