Your Featherlands CYOA Journey! ~ Chapter 2 (Patreon)

You break into a heavy sprint directly behind you. You can hear the thunderous clopping of the riders locked on your trail. They grow louder and closer by the second. The ferocity of their approaching footsteps is only dampened by the huffing of your own breath, heaving in and out as you run. You still know not where you are, what you're doing, or who the creatures are drawing nearer, but your feet carry you into a hearty run toward the forest, where you feel you might be most safe while trying to figure everything out.

You kick up dirt, sprinting harder than you feel your lungs can manage. You imagine that every next step might be your last, that at any moment you could be plummeting toward the oddly soft ground. But you keep on. You fly just off of the ground, running as fast as your legs can carry. You watch as the edge of the trees comes closer as the footsteps behind you pound tremors deep into your core. You catch the vague breaking of a path through the trees.

You race toward it. Sweat flings off of your body. The night becomes warm and humid as you run harder than you may have ever run before. You hear the creatures calling out behind you. It sounds like it may be words, possibly even words you may understand, but none of that matters in the moment. Your only concern is getting away, your only efforts funneling toward only that.

"Don't let it get away!" you hear shouted from riders behind you. The voice is distant, but aggressive enough to boom over the stampeding of the hooves. You race into the start of the brush. Live, vibrant greens begin to appear on both sides of the dirt road. It feeds into the path that cuts into the trees. The farther in you go, the thicker the brush becomes. Bushes on both sides grow larger. Vines with flowers and bulbs appear dangling from treetops. The air becomes sweeter with a disntict air of freshly bloomed flowers. Still, you press onward.

You barely have enough time to admire your surroundings before the obvious move becomes too apparent to ignore. The riders behind you will still be on your tail and you have to take cover. You take a chance and leap into a nearby bush. The impact rustles the leaves and branches around slightly, but after a slight amount of adjustment, you're able to confidently lay low and out of sight. The riders continue to storm closer. They break into the forest trail, following the path you had taken to get there. You worry briefly about having left footprints, but the urgency of the chase left you little opportunity to fully plan out your escape. You're left, once again, just hoping not to be found.

The riders slow their pursuit quickly after entering onto the forest path. They look around frantically, measuring out the lay of the trees while trotting through atop their mounts. They ride by you as you hide in the bush. You fall silent, as silent as you can possibly make yourself. You catch a view of the riders up close. They appear to have lost your trail, looking all over for you as you hide in the shrubbery beneath their gaze. You notice an equestrian resemblance in the mounts they ride. Large beasts with powerful heads and long tails. They seem to be covered in long strands of fur. They sniff loudly and stamp their mighty hooves into the dirt.


"Hear anything?" one rider asks after a few seconds of silence.

"Nothing yet," another answers. You can only make out a few defining features of the riders in the nocturn darkness and behind the branches. The appear humanoid in shape, but they too seem to have hair all over their bodies. They wear a sort of armor and have pointed ears atop their heads that twitch in the breeze. The three riders scout through the area. They rustle through some trees and brush, casually missing over your spot.

At one point, one seems to stare in your direction. He leers intensely as a rustling in the bush alerts him to your position. As you crouch in the bush, you feel a vine begin coiling around your ankle. You start to recoil, but force yourself to stay still. The vine is thin and moves slowly, like a creature curiously exploring the hiding intruder. It appears to be covered in tiny, furry bristles. They tickle with the most feathery of sensations against your skin. You feel your chest lurching with the need to giggle, but you force it back by clamping your mouth shut.

"Makai, found something?" another asks the rider looking in your direction. The vine coils around your ankle, every little movement brushing more of those light, tickly bristles against your skin. You bite down hard to keep from laughing and giving away your position.

The tip of the vine snakes around to find your bare sole. Devilishly, it begins to swipe across your tender, sensitive arch. You feel another lurch, one much bigger than before, as you keep fighting back the need to laugh. The vine scratches tickles against your sole like a finger. It teases around the surface of your foot, swiping across your heel all the way to the base of your toes. Your eyes and mouth clamp shut. The tickles pour through you, compounded by the urgency of keeping quiet. Your chest starts to ache from the need. You wince, your eyes growing teary the more the vine toys with your highly ticklish sole. The rider named Makai walks toward your position. You endure the tickles as silently as you can, but you don't know how much longer you'll be able to restrain your ticklish laughter. The rider suddenly stops. They sigh and look off to the side.

