Your Featherlands CYOA Journey! ~ Chapter 3 (Patreon)

You barely recall walking into the elf commune deep within the Featherland forest. You recall your party noting about making it out of the Giggling Groves, but the continuous fields of trees and rich flora made distinguishing lands a challenge beyond comprehension. You merely stayed with them as they guided you to a woodland village, a lively series of organic structures that spread as far through the land as it did high up into the trees above. Even this, however, you only vaguely remember in your slumberous state. You walked through your exhaustion as far as your feet would carry you on your own. For the last stretch, you feel you may have been carried by someone or something, but you can't be too sure. Sleep came quickly after all the excitement that you endured, leading into a much clearer picture the following morning.

You wake to laughter. It chimes out around you like the musical gift of small bells. The impish sounds of youthful giggles surround you as you lay upon a cloud of bedding. You also quickly realize that some of the laughter is coming from you. You almost expect to wake up in your own bed, having reduced all the events that happened prior to a strange, if thrilling, dream. Yet instead, you open your eyes to a huddle of small, giggling elves tickling you with their short, skinny fingers.

"Hhheeehheeheehheeey!" You giggle, stirring awake. You barely have enough time to open your eyes, let alone stretch and yawn, before you're squirming and laughing in a bed that is not yours. Four devious elven children gather around you, waking you up with a flurry of light, feathery tickles. They giggle along with you. They wear wide smiles, rosy cheeks, and pointed ears that poke up from light brown and red heads of hair. Their impish giggles mask over your own, laughing and squirming in bed as they tickle you awake.

“The’inin levi levi!” one seems to say while scratching their fingers up and down your side.

“Comec iki, iki, iki!” says another. They pin you down harder, tickling you more as you stir further awake. The tickles pour through you more and more prominently. The elven young laugh harder the more they tickle, treating the exercise like a game of endurance. You pull and flail against their weight. They’re clearly strong for their size, but you still manage to shift them in your reactionary impulses. They try harder to restrain you with just their hands and weight, sitting on your waist and ankles to get a better vantage from which to tickle you more. One tickles at your armpits, another straddles your hips and tickles your sides. One sits atop your ankles and helps hold your feet steady for another to scribble their mischievous fingers up and down your bare soles.

“Geeehhhhhahahahahahaaa!!! Staaahahahahahaappp!!” You squeal louder and louder as you wake. The tickling is far from the torturous dread you remember from the day before, but it still bests any moment of being tickled from any of your memories prior to finding yourself in the Featherlands. The lingering effects of the environment itself seem to take an effect at making you more receptive to the tickles. Not only can you not recall a time wherein you’ve been tickled as much, but the very sensations themselves appear to come much more prominent to your senses. And while you twist and giggle against the bed to the ticklish whim of the elven young, you find yourself drawn to the feeling in a way that you can’t describe or even really comprehend. The tickling brings you mirth and joy. As challenging as it is, and as much as your body tries to squirm free, you can’t shake an underlying calmness through it all, as if the tickles themselves were sweeping away your fears and cares and leaving nothing but relaxing elation in their place.

“Heehee, iki te huma!” one of the elven young giggles. The rest begin chanting the line over and over again. As mischievous as they are, you gather no ill intention from them, only the playful nature of children experiencing something fresh and exciting. The tickling, as much as it starts to weigh on you, seems almost welcoming, in a way. The one straddling your hips digs their tiny fingers into your sides and belly. They scribble and laugh and sway to the anxious shifting of your body. The one up tickling your pits drives their hands deep into the pockets of your underarms. They tickle with an experienced touch, almost mapping out all of the best places to rake their fingers. The one holding down your ankles does so with a strength conducive to them being the biggest of them all. The smallest has the most impact, however, with skittering their fingers up and down your bare soles while the other holds them as steady as they can against your constant wiggling.

“Neeeeehhhhahahahahaaaa! I caahahahahan’t!!” You giggle. As your chest and jaw begins to ache, and tears fill your eyes, you feel their grip start to loosen. Their ears perk up. Their heads shoot toward the open door to the room, the room you’ve barely had an opportunity to examine. Through the open bedroom door, you’re greeted with a familiar face for the first time since entering the Featherlands.

