When her tribe fell to their rivals, the floran expected a lot of things. She expected their meat to be taken, their resources stolen, and her people eaten. It was to her great shock that one of those expectations were wrong. Instead of their victorious rivals slaughtering the rest of her tribe, they instead took them to their own tribe. They were placed in small, uncomfortable cells, awaiting some kind of "processing". She was the first one taken out of the cells, and was forced to follow a set of armed guards. She didn't know what to expect, but it certainly wasn't to be lead to their workshop.

The workers inside held giant hammers, and after being forced to stand on a flat cold rock, they knocked her over. They then proceeded to smash her with their hammers, the force flattened her out like clay, making her body thinner, while it spread outward. It took several swings to flatten all of her evenly, each and every swing sending waves of crushing, immense pain across her body. After they finished, they peeled her off the floor and folded her over herself. she expected it to be over, but she soon realized it was merely the beginning. They brought her over to a large empty leather stretcher and began to clip her onto it sideways. Each clip bit into her like teeth, painfully affixing her to the frame. Soon the clips were evenly distributed, and her captors began to tighten the ropes on each clip. She was stretched and pulled in every direction, feeling the constant painful stretch of her flattened muscles. But just as she reached her absolute limits, and was afraid she would be ripped apart, they stopped tightening the ropes. They stepped back and gave her stretched, flattened form a look, then nodded to each other and told the guard to bring in the next prisoner.

And there she sat, strapped to a frame laying across a wall sideways. The pain was constant, and pulsing. She could barley think straight, her limbs and body stretched to just before their breaking point. She tried to free herself, but every twitch she made only brought more pain. She attempted to concentrate on her body, to reform it as she had done in the past, but with how restrained and thin she was, she wasn't making any progress. She was determined however, and kept trying, even as other florans were brought into their rivals workshop.

Her eyes were flattened and stretched open, so she was unable to look away as they squished another of her tribe. But they did it differently than what they did with her, they hammered them while they were standing, flattening them into a wide flat disk. They took them to a table and forced their mouth flat mouth open. They then sat down on a hard wooden chair and proceeded to stuff the disked floran with plucked feathers. They began to bloat and fill out like some kind of leafy pillow, which she realized was exactly what they were making. After they pulled out a needle and thread and began to sew the stuffed florans mouth shut, she realized what “processing” meant. Their rivals planned to use her tribe as slaves, but not even as working slaves, but as mere objects to be used as they pleased.

After more sewing around the edges than seemed necessary, likely to prevent the floran from reforming themselves, they then stood up and placed their new pillow onto the chair they had been sitting in. With a sinister smile, they then firmly sat upon the soft floran, smothered under their rear end. They twisted and ground their butt into their now cushioned chair, making their new seat know exactly what their new purpose was.

Soon, another floran was brought in, and they too were flattened and transformed into another object, this time they stretched them around a hollow carved wooden log, forming them into a drum with their face on the top. They hammered nails into the poor floran, affixing them to the drum. She winced with every strike, not needing much imagination to know of the pain they were in. they slapped their hands onto the drum florans face, which let out a sharp, satisfactory note. She could see the drum twitch with every strike, likely in even more pain from their slaps. They handed the drum off to another floran, who began to decorate it with some rope, as they called for another victim.

She was forced to helplessly watch as every surviving member of her tribe was slowly brought in one by one, crushed in various ways, then remade into an inanimate object for their own needs. The group of crafty florans that manned the whole operation seemed to take great pleasure in their work, and their creativity was seemingly boundless. They made clothing, instruments, furniture, and all manner of artwork while she painfully sat against the wall, her stretched out body slowly acclimating to the pain. As the sun set for the day, most of the florans went to rest, only a few dedicated florans stayed behind as they finished off their work. As the night drew on she attempted some form of sleep, though with her eyes stuck open this proved difficult.

She was awoken from her sleepless slumber to someone poking her, the sun had risen and they seemed to be testing how taut she was. Most of the pain had faded, but each poke sent new waves of pain across her sensitive skin. Overnight, her body acclimated to their stretched out form, and she could feel some of her depth return to her. Her pain quickly returned as they began to tighten the ropes again, stretched taut once more she mentally grit her teeth. Trying to bear the pain as she was stretched further, past her previous limit. Satisfied, they then left her to join their band of torturers as they worked on a new victim.

This floran was rather unique among her tribe. Unlike everyone else who came before them, they seemed rather cheerful, happy even. She recognized them, they were the weird, busty, and very submissive floran that was always trying to find ways to be crushed and used by other florans. It seems that today was her dream come true as she begged them to make her into something. They were weirded out by her, but decided to just get it over with. With a smile painted onto her face, they painfully processed her into a chair, using her bountiful chest as a cushion for it. She was glad that at least one of her tribe members was enjoying themselves, it was a small comfort.

Over the next few days, as she was slowly stretched to her absolute limit, then set to rest, only to be stretched past those limits the next day, she began to notice something. Not all the floran seemed to be solely concerned with crafting, some seemed more curious. Some of them began to experiment on a few florans, instead of crafting with them. They tried out various unique processes that only sometimes worked. If something succeeded, then they would tell the others and they would begin using it in their work. But if one failed, then the afflicted victim were partially reformed, then crushed again to be sent through another bout of testing. One poor floran was sent through so many experiments, she completely stopped reforming, now nothing more than a clay like blob of colors and runny, glazed over eyes. They then casually tossed her onto a potters wheel, and molded them into a simple stripy bowl. Which they then set into a warm furnace to slowly dry and harden, amongst similar florans.

One experiment yielded great results, as an ecstatic floran showed off their new invention. It was some kind of paralyzing paste than when painted over over a floran, would stiffen and harden that part of them. If that part was then heated, the hardened floran would be as stiff and strong as metal, but was completely paralyzed. This got the workshop into a bit of an frenzy as they began theorizing new kinds of crafts they could make as they pulled in the next prisoner.