"No," Makai says. "They're not here." A moment of relief is immediately killed by the reality of them still being so near. The vine keeps scribbling its furry tip against your foot. You fight to stay silent and struggle to keep still.

"Turn back," one says. "We need not speak of this to her majesty." The riders turn where they stand. They head back, racing down the path the way they came. The mounts kick up clouds of dirt as they hurry out of the forest.

Once you're sure that they riders are out of earshot, you let it out, all the laughter you've been holding back from the tickling of your foot.

"Neeeehehhehehehahahahahaaaa!!" you squeal and fall over. You collapse out of the bush. You try to scramble out of the way, to tug your ankle free from the vine, but the devious tendril continues to scribble its tip against your delicate, helpless sole. It scratches faster with little care to your circumstance. The coil tightens around your ankle. You keep attempting to crawl free, clawing against the leaf-littered dirt.

"Naaaahhahahhahaaaaa! Stahaahahahahahappp!!!" Your voice carries through the trees of the forest. The woodland environment shifts to your laughter. The branches sway from a ghostly wind. Leaves rattle. Flowers appear to glow and emit rains of sparkles. You feel as if the forest around you is alive, watching and roused by your ticklish laughter like the fields from before.

The vine pulls you closer as you try to squirm away. It scribbles its furry tip against your sole faster and faster. It scours and scratches at your heel like playful finger, its bristles giving the tip an almost brush-like texture. It resembles the grass from the open fields greatly in how effectively it's able to find your most ticklish spots and send flurries of those same tingling sensations through your body.

"Gaaaaahhhahahhahahaaa!! Stahahahahahap!! I caahahahahan’t breehehehhahahahaaa!!" you cry out. Your chest and stomach pound with the volume of laughter flowing out of you. You claw at the ground. You keep trying to crawl away, only to keep being pulled closer to the bush again. The vine scratches all over your bare, trapped sole. It leaves not a single spot unexamined for tickles. Between the run, and the several instances of being so expertly tickled, exhaustion quickly creeps up on you. Still, you endure and continue trying to fight for your freedom.

After a few seconds of the vine toying with your plush, ticklish sole, it gives your foot a hard tug. It pulls you completely through the bush. The branches and leaves scratch against your face and arms, let are somehow soft enough to not leave any painful marks behind. Instead, the vine pulls you completely through the shrub. It drags you for a bit across the ground before reaching a tree. At the base of the tree, the vine pulls you up against the trunk by your ankle.

"Whaaaa!!" you scream. You dangle upside down, your back leaning against the trunk of the tree. The vine keeps a tight hold on your ankle. You try to reach for it, perhaps to pry it off, but before you can touch it, the tickling resumes against your foot. The tip of the vine returns to quickly scribble and scratch its bristled end at the base of your toes. You shriek. You throw your head back and shout with the new sudden surge of laughter.

"Neeeeaaaahhahahahhahahahaaa!! Staahahaha!! Pleheheehe!!!" you cry with laughter. You flail around upside down. Your back taps hard against the tree as your body twists and thrashes in its suspension. The vine never lets up. It explores your foot with quick strokes like a beast feeding from your ticklish laughter. Your face goes red, more so than it was. Sweat beads at your skin and drips upward. Your head pounds as the blood rushes in that direction. The tickles from your foot pour through your senses. Every little scratch sends a shock of tingles throughout your body that explode from your mouth in wild laughter.

You keep trying to reach the vine coiled tightly around your ankle. You bend upward as far as you can before collapsing down again. As you come back down, your stomach far too sore to carry your reach high enough, another vine emerges from the forest floor. It latches onto your wrist, the one opposite from the ankle still held tightly. You gasp through your endless stream of giggles. Your eyes widen. The new vine has the same feathery bristled texture as the other. It tickles against your skin, leaving behind a phantom trace of tickles where the tiny barbs slither against. The vine coils around your wrist. It moves like a snake, furthering its reach up your arm as it holds you tightly. You look up to watch it through your teary gaze. The you feel the vine's tip slithering up your arm and past your elbow. It slips into the sleeve of your pajama top. It taps curiously as it sniffs out the delicate nerves to which it is drawn.