“Hey, no pestering the human,” Tiamalla says, bringing in a tray with a teapot, an empty cup, and a small plate of cheese and dried fruits. The elven young hop off of you. They giggle and shift anxiously in place. Catching a better look, you can see that they wear more organic articles of clothing. Tunics made out of sturdy, flexible shrubbery, skirts made of flowers, and a handful of accessories crafted from vines and colorful petals. Their ears blushed and rose from bushy heads of hair. They’re short, but certainly stronger than they look. They nod when Tiamalla scolds them, setting down the tray on a nearby stool.

“Ve comec huma salu,” one says bashfully. Tiamalla sighs. She looks at you briefly before turning back to the young.

“Speki huma vec humaproxia,” she says sternly. The little ones turn back to you before looking back to her.

“Ve nil speki huma,” one says.

“Attemi,” Tiamalla says. One of the elven young turns around slowly. They walk up to you and give you a shy smile.

“Vel, ehh… wel-come… te Finterlinds,” the young elf says. “Apo… ligies…” You look back and chuckle slightly.

“It’s okay,” you say, sitting up. You look into the eyes of the elven child and smile. You speak slowly and deliberately. “Thank you.” Tiamalla smiles warmly.

“Vat tu speki?” Tiamalla says to the little ones. “Vu no. Repoit.” The elven children smile and turn to you. They bow and attempt to speak your language.

“Th-ank… you…” they say in staggered unison.

“Good!” you say to affirm their efforts.

“Nigh, ni scurri fo,” Tiamalla says to them. “Gifi tu huma spice.” The children all giggle and run off into the adjacent hall, their laughter echoing out as they run away in play. Tiamalla sighs and strokes her hair. You get a better look at her standing before you. She wears a dark green dress that flows and ruffles just above her knees. She wears red dyed leather braces wrapped around her hands and forearms. A pair of boots almost too big for her petite feet waft loosely around her slender calves. A hood is raised up with her ears slightly poking out from the sides. Wavy locks of vermillion poke out, only to be fully revealed when she lets the hood down. Her eyes shimmer as glowing pools of light blue back at you. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “That’s a fun way to wake up, I guess.”

“I suppose that’s not as commonplace as where you come from, huh?” Tiamalla asks. Her voice is smaller when addressing you, speaking with a tone of timid reservation. She lifts the teapot and pours a stream of steaming amber liquid into a cup.

“I don’t think so,” you say. “Not unless you have a bunch of younger siblings or something, but even then, not so much.”

“Interesting,” says Tiamalla. “Forgive me for not knowing much about the human world or for assuming you don’t know much about the Featherlands.”

“No worries,” you say. “I mean, you wouldn’t be wrong.”

“Tickling like that is kind of a welcoming, especially for strangers from far away places,” Tiamalla says. “Most Featherlanders might not understand the difference in customs or whatever, so just be prepared for that.”

“Hey, I don’t mind,” you say. “It’s a little jarring at first, admittedly, but with the context, I can get behind it. Thank you.” Tiamalla smiles. She hands you the cup. You take it carefully. It’s warm in your hands. You blow a bit of the steam away from the rippling surface before taking a sip. “Mmm, this is good.”

“Much appreciated,” the small elf girl says with a smile.

“Did you make it?” you ask. Tia nods.

“Knowing the best tea leaves is just part of the books I’ve read on local flora study,” she says. She grins and pinches a tip of her hair, rubbing it between her fingers. She looks away as the tips of her ears run a faint shade of pink. “B-but thank you. S-sorry, I shouldn’t show so much hubris.”

“No, no, go ahead,” you say before blowing cool another sip. Tia laughs.

“I mustn’t,” she says. “But I am honored that you chose me to mentor you. Thank you for that.”

“I mean, sorry you’re stuck with me,” you say. “But learning magic just seemed far more interesting.”

