Your Featherlands CYOA Journey! ~ Chapter 1 (Patreon)

You wake to a dream far more real than any you had ever known. Even before opening your eyes, nothing feels exact. A delicate sweetness tickles your nose. You hear the rustling of the wind more clearly than you could during your slumber. A chill washes over your figure. Your body rests against fine, matted dirt, free of any acidic or bitter scent. You breathe in a single gulp of air before opening your eyes.

“Ugh…” you mutter. You raise a hand to your temple before pushing yourself up. The dream washes over you so real. You were familiar with lucid dreaming before and even tried it a few times to act without consequence, but somehow this is different. While your head pounds, your mind slowly processing new information, you still feel more clear-headed than in most dream states. Looking around almost feels like virtual reality or some simulation, except far more involved. You feel the dirt cling to your skin, falling freely to the ground as you brush it away. You hear and feel the wind blowing against your cheek. You drink in a delightful, yet indiscernible aroma in the air. Everything around you clashes with the rationality produced by your mind still taking it all in.

What you see comes off as familiar, yet completely different. The world around you subscribes to variations just about everywhere, some slight while others are more pronounced. It is still nighttime, as the darkened sky draped over you lends a shroud of twinkling stars giving off more light than you had ever seen from them. Around you, you see several fields of tall grass, all with colorful blades wafting in the cool breeze. The blades themselves seemed fluffier than usual grass, almost as if each were made out of skinny feather boas or crafting pipe cleaners. A dirt road cuts through it all. It trails off in two directions, one behind you and one in front of you. You know not what to make of any of it, but after a few minutes of scrutiny, you wave the absurdity off as outlandish dream logic.

“Um… what?” you mumble to yourself. Typically, in dreams, everything makes sense, or at least you believe it does, but such an effect is lost on you here. Nothing seems truly believable. You walk down the dirt path, looking in every direction to take in as much as you can while your mind still mulls it all over. You notice that you’re still in a pajama set. Your light blue, oversized night shirt matches the silky blue pants clinging to your hips beneath it. Below each pants legs, your bare feet poke out, showing off just your toes wiggling against the dirt road.

You break from your walking to turn toward the grass wafting with the breeze. The fluffy nature of the reeds and blades is nothing like anything you can remember seeing before. Similar to dandelions, pampas grass, or even cat o’ nine tails, yet something completely different. You come closer to the field of grass. You reach out and brush your hand against the soft, fluffy stems. It’s delicate and smooth as velvet. No prickly traps and barbed snares, it simply feels pleasantly soft in your hand. You reach in more. The grass starts to tickle up your arm. You let out a small cluster of giggles as the sensations continue to invite you in.

As you get close enough, you take a step inside the field. The delicate texture of the plants tickles more of your skin, any that it can reach. It tickles against your hand and palm and even up your arm. When you step inside, you feel the tender brushing of the grass against your foot, eliciting more tickles twinkling through your body. You certainly recall the sensations of being tickled, feeling as if you’ve been quite responsive, and even fond at times, to such stimulus before. You press your foot more into the field of grass. The blades seem to shift to your presence. They reach out to you, stroking their feathery ends against your exposed skin.

“Heeheeeheeehehee! Heheheheeey!” you giggle. You observe how the plants move unnaturally. They almost move like slow, squirmy fingers, shifting their fluffy ends against your warmth. They almost reach for you, drawn toward you and your fluttery giggles. Those higher up pull toward your arms and hands. Those lower attract higher concentration to your foot. They move more swiftly and wedge their feathery ends toward your toes. They slip underneath when you pull it up. You don’t know to what end their efforts are directed, but whatever it is that’s drawing the plants’ attention leaves you giggling with more and more tickles. The grass fluffs against the sole of your bare foot. More blades seem to rise from the dirt underneath, sprouting at the opportunity to join the rest.

“Whhhhahahahahaat’s this?!” you ask. The tickles quickly overcome you. They push you to the boundary at which you feel you’ve been tickled before while still enjoying the experience. You feel the direct stimulation far more than you ever had in any other dream. The blades of grass, and the fluffy sprouts at their tips, swipe against your skin. They navigate like reaching hands and tickle like feathers. You keep the one foot raised over the grass to feel and study the reaction, only slightly because the laughter and tickles streaming through your body is more entertaining than you had expected. You giggle through ticklish glee, letting the grass caress your arms and feather across your sole. Still, you can only take so much. After a while, you finally pull yourself back to the road. Residual giggles escape your lips. You wear a wide smile and shake your head.