"Naaaahahhahahahaooo!! Pleheehehahahasseee noooo!" you cry out, thinking you can reason with it. Doing so seems to be your only hope as you hang and hope that the riders, or anything potentially worse, doesn't find you in such a vulnerable position. Your pajama top rides up, exposing your stomach. The vine at your foot continues to scratch and toy with every single sensitive nerve in the region. The one at your wrist moves farther and farther up your arm and past your shoulder. It snakes around toward the stretched armpit that quivers and sweats beneath your top. You know you can’t protect it any more than you can your foot. You can only hope that it doesn't tickle as much as you're expecting.

"AAAAAHHHHHAHAHAHAHHAAHAAA!!! NO NO NAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!" The vine slithers across the taut mound of your pit. It leaves behind its tickly barbs as the tip scribbles and poles deep into the delicate tissue. It too moves like a finger, an unfeeling finger with a sadistic apathy to your overwhelming ticklishness. It feasts off of the nerves that it ignites and the stimulation its able to inflict. You shake your head. Your voice carries far into the forest night. Tears bead and drip up your face. Your chest pounds with laughter and the struggle to stay breathing regularly. Still, the tickles pour in from both ends of your body. You thrash and laugh and endure it as best as you can, but to what end remains an agonizing mystery.

"I hear it over here!" a voice calls out from through the trees. You can hardly hear it over your laughter. You can barely even comprehend the words themselves over the ticklish endeavor taking an abundant priority of your mental faculties, but you hear it and can only hope that it means help is coming, even if that help comes at a price.

"STAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHELP MEEEHEHEHEE!!!" you scream with laughter. You keep twisting against the tree, albeit less with the one vine holding your wrist. The two tips continue to ravish your sensitive spots. The one at your foot behind weaving in between and underneath your toes, each little bristle stroke igniting a shrieking wave of tickles crashing through your whole body. The one at your pit scribbles and digs deep into the slick dip, leaving behind tiny spurs that tickle and latch onto your damp skin. Your head continues to pound. More tears stream up your face. You can hardly see the visitors approaching you in the forest through your teary eyes, but their voices are clear.

"Found it," one says. It appears to be a group of three, but different from the riders that had chased you into the forest. One is tall and speaks with a masculine, yet lighter tone.

"What is one doing all the way out here?" says another, more soft-spoken creature. It seems to have come from the shorter figure standing before you.

"We'll have to ask," says the last. They speak with a deeper voice and stand directly in front of you. "But we need to be careful. Could be a trap. Freeze them." The shorter figure raises what appears to be a staff. It begins to glow at the same time that the tickles start to slow down. They slow until they eventually stop all together. You take the chance to finally catch your breath. Sweat and tears still trickle up your face and neck. You heave deeply and painfully to regain your breath. You blink to clear your eyes, getting a better picture of the figures in front of you, if slightly askewed from still being upside down.

"Wh... wha... ehhh..." you pant. The creature into front of you holds up a sword. They points it at your neck, the coolness of the steel brushing just slightly off of your skin. You gasp and fall silent.

"No speaking, human," they say. Getting a better view, you can see more of their features. They stand as a humanoid as well, they all do, with very slight differences. They all share an air of unreal beauty, the kind that seems to only exist in fiction. The one in front of you wears a sculptured figure with toned muscles exposed beneath a primal tunic of dyed cloth and leaves. Their hair is short and shaded a deep purple. Their eyes are striking as they glare back at you. They wear little below their thighs down to the boots covering their feet.

"What should we do with it?" says the more masculine vistor to their side. He stands tall and slender. His frame is built with sculpture-esque quality. His hair is long, silver, and tied back. Nothing covers his midsection except a sling holding up a bow against his back. A quiver taps against a pair of hide pants. A pair of boots also covers his feet.

"We can't hurt it..." says the last of them. "... but I can't hold back the garliana spread forever..." She is shorter and smaller than the others. Her hair is long and wavy with a light tint of candy red. Her eyes are wide and shimmering cyan. She too wears a tunic covering a small chest and slender frame. A flowing skirt wafts against her thighs. Her feet are contained in light footings for easy maneuvering. The staff they carry continues to glow as you notice that the same glow emanates from the vines still holding you, completely motionless.