“It is, thank you!” Tia says excitedly. “I promise it is. It’s a lot of reading, surely, which is why so many consider it being the more boring path…”

“Are you kidding?” you ask. “Have you been to… well, I guess ‘my world’?” Tia shakes her head.

“N-no, it is forbidden,” she says before swallowing nervously. Her eyes widen with curiosity.

“Well, we don’t have magic where I come from,” you say. “Unless you count the explanation for how planes work. But even then, most of what we study is super boring.”

“Boring?” Tia interrupts. “Human studies? Forgive me, but I must disagree. There is so much that I’ve only read about that I know so little of, so much that keeps me up at night. I don’t know how human studies can be boring when so well informed?” You smile and take another sip.

“What do you want to know?”

“Like… what are ‘movies’?” Tia asks. “From what I’ve gathered, they seem to be somewhat magical, correct? And what’s the difference between grapefruit and grapes the fruit? And how many different human languages are there? I’ve heard around a hundred. Why so many?” You chuckle. Tia blinks, slightly taken back. “H-hey, I’m just trying to learn. Apologies if-”

“No, no, it’s just… nothing,” you say, shaking your head. “Since you’ve been so nice to me, I’ll be more than happy to answer any question that you may have.”

You take the time to speak with Tiamalla over the fruits and cheeses and the rest of the tea. She sits next to you on the bed. The two of you laugh over silly explanations and marvel at how interesting she finds mundane facts. You ask a few questions of your own about the Featherlands, tackling issues such as infrastructure, currency and economics, and regional relations. You follow along with Tia’s more intellectual explanations as best as you can, enchanted by her enthusiasm for teaching and learning. She giggles and leans in every so often. Her laugh sings with a slight bellish chime to it. A warm hue washes over her cheeks and ears, her skin appearing as smooth and delicate as a fine marble sculpture. Her eyes gleam upon meeting yours, slivered in playful squints when smiling.

“So, you just spend all day in these institutions and they teach you everything?” Tia asks.

“Well, I don’t know about ‘everything’, but school does teach you quite a bit,” you say. “But most people just go to hang out with friends. Or because they’re made to go.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Tiamalla says. “I’d love to see a human school for myself.”

“You don’t have school here?”

“We do, but more for artisan specialties than any sort of general curriculum,” Tia says. “I traveled to and spent many days in the Hoggrith Temples learning mystic arts before returning home.”

“Wow,” you say. “I don’t even know what that is, but it sounds a lot more interesting than hearing some boring adult go on about geometry or whatever.”

“Well, to each their own, I suppose,” Tia says. “But on that note, we should probably start your training.” Tia hops up and walks up to a small wooden ornate wardrobe across the room. She opens it and pulls out a striking red cloak and white tunic. Red and brown belts line the article with flair and utility, some opening up to a variety of pockets. Tiamalla lays the two on the bed before pulling out a pair of black boots to go with it.

“What’s all this?” you ask.

“We can’t have who could very well be the next great human hero of the Featherlands training in sleepwear,” Tiamalla says with a grin. “Now, the sizes might not be exact, we didn’t have much time to get this together, but judging on basic estimations, we figured that this would probably fit best. It’s very lightweight and has ample compartment space for efficient access to ingredients.”

“Ingredients?” you ask.

“You’ll see,” Tiamalla says. “I’ll go ahead and step out to allow you time to change. Just come outside when you’re ready.” Tiamalla smiles and slips out of the room, softly shutting the door behind her. Once alone, you look down at the clothes pulled out for you. They’re strange, like nothing you had ever seen before. You pick up and examine each article. After a while, you undress out of your pajamas and figure out how to wear the cloak and tunic. They slip on effortlessly, nearly perfectly contorting to your figure. You place your feet into the boots and lace them up tightly, remembering clearly how your feet received quite extensive bouts of tickling several times since arriving.

You study yourself in a tall, thin mirror by the door, making sure the outfit looks as good as it feels. Once you’re finished, you step outside to see Tiamalla leaning against the wall by the door. She turned to look at you with an eager grin.