That poor sap was turned into the first thing any floran would think to make. They were twisted and spun into a stiff pole, with their hands molded into the shape of a spear. Their head had managed to survive the twisting, so they flattened it and tied it around the pole like a tassel. They were then painted with the paste and had their tip placed in a hot furnace to fortify as another prisoner was brought in. This time they crushed and molded them into a disk shape, making an approximation of a shield. They were then pained with the paste, then placed into the same furnace. Once hardened, the floran shield was bolted onto an existing wooden shield and placed next to the finished floran spear, as their captors began to talk about new ideas.

Over the following days, she saw new, more unique crafts from them. Weapons, armor, and even tools, some of which were used by the very same crafters in their future work. She felt sympathy for them, being used by their new masters to work their own tribe into whatever their wardens desired.

One day, when she was woken up by more prodding, she found that instead of stretching her out, they seemed to have a new plan. One floran pulled over a box, which she noticed was made from one of her tribe members, that was filled with more clips, ropes, and what seemed to be rocks. She barely had time to imagine what they had planned before they enacted it. They pinched the middle of her stretched out form with a clip and let the rock attached to it pull that part of her down. She felt a new kind of pain as she was stretched in a new direction. It didn't get far, but as they began to clip more and more weights across her stomach, arms, legs, and even face, she realized what they were doing. They wanted to turn her into a shaggy rug, they stretched out bits of her to mimic the clumps of soft hair you would find on the fur of a beast. She could barely see anymore with the amount of rope, rocks, and stretched skin obscuring her vision. It felt like needles poked her body everywhere, making her once dulled pain fresh and newly agonizing.

She was at least thankful they had obscured her view of the torment her people were going through, she felt her sanity had already begun to slip as she was forced to watch her friends being tormented and changed against their will for days on end. Most of them were lucky and got to leave the workshop to be used elsewhere, but not her. She, along with the poor souls being used as the workshops fresh new tools, were stuck in there for the long haul. She still tried to reform herself, but could feel its effects less and less every day. She could feel her body slowly set into its shape, once a body was set into its shape, it has a very difficult time reforming, needing a lot of energy, energy she was losing more and more of every day.

Now, instead of tightening the ropes stretching her out every day, they instead would unclip the weights on the rug’s front side, then reclip them in a slightly different place, usually one that isn't already stretched out. Day in and day out, she would be stretched in new places, puffing out her front side bit by bit, making her look more and more like a carpet in the vague shape of a floran. She could still partially see the workshop and all the horrors that went on inside. Watching as they continued to make use of her tribe. At this point, the floran rug wished they had just eaten her instead.

One day, they removed all the clips on her fur-like front side but didn't place them back. Instead they finally did what the floran rug thought they never would do. They finally released her from the frame. For the first time in what felt like weeks, the floran rug was finally free from the frame. Not that she could do much, she felt drained, and barely even had the strength to twitch. They brought her over to a floran bucket filled with water and began to dunk and wash her with it. For once, the rug was glad to be treated like this, it was a new sensations she hadn't felt in a long time, and this time it wasn’t even that painful. Her eyes stung a bit in the soapy water, but it was tolerable. It was almost refreshing, until they started to comb her body. They raked the rug’s body with a stiff brush, which she could barely see was also a floran, and painfully stretched out and straightened the already stretched out rug.

Eventually they washed off all the soap and hung her up to dry. The soaking wet rug looked around the new angle she had on the workshop and began soaking in the new information. It had been starved of new visual information for a long time, and was glad to finally have something fresh to see. She could see the frame that had bound her for so long, now sitting empty, in fact most of the workshop was fairly empty, only a few florans milling about, working on their own projects. As the rug dried, it noticed that no new prisoners had been sent into the workshop for a long while now. Her entire tribe had been processed by their rivals into anything and everything they could imagine, the rug saw a line of floran spears and shields lining a wall ready to fight whatever tribe they face next.

By next morning, they were taken down and rolled up, darkness filled their vision as they felt their body curled up over itself. The rug felt its own fur against itself for the first time, and felt how soft they had become. At least they were a good rug, they were just glad to finally be free from their frame.

Eventually they were unrolled, and they had something new to see. They were in a fancy looking room, a floran spear and shield displayed on one wall, with a happy looking floran chair sitting between the armaments and an angry looking floran chest. A floran drum sat under a shelf that seemed to have some floran pottery on it, but it was hard to see from the floor.

There were other things in the room like a bed with a large floran blanket and several other things, but they were hard to see. A floran walked into view, wearing a crown made of bones in the vague shape of a vertical circle, the crown looked just like one the rug had worn before, signifying the floran as the tribes greenfinger. She stepped on top of the floran rug, and ground her feet into it with a sinister smile on her face. She spoke to it, about how if it’s tribe had simply stayed out of their hunting grounds, they wouldn't be in this situation. The rug had no retort, simply blankly staring at the greenfinger, a shocked look plastered on its face as it trembled slightly. The rug seethed in anger at their captor, but was powerless to do anything.

The tribe leader looked around their newly furnished room, filled with the warped and distorted forms of felled enemy florans. Mounted on one wall was a bony crown similar to her own. She almost regretted sending her rival greenfinger to the workshop first, instead of later. Had she done that, she might have been able to use them as her own personal spear or shield, though being able to walk over them as she pleased was good enough. She smiled and strolled out of her now complete room, making sure to make a good hard stomp onto her rugs face as she left. She had a tribe to lead after all, and now she was very curious how her newly produced floran weapons acted in the field. There was another tribe encroaching on her newly expanded territory, and she was all too eager to show them who’s boss.