"Should we let it down then?" say the shirtless archer. You notice something else about each of them. Their ears are pointed and poke out from their hair. Each stands wary of their position and situation.

"Not yet," says the leader in the center, still holding the sword to your neck. "We need to question it first." They turn their attention to you, scowling slightly. "Human, are you alone?" You fumble over your words. You genuinely don't know how to answer, as nothing has made sense so far.

"Wha... wher... where am I?" you ask. They poke your neck a little with the tip of their sword.

"I'm asking the questions here, human," they say. "Now answer: are you alone?" You look around briefly, your eyes fluttering as your head continues to pound from the blood still rushing.

"I... y-yes..." you say. "Please... what is this place?" The three stare at you in disbelief.

"Some kind of trick?" asks the smallest one.

"Maybe," says the archer. "But no hurting answering."

"Unless it’s a distraction," mutters the leader.

"Please!" you plead. "I... I really don't know where I am and I'm scared and tired..." The trio pauses to scrutinize you once more.

"That sounds genuine," says the archer.

"You're in the Giggling Grove, human," says the small mage. "It's not safe for humans. Not safe for anyone. Not anymore."

"That's enough," says the leader. They stare at you, still holding their blade to your neck. "Where are you heading, human?"

"Please, I don't know!" you say. "I just want to go home!"

"You believe it?" asks the archer, tilting his head.

"Could be an escapee," says the leader. "In which case, they may be being monitored. Best to leave it here."

"We can’t just leave it here," says the mage.

"They'll be expecting us to take it in so they can track our location," the leader retorts. "We can't risk our home because of some feelings." They turn back to you. "Sorry, human. We're trying to help, honest. It's just too risky right now."

"Please!" you cry out. "Don't leave me here! I can't get down!"

"Tell us your story then, human," says the archer. "Maybe you can still be validated." The leader shoots the archer a sour look.

"I... I just woke up here..." you explain. "I just woke up out in that field back there. There was this grass and it tickled... and then there was this thing that also tickled me... and it got scared off by these... I don't know, horseback guys and I just took off running."

"Tia, unfreeze the garlianas," says the leader.

"Wha-aaaaAAAHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!" you cry out, letting out another flurry of ticklish laughter. The mage's staff dims as do the vines still wrapped around your wrist and ankle. The tips resume their vicious scribbling against your ticklish areas. The one at your foot continues to swipe all around each of your toes, leaving behind the tiny spurs that invite more tickles with each little wiggle of your delicate digits. The one at your pit slithers around. It kneads into the slick, sweaty mound between scribbling over every inch of your underarm. The tears return. You laughter spills freely from your lips with deep whines. You twist against the tree, your other arm and leg flailing freely. Your chest aches as more and more ticklish laughter is forced from your lungs. The three stand and watch your ticklish display carry on for several lasting seconds.

"Eri, keep an eye out," the leader says casually. The archer draws his bow with an arrow pulled from his quiver. He turns and keeps a watch out while the leader and mage keep up your ticklish plight.

"How much longer?" the mage asks.

"You needed a break, did you not?" the leader asks. "However long you need to recover."

"You just didn't like its story," says the small mage.

"Just being careful," the leader mutters.

"STAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAP!! PLEEHEHEHASSSSEEE!! I'M TEEHEHEHEHELLING THE TRUTHHHHEHHEEEHAHAHA!!!" The vines ravish your foot and pit. They scribble at your sole once more, painting ever inch in a dense layer of barbed tickles. They poke and prod into the mound of your stretched, vulnerable pit like a devious, tickling finger. After a while, the mage steps forward. She raises her staff once more. It begins to glow as the vines slow to another stop. You struggle to catch your breath again. More sweat and tears rain down against the forest floor benetah you.

"Who were the 'horseback' guys? Who do they work for?" the leader asks firmly. You take a quick moment to catch your breath before answering.

"I don't know!" you cry out. "I don't know, I swear! I literally just ended up here!"

"Why were they chasing you?" the leader asks.

"I have no idea!" you explain. "I don't know why. I promise! I didn't want to cause any problems. I don't even know why I'm here. I don't think I did anything wrong, but I just took off running. I ended up here and hid away in this bush and then I ended up in this tree... and I can't get down... please, I'm telling the truth!" The trio pauses. They look over your curiously, their reactions wavering with distrust.