“Oh wow, you look amazing,” Tiamalla says. “Do you like it? Does it fit well? I was worried about what we would do if there was a problem…”

“No, it’s great,” you say. “I’m excited to get started.” Tiamalla cups her hands in front of her.

“Alright then, follow me to the training grounds,” Tiamalla says. She starts off down a long hallway, still within the interior of a structure. You don’t remember much in your exhaustion from the night before, but the corridor you walk through is crafted from fine wood. Elaborate, decorative carvings line the walls. Flames concealing behind glass jars stay lit, hanging from the taller portions of the supporting beams much closer to your head than the average height of ceilings to which you feel more accustomed. “I must say, I appreciate your embrace of our hospitality. I know you must be eager to return to your world, so being so receptive is already more than we could have expected. You must be a gentle soul where you come from.”

“I don’t know about that,” you say, “but I’m still taking it all in stride. Part of me still thinks this is some dream.” Tiamalla smiles and nods.

“That’s understandable,” she says. “I cannot say that I would not be the same in your position, but for your safety, I must insist you diminish those assumptions. The Featherlands is very real, as is our plight.” You pass by several open archways into other rooms. You spot what looks to be a small library, a kitchen, and a supply closet full of plucked crops. Elves rush from room to room, engaged in their own business and chattering on with one another. Several stop and stare your way as you walk past. You smile and wave. Most smile and bow their heads in return while others simply stare in awe.

“What is that plight exactly?” you ask.

“We will explain in due time,” Tiamalla says. “I know you are well owed an explanation for your contribution, but I must insist that we focus on your studies without such overhanging distractions.” You find the withheld information odd, but have sense developed no real reason to district the girl. She leads you outside to an open courtyard. The area is surrounded by winding roots as large as trees themselves. They create a wall around a grassy field complete with weeds and vibrant flowers. Seeing the Featherlands in the daytime highlights just how lively and colorful everything is. Hues are far more pronounced, the surrounding canopies above wafting waves of bright greens and blues. The sun, or the light from the Featherlands equivalent, is a warm, basking combination of pink and yellow. The area is cool and rests with the aroma of flowers and sweet fruits. You take it all in as Tiamalla walks to the center of the field.

“Wow…” you say. Tia looks back.

“Yes?” she asks. She looks around. “Oh, I don’t suppose you’ve seen the Featherlands in the day.”

“No,” you say breathily. “It’s only been nighttime. Is everything always this… pretty?”

“We try to keep it that way,” Tiamalla says. “All the best places in the Featherlands are usually full of color and life. It’s the regions that aren’t that you want to be wary of.”

“Really?” you say, walking farther out into the field. “Like what?”

“Mostly unfavorable territories,” Tiamalla says. “The city of Plumton has become a real problem. Scratch Peaks also, down in the South. But mostly the Badland region out to the West.”

“The Badland region?” you ask.

“You must never go there,” Tia says sternly. “I mean, I-I’ll be around to guide you on your journey, but venturing into the Badlands for any reason is simply foolishness. It’s a horrid land, a barren ruin of all that is good. Should you leave for your own, avoid the Badlands at all cost, no matter what. Promise me this.”

“Is it really that bad?”

“Promise me!” Tia pipes up. You blink, taken back by her volume.

“I-I promise,” you say. “I won’t go out to the… Badlands. Easy to remember with a name like that, I suppose.”

“Most of us don’t have a choice, however,” Tiamalla says. “Badlanders will come into Featherland territory and simply prey on our innocence and naivety. Those that get taken rarely make it back. That is why we insist that anyone planning to leave the commune be trained to defend themselves. And that includes you.”

“Why me though?” you ask.

“You want to go home, do you not?” Tiamalla asks. “Your quest to do so may take you to lands beyond any other, so you must be ready for anything.”

“What about all the other humans that are said to have come here?” you ask. “How did they get back?” Tiamalla sighs and looks away.