“What even…?” you mutter to yourself, brushing your hair out of your face. Your forehead is warm. You laugh as you look back at the grass. Some blades keep reaching out for you while others fall back into place. None of it makes sense, but the welcome was far from unpleasant. You give into the compulsion to raise a hand to wave goodbye before starting on your way again.

Steadily, with each step, think about your situation. The same fields of grass stretch for as far as you can see. You try to recall anything to help with the confusion. Memories seemed to fade into a strange void. You know they’re there, that you had a past, a family, friends, and a life. But none of it surfaces for you. The more you think about it, the more your head starts to hurt. You raise a hand to rub your temple, groaning a little as the confusion compounds into frustration. After several moments of heavy contemplation, all you can seem to come up with is a name.

“A-Alex…” you whisper. The name feels right in your mouth, as if you’ve either heard it or said it many times before. It feels comfortable, familiar. Still, as you look around at the relatively empty fields around you, it doesn’t offer much use. You press forward, looking out for anyone or anything that might stand out. Down the path you walk, to your right you can see a mountainous region. Behind you is a vast stretch of forest. To your left, you can make out what appears to be a small village, or your best estimation of one. Ahead of you, however, is a direction that carries a light. Flickering illumination from an area in front draws you forward.

“Hello?” you finally call out. Your voice echoes over the fields. It rushes with the wind through the tall grass to both sides of the dirt path. You hear nothing answer back. You call out again several times before accepting the loneliness.

The dirt path feeds into a crossroads. A large, dark ‘X’ greets you in the road. Each path branches toward the other notable directions. One leads to the mountains while the other seems to go toward the village. You still have the path that leads back to the forest and the other still drawn toward the lights. You look around for a sign to tell you where you are or where you’re going. Nothing. You sigh and reach up to rub your head.

“Where am I?” you finally ask out loud. Sadly, nothing answers. You never expected it to, but simply asking seems to help emphasize that you’re not just losing your mind. You stand in the center of the crossroads. You look at each of the directions presented. You wait, seemingly for something, anything, to make the answer clearer for you.

A rustling in the grass catches your attention. You turn in slight shock, raising your hands defensively. What you’re met with is a small, unsuspecting creature standing before you. You lower your hands and inspect the visitor.

“Aww, hello,” you say. Immediately, the creature gives off an aura of harmlessness. You know you’ve never seen anything like it before, but even with its alien presentation, nothing about it appears to alarm you. It stands no higher than your knee. It’s covered in a strange pink fur. It stares up at you with large, expressive eyes. It looks like a cartoon character come to life. It moves slowly, with stumpy little feet carrying it with a short, wobbly gait. It does not seem to have any other extremities. It looks up at you curiously. You smile and bend down to get a closer look. “Aww, look at you. Can you tell me where we are?”

The creature doesn’t answer in any way useful. It has no visible mouth. It emits only small chirping and purring sounds. You reach your hand out to touch it. You’re still cautious, but the creature continues not to show any hostility. It lumbers toward your hand and nuzzles against your fingers. The fur that cloaks its body is soft. It has a texture not unlike that of the grass in the fields. Delicate and inviting. It moves almost on its own, being drawn to the bare skin of your hand in a similar manner. It too tickles on contact. You stroke the creature gently, giggling to the new series of tickles flowing through your hand.

“Heehehe, hey,” you say. You stroke more and more. The creature chirps happily. It comes closer and nuzzles up harder against your hand. It sways a little, rocking and dancing side to side. You laugh. The tickles of the fur move up your arm. Your laughter grows as the fur reaches more of your skin. The creature seems to respond to your laughter. It purs loudly to it, its wide eyes conveying a sense of glee. You humor the thing a little longer. You continue to stroke its tickly fur while it dances to your giggles.

After a while, however, you start to grow tired. The tickles take up more of your senses and you know that you still don’t know where you are. You hope that the creature might be able to help relieve some of the confusion. You start to pull away, yet feel something latch onto your wrist. You pull your hand away from the creature far enough to feel a furry band wrapped around your arm, attached to the creature’s body. It leads into the creature’s shape beneath the fur and binds your wrist tightly. You stand. You keep trying to pull away, but the creature has bound itself to you by some strange, hairy tentacle.