"That would have been the princess’s cavalry," the mage mutters. "They don't chase the ones they let out."

"Right," says the leader. "It may be telling the truth after all."

"Sounds like it to me," says the archer.

"Let it down?" asks the mage.

"Sure," says the leader. The mage waves the staff in a circular motion. The tip glows as the vines start to release you from their coils. They let you down to the ground gently before retreating back into the dense darkness of the forest. You take a moment to recuperate. The archer approaches you and helps you to your feet. The leader sheathes their sword and the mage lowers her staff.

"I... I swear..." you keep trying to appease them. "I don't know anything. I don't know where I am or who they were..."

"We told you, Giggling Groves," says the mage.

"But where's that?" you ask. They all look at you with curious skepticism.

"What do you mean?" the leader asks.

"You keep calling me... human..." you say, still trying to make sense of it all. "And this... none of this happens where I come from... where am I?"

"That's right, they're human," says the archer.

"Right," says the leader. They look at you solomnly. "Okay, human... this is the Featherlands. It's the world just outside of yours." You understand the words, but none of it makes sense.

"The world... outside of mine?"

"We shouldn't explain here," says the archer. The others seem to agree.

"We need to get it back to home," says the mage. She looks at you sadly, clutching her staff. "O-oh, our home... sorry."

"Wait... how do I get back to mine?" you ask. The three look at one another.

"We... don't know," says the leader.

"You don't know?"

"Usually when a human just appears, it means they've been chosen for some great destiny," the mage explains. "Which can be good or... not. That's just as the stories go."

"We'll figure that out as we go along," the leader says. They turn back to you and bow their head. "Um... o-our apologies for the... crude welcoming, human. We live in uncertain times here."

"What do you mean?" you ask, brushing the dirt and leaves from your pajama pants.

"We shouldn't explain here," the archer repeats.

"Yes," says the leader. They start off farther down the forest path. They lead you and the others behind them as they walk. The leader glances back at you, between them and the archer covering the rear. "We may could use your help though making it back this late. What are your skills, human?"

"Okay, well first, my name is Alex," you say, walking behind them. The three blink and look at one another again.

"A-lex?" the leader asks.

"Yes," you say. "Now, if I'm going with you... what are your names?"

"O-oh, apologies..." says the leader. "My name is Dynacia."

"Tiamalla," says the mage. "You can just call me Tia though."

"Eritrius," says the archer, giving you a slight smile. "Eri is fine too though."

"We're a tribe of elves that inhabit the Featherland forests," says Dynacia. "But we have to lay low, even around other elves. Hard to know who you can trust."

"Why's that?" you ask.

"We'll explain later," says Dynacia. "It's not safe to talk so openly about our situation. Now, your skills, hum- um- Alex..."

"I... don't know what you mean?" you say.

"Have you no weapons?" Eri asks. "Means of defending yourself?"

"N-no..." you say, almost shamefully.

"Oh," says Tia. "That... might be a problem."

"That will be a problem if we want the human on our side," says Dynacia.

"S-sorry, we humans don't typically... use weapons like these..."

"Strange," says Tia. "Must be a much more peaceful place."

"I... well... don't know about that..." you stammer.

"Still, Alex needs something," says Dynacia. "We may be able to get back just fine, but human, you'll need to study a defence art of some creed. When we get back home, I can teach you the way of the sword. Perfect for quick and permanent means against those that wish you harm."

"I was going to offer teaching Alex archery," says Eri. "It's best for scouting and dealing with issues from afar so the human isn't as close to danger as your typical warrior. Can be quite handy for utility as well."

"As can be magic," Tia adds. "Mystic artestry can be used for pretty much everything. Attacking, defending, healing, most means of getting out of, or staying out of, trouble. I'd be happy to teach them."

"As would I with archery," Eri says.

"Then it seems that the human will need a tutor, given their general lack of skill," says Dynacia. "Someone to follow and get closer with, someone who can double as a mentor and companion. Perhaps we should let them decide and start their training tomorrow after we reach home."

"Alright then," says Eri. "Alex, which would you rather study?"

"And with whom?" Tia adds. You think for a moment. You have the entire way home to contemplate your decision. As you draw nearer to the elves' home, and converse more with those in the party, the choice becomes far more clear.

What skill/companion do you choose to take up?