“Unfortunately, I do not know,” she says. “Little has been recorded about those methods. So much has been veiled in mystery and hearsay. Many options will need to be exhausted to fully understand how to get you back. However, if history has taught us anything, it’s that you have been sent here for a purpose, so we all humbly ask your forgiveness and patience while we unravel that mystery as well.”

“I see,” you say. “So, you’re keeping me here?” Tia winces.

“I do not like the circumstances, I assure you,” she says. “None of us wish you discomfort. Personally, I will do all that I can to make sure that you are safe and well and that you do return home someday. That I promise you. But for the sake of our people, of our world, I must regretfully insist that you comply with the plan. I am truly sorry, human.”

“Alex,” you say.

“Right, I… I knew it started with an A,” Tia mutters. You chuckle.

“And you know… that’s all fair,” you say. “You’ve been nice to me, helped me out back there in the woods, even if you did insist on interrogating me with tickles.” Tia smiles.

“We must be cautious, you see,” Tiamalla says. “Plus, you… you do have a sweet laugh… er, like I’d imagine of all humans.”

“So I’m in,” you say. “You gave me food, clothes, a place to sleep. I’m really thankful for you all. So let’s do this right. Teach me.” A warm flush runs to Tiamalla’s cheeks and the tips of her ears. She smiles and looks away, stroking at her hair.

“You really are a gentle soul, human Alex,” she says. “And I can tell you have the heart of a great hero. Perhaps the stories are true after all.” Tia shakes her head and stands up tall, gazing back at you. “Right, then start we shall!”

“Great,” you say. “So what do you need me to do?” Tiamalla starts walking away, toward the other side of the open field. “Tia?”

“Forgive me,” she calls back.

“Huh?” you ask. Tiamalla reaches a designated marker on the field and turns around to face you. She lifts her hood, her eyes gleaming as they leer in your direction.

“In order for you to understand the arcane practice, you must first know about the different schools of magic, as well as be aware of what you may be up against on the outside,” Tiamalla shouts back for you to hear. You take a step back.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what are you going to do?” you ask.

“You’ll need to be able to face and outlast the threats that linger all over the Featherlands, particularly involving those that test your resolve around tickling,” Tiamalla says. She swiftly raises her wand, her cloak fluttering beneath her arm. You stand and brace yourself, unaware of what you should be preparing for.

“B-but… shouldn’t I, like, know how to defend myself first?” you ask nervously. “Maybe we start with the reading that you mentioned.”

“You need to understand the true context of Featherland magic first,” Tia says. “Fear not; I will not use the full range of my power, only enough to teach you about the four schools of magic through hands-on exposure to their effects.” A small gust circulates at Tia’s feet. It builds and builds around her, kicking up dirt and dried leaves. Her cloak wafts more in the wind, her hood rustling against her cheeks. The small elf girl waves her wand in the air. She mutters something under her breath. You try and take another step back, but feel your foot caught on something beneath you. You look down to see a disembodied hand latched onto your ankle.

“Wha!” you shout. You jump and try to take another step back, only to find another hand clasping around your other ankle. More tight grips surface around your wrists. You feel and see hands faintly in the light of day. They appear like Tiamalla’s hands, small and dainty, yet strong enough to maintain a firm grip. You can almost see through them. You reach to touch one, but find yourself unable to move your hand, stuck in position as if the hand were attached to a force much larger and stronger than you.

“Conjuration,” Tiamalla calls out. “The creation of magically crafted objects.”

“O-objects?” you ask. “What do yo-ooohhaahh!” The four ghostly hands, all attached to your wrists and ankles, begin lifting you into the air. You wiggle and squirm at your hinging joints, but the hands hold you steady, keeping your arms and legs helplessly spread. You pull at them at first, but as you rise up into the air, you find yourself more concerned with making sure they hold on tight.

“Now then,” Tia says. “My apologies.” She grins and waves her wand once more. Several small orbs of light begin to appear around you. You look around, unable to keep track of how many manifest before your eyes after counting out twelve. Steadily, each light orb starts to morph into peculiar shapes. After several moments of Tiamalla staring you down from the ground below, the orbs shape themselves into feathers. Over a dozen surround you on all sides, each waving in the breeze as if real feathers. You swallow. Your eyes widen as your body starts shifting again.