“H-hey! Let go!” you say. You take a few steps back. The creature chirps sadly. As you try to pull your arm away, it rises toward you. Another tentacle emerges from the beast and wraps around your torso. It clings itself to your body. You let out a startled shriek. You stumble back, falling to the dirt beneath you. You hit the ground with a hard thud. You groan and try to push the creature off of you with your other hand. Just as easily, a new tentacle seems to wrap around that wrist as well. The creature smiles with its eyes. It chirps more happily as it raises both of your arms up above your head.

“Wh-whoa, hey!” you argue. You fight back against the movements, but the creature is much stronger than it looks. It doesn’t seem to struggle at all in holding you down with your arms raised above your head. You squirm side to side. Your pajama top starts to ride up on your stomach. You stare back at its innocent, curious expression. You try harder and harder to pull your arms down, unable to match the beast’s binding strength. You start to panic. You swallow, pleading beneath your breath.

Your panic only worsens when you see two more hairy tentacles emerge from the body of the creature. The tendrils are covered with the same tickly fur that covers the rest of it. They act like slithery arms and fingers all at once. The two new tentacles slip beneath the tail end of your pajama shirt. The fur immediately senses the delicate spots beneath and clings to your skin. A sudden surge of tickles comes over you. Your face pulls back into a wide, clenching smile before sinking into wild laughter.

“Neeeeehhheeehehehehahahaha! Hehehehey! Quit it!” you cry out. Your body twists side to side. You pull more at your arms, still unable to lower them. Your legs kick, sending dirt flying up in small clouds. The furry tendrils feed off of your body’s natural responsiveness. The feathery hair swipes across your stomach. It scribbles and fluffs against your ticklish skin, proving the area to be far more ticklish than you can remember. The scratching hairs spread out across your belly, even slipping down into your navel. You squeal. Every passing second, the tickles compound and become harder and harder to endure. Within seconds, you’re left merely writhing against the ground, twisting and squealing with laughter like a child.

“Gaaaaaaaaaaaahahhahahahhaaa!! Okahahahahay! Okahahahahaaay! Stahahahahap!!” you shriek. The creature merely chirps along. It bounces a little against your chest, happily feeding from the ticklish energy emitted by your laughter. Its tendrils explore all over your midsection. They circle around to your sides, count slowly up your ribs, and pass over your chest. The hundreds of hairs across both all act as if drawn to your ticklishness. They swipe and scribble like tiny fingers, meticulously mapping out the best means of tickling your skin. Once more tendrils reach your armpits, they impatiently plunge themselves into the bare, slick hollows. You emit a heart bellow of laughter while your back arches up off the ground.

“NAAAAAAAHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!” you squeal. Your face contorts. Your eyes leak and cheeks start to burn. The tendrils slither all over your pits. They lay across each plush mound so the hairs can feast off of the delicate, ticklish nerves throughout the area. The tendrils pinch lightly, kneading into your pits. The hairs brush against the slick skin. They explore and seem to reach all of the most ticklish nerves within. You can only laugh. You throw your head back. You rock back and forth, losing more and more of yourself to the tickles with each passing second. The creature purrs delighted. It sways to the impulsive shifts of your body, its tendrils scratching and prodding deep into your sensitive armpits. The hairs of the tendrils still stretch down to your stomach and sides. They continue to treat themselves to your delicate skin beneath your shirt, endlessly scratching at your belly and ribs.

The creature sitting on top of you chirps some more. Before you can see in the darkened night and behind your teary eyes, you feel two more tendrils start to snake out of the creature. They come from the other side and begin to travel down your legs like a pair of snakes hunting for their prey. You shake your head. You keep pulling at your arms. You try to kick the tendrils away, but the farther down they coil, the harder it becomes to fight back against their strength.

“NAAAHAHAHHAH!!! NO NO NAAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!! NAHAHAHAT THERE!!!” you cry out desperately. The creature’s chirps almost seem like laughter. Its expression lights up with an unspoken joy. The tendrils coil down to your calves. They slide down your ankles and brush across the tops of your feet. That alone causes you to shriek. You jerk a little in the binds that keep you spread out and vulnerable for the creature to play with. The hair even brushing against the tops of your feet ignites the fine nerves of the area, but you know they won’t stop there.