“I… uhh… I don’t know about this…” you say.

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you,” Tiamalla says. “I won’t be mean. Well, by our standards ‘mean’, I suppose.” She waves her wand again. Small pink sparkles switch from the tip. The feathers all take aim at once, each pointed to an area on your body. They come closer and closer at a stalling pace. You giggle nervously, unable to grasp how they intend to get in through your clothing.

“Hey, that’s fine, just don’t drop me-eeeeeeeeekkkkkkk!! Heeeeheheheheeheheee!!” You burst into laughter as the feathers start to make contact. The magical plumes flutter and stroke against your body. Even over the clothes, the feathers manage to stroke against your skin, passing through the fabric in their ghostly forms. Despite being airy enough to pass through your clothes, their abrasions stroke with no different sensations than physical feathers. Tiamalla watches from the ground with a smile on her face.

"We do hope you remain receptive to proper Featherland customs," Tiamalla says while swishing the wand through the air. "With conjuration, you can summon tools to shape and use as you will. Most of the more common spells regard the creation of tickle tools, as you're currently observing." She guides the feathers in the air. As you hang suspended, you flail and twist to the tickles that course through your senses. Your cheeks redden against the giggles pouring from your lips.

"Neeeheheheheheheeeehahaha! Whahaha?!?" The mystical feathers brush effortlessly all over your body. They slip beneath your arms, swishing against the delicate mounds of your pits. They rake over your ribs and dance along the edges of your sides. More circle across your belly, with one devious feather dipping into your navel. Several trace across your thighs and knees. Many feathers swipe across your soles through your boots, with more still weaving in and around your toes. Many more feathers simply glide across your body, relinquishing a lasting ticklish effect in places you had never experienced such sensations before.

"Featherland magic may work differently than you expect," Tia says loudly over your bellowing giggles. "Especially in our feathers, funnily enough. There's a whole book about their effects and magical properties you can read." The feathers leave behind a dewy residue that tingles against your skin. Each stroke sends waves of tickles through your senses. They come from all over. They cover you, weaving all across your figure. The tickles compound atop one another, making the light feathery strokes tickle more and more as they explore your body.

"Neeeehhhhehehehhahahahaaaa!!! Okahahahahayyy!! Okaaahahahahahayy!!" You cry out. The manageable giggles had quickly become deep fits of laughter, brought on by the delicate brushing of the plumes. Your arms and legs pull, but even when thrashing about, cannot break the hold of the spell gripping onto your wrists and ankles. After a while, while your heart races and your chest pounds, Tiamalla finally waves her wand once more. The feathers vanish into puffs of smoke. The hands carefully lower you back down to the ground. Once your feet meet the field, you collapse onto one knee, heaving to catch your breath.

"You're going to need to develop better stamina to outlast even the most common of Featherland greetings, let alone anything worse," the elf girl says.

"Ok-ay… okay… that's fair…" you pant. Tiamalla smiles. She stands up straight, looking down at you.

"There is still much more to cover," she says. "Shall we take a break?"

"No, I… I'm good," you say. You shake your head and run your fingers through your hair. You take a deep breath to steady yourself. "At least it's tickling, right? Could always be worse."

"Don't underestimate it, human Alex," Tiamalla says sternly. "There are forces out there that use tickling in cruel ways for malicious means. To preserve the good for all we must be prepared to face the worst of them." Tiamalla raises her wand and points it at your feet. You take a sharp step back as a flame sparks beneath you. A sudden fire spreads around you, covering the very ground upon which you stand. The flames glow a bright shade of purple. They lick at your boots and calves, provoking not heat but other feelings entirely.

"Wha… whaaaahahahahaaaa!" You laugh. The flames come as brush strokes lighter than the feathers, but far more constant and hungry for your ticklishness. The ticklish fire spreads quickly, even searing onto your boots as the kind of fire you know would. As much as the flames invite tickles against your legs, more begin stirring within your boots.

"Evocation," Tiamalla says. "Elemental manifestation and manipulation, able to alter the very properties themselves." The purple flames crackle. They build against your feet, seeping through the leather to flick against your bare soles within. You double over, already starting to cackle as the tickles consume your feet. You step back, but the flames latch onto your boots. You stumble and trip and land on your butt.

"Naaaahhhhahahaa!! Geehehehet aahahahaoff!!" You shriek with laughter against the ground. You try to kick at your boots to get them off. All the while, the flames flutter against your soles like fingers eager to scratch at your trapped feet. They rage and flicker like fire, tickles taking the place of heat and pain. The ticklish fire surrounds your feet within your boots. It leaves no inch of your sole free from its effects. It cloaks your toes, around and underneath each, in a devilish sheet of constant stimulation.

"Outlast it, human Alex!" Tiamalla calls out. Her tone cheers and believes in your ability to conquer the challenge. The tickling fire rages through your boots. The flames reach as high as your knees, submerging most of your lower body in a feasting assault of tickles. It climbs higher and higher, latching onto your skin and gnawing at the sensitive nerves throughout. You flail against the ground. Your chest pounds, your hands balled into fists. Your face runs a deep shade of red as more tears streak down your face while you howl with laughter.

"Gaaaaaahhhahhahahahahaaaa!! Geehehehehhet it aahahahahahahaoff!!" You squeal through your breathless giggles. Tiamalla grins and shakes her head. She watches your hysterical display for a while before waving her wand once more. The flames blow out like a candle. The ticklish fire vanishes from your legs and boots, leaving you groaning and panting against the ground.

"I suppose it is true that humans can be quite remarkably ticklish," she says. You grin a little as you keep trying to catch your breath. Sweat trickles down your neck. It seeps into your hair and drips onto the ground below.

"I… I'm good… I'm good…" you say, your chest still greatly heaving. Tiamalla comes up to. She bends down and runs her hand across your cheek. Her touch is soft and loving, not unlike the concerned expression staring down at you.

"Are you sure?" Tiamalla asks. More elves from the commune start to gather around the field. They poke their heads out to watch the training of the rumored human come to stay with them. They chatter and whisper among themselves, staring back at you with wide-eyed intrigue. You feel the weight of their focus. You sigh and sit up, brushing yourself off as you push yourself to your feet.

"I'm sure," you say, brushing off small blades of grass from your cloak. "What now?"

"If you're sure," Tiamalla says. "Here, I'll go down to even more basic schools. Illusion."

"Illusion?" You ask. Tia smirks and waves her wand in the air. Small blue sparks shimmer from the tip. "How would that…"

"You have a lot to learn here still, human Alex," Tiamalla says, coming closer toward you. She lets down her hood and shakes out her hair. She smiles sweetly back at you, grinning with a comfortable warmth. "You can rely on me to teach you everything you need to know about the Featherlands."

"I-I'm sure," you say, stammering slightly. Tiamalla grins wider.

"But you'll have to forgive me for… indulging myself," she says. "We don't get many humans around here to play with." Your mouth dries slightly as you take a step back.

"What… um, what do you mean?" You ask. You take another step back, tripping over a stone you don't recall being there before. You fall back and land on your butt again. Before you can push yourself back up, a sudden weight crashes down on you. Tiamalla pins you down to the ground herself. She stares down at you, like a predator toying with prey.

"I mean, in exchange for training you, you'll be my personal tickle toy," Tia says airly and with a more playfully sinister tone. Before you can stutter nervously into an argument, her hands plunge into your armpits. Her hands scratch and skitter against the ticklish hollows violently. Your arms clench and back arches as you shriek into another fit of ticklish laughter.

"Gaaaaaaahhhhhhhahahhahahahahahaaaa!! Tiaaaaahhahahaha!!" You shout. You buck against the ground, twisting and turning beneath her frame holding you down. Her fingers scribble deep inside your pits. You pin your arms to your sides. You throw your head back, screaming with laughter all across the training grounds. Despite how small she appears, Tiamalla boasts incredible strength in holding you down. All the while, as she tickles you, her mischievous giggles tease your ears.