The hairy tentacles slide down further. They snake around the sides of your bare feet, drawn in by their blooming warmth of sensitivity. The tips of the tendrils start to swipe up and down the soles of your feet. They’re slow and careful, yet the effect is immediately explosive. An eruption of tickles bursts through your body. The fluffing of the hairs against your feet sends your senses soaring with overwhelming tickles. A scream of laughter escapes your mouth as you lay back and simply twitch.

“EEEEKKKKEEEHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAAA!!! NAHAHAHAHT MY FEEEEHEHEHT!!!” you plead. The creature still sitting on your chest merely giggles with chirps. Its tendrils continue to explore up and down your soft, vulnerable feet. They coil around your legs to keep you from kicking them away. Your feet can only squirm in place, yet cannot move in a way where they’re not subjected to the tickling of the tentacles. The hairs do most of the damage. Pressed against your soles, they fluff and scribble against your feet. You manage to feel every single one of them, experiencing the sensation of hundreds of little fingers scratching away at your soles.

“NEEEEEAAAAAHHHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! STAAHAHAHAHAHAPPP!!!” You continue to fight back against the creature’s hold, if only through instinctive, reactionary movements. Still you cannot break free of its grasp. Its hairs still tickle all through your shirt and devastated your armpits. They span out across your belly, pinchy at your sides, and even scribble deep into your navel. Down below, the tendrils explore the entire length of your soles. They slip up and down from the base of your toes to your heel, making sure to reach every little spot along the arch in between. They move slowly, as to allow each hair a taste of your highly ticklish feet. When each tentacle slips back up, they pause at your toes.

“STAAAAAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T!!!” The hairy tentacles swish across each row of toes. No matter how they squirm and curl, none of them can protect themselves from the hairs eager to experience their ticklishness for themselves. Each little hair across your toes sends surges of tickles up through your body. They scribble playfully at the plump, bubbly pads. They wedge underneath and attack the petite, little stems. They squeeze in between each toe and scratch at the particularly delicate and ticklish webbed spaces. The tendril holds your foot firmly in place so that, no matter how it flails about, there is not a single spot on each that cannot be reached and thoroughly explored. The tip of the tentacle takes full advantage as it slithers across your toes before sliding down and back up again to repeat the process.

The tickles continue for longer than you’re able to estimate. The creature never seems concerned nor interested in letting you go. Your ticklish turmoil appears to be merely playtime for the beast. As enjoyable as it was in the beginning, the persistence quickly drains your energy and enthusiasm for more. The beast continues to tickle, deaf to your pleas for it to stop. It chirps and purs happily. It dances to the music of your laughter. Its tendrils span out across your body, reaching all of your most ticklish areas and entertaining themselves as such.

When the creature finally does stop, it comes as if out of nowhere. It perks up and seems to look toward the direction of the lights. Quickly, it retracts all of its tendrils, effectively freeing your body. You’re left laying weak against the ground, fighting to catch your breath and still puffing with a few passive giggles. The creature dashes into the tall grass. It flees out of sight while its panicked chirps fade off into the distance. You take a moment to sit up. You can still feel the ghostly tickles in your memory. You swallow. You give a hard sigh. You rub your head once again. Your skin is warm and slightly sweaty. Your chest, stomach, and face ache from all the ticklish laughter. Still, you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of your dream.

“Oof,” you let slip from your lips with a hard exhale. You push yourself up as you start to hear something. Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Rapid, thunderous footsteps, like those of a horse. You conclude this must have been what scared off the creature. You’re momentarily thankful, but soon find yourself sharing in its concern. Toward the strange end of the path where the lights shine, several figures ride horseback. They seem to be charging in your direction. You can’t make out what they look like, but you don’t get a good feeling from them. Something tells you to hide, to jump into the tall grass and stay there. You know, though, that the grass would not have you hiding quietly.

You assess the distance of the oncoming riders. They’re still far away enough to run somewhere, likely undetected. You don’t know why you think you may be in trouble, but you confront the situation as if you would be. You feel as if anyone able to ride could be of use in answering the lingering questions still left bouncing around your mind. But you can’t help shake the concern that they may not have your best interests at heart. Standing in the center of the crossroads, you look to the different directions. The mountains would provide them difficult traveling terrain and may be better with avoiding trouble. The forest behind you would provide better hiding spots and a more nourishing environment. The small village would offer possible refuge and potentially people that can answer your questions. Or you could stay where you are and confront the riders directly. After all, why would you be in trouble?

Do you…