"Coochie coochie coo, human Alex," Tia chants, emphasizing her disregard to your fortitude. She tickles with an experienced touch. Her fingers claw and scratch with ruthless efficiency in sending tickles raging through your senses. Her hands map out your pits well, turning each into slick, humid dips through which to devastate your senses with ticklish surges.

"Naaaaaahhhhahahahahahaaaa!! Okaaahahahahahahayyy!" You cry out in wild laughter. Your body squirms against the ground. Your head tosses side to side, your eyes filled with laughing tears. Tiamalla merely continues to giggle at your reactions.

"What did I tell you?" Tiamalla asks. "We really need to work on that stamina. You'll be taking more than this outside those walls." Her fingers scurry all over your tender pits. After leaving every single inch thoroughly exploited for its debilitating ticklishness, Tiamalla darts her hands downward to your ribs. She starts to pinch each on both sides with vicious, rapid clawing motions. You shriek once more, your hips raising beneath her as you squirm side to side.

"Aaaaahhhhhhhahahahaha!! Naaahahahahaooo!!" You squeal. Your face reddens more. Your jaw and chest start to ache. The tickles pile on more and more, each moment locked in a ticklish prison that worsens by the second. Tia's tiny fingers weasel against your ribs. Each little pinch sends surges of sensations pouring through your body. Your mind goes blank to much more than the tickles at hand. You can still hear Tia's impish cackling over your untamed fits of laughter.

Only when you start to lose breath, thinking that Tiamalla may not stop until you actually pass out, the tickling ceases. You blink out the tears that built beneath your eyes. When you open them clearly, you find yourself looking up at the sky above. The weight holding you down had vanished. The tickling flowing through you was no more and Tiamalla herself stood on the other side of the field, wand in hand. You slowly sit up, raising a hand to your forehead drenched in sweat. Tia waves back.

"Apologies if the illusions became too intensive," Tiamalla says sweetly. "They can be a little tricky to control." You blink, your head still spinning from the tickling.

"N-no, but… you were… on me," you say. Tiamalla shyly turns away.

"Well, I'm flattered that you think my illusions that convincing," she says. "But I assure you, that's all it was."

"I mean, it felt real…" you say.

"Thank you," Tiamalla says. "You can make illusions too, if you'd like. But there's one more school to go over."

"Which is?" You ask, still finding your bearings.

"Tickle me," she says. You pause and look back at her.

"Excuse me?"

"Tickle me," Tiamalla repeats. "And don't hold back. It's only fair after what I've put you through." You pause to make sure that you've heard her clearly. Tiamalla drops her cloak and reaches down to remove her boots.

"I don't know… if I should," you say carefully. Tiamalla smiles.

"You're a kind soul," she says. "And that's why you won't be, if only for a little while." She lifts her wand and waves it slightly in the air. You stare back at her. After a moment of still silence, you find yourself taking a step forward toward Tiamalla. You don't acknowledge yourself actively taking the step, but you certainly feel and see yourself moving forward. Curiously, you take another step. And another. And another.

"What's happening now?" You ask.

"You've taken a lot already," Tiamalla says as you close in on her. "Now, I want to see how a human tickles. Tickle me." Tiamalla stands before you, brought down to her tunic. Her slender legs feed down to two delicate feet, so dainty they barely even appear as if they're touching the ground. As you come up onto her, you know you shouldn't assert yourself so forcefully on your mentor, but your body seems to move on its own while you perceive it all so clearly.

"I… I'm not doing this…" you say.

"I know," Tiamalla says. "Enchantment; able to control minds, movements, thoughts, feelings, even memories on occasion. And that's why you're going to tickle me. Right here, right now." Tiamalla smirks. She raises her arms up above her head, exposing her pale, slick pits. You barely register the situation completely before your hands raise to the delicate mounds. Your fingers immediately begin brushing against Tia's pits. You still fight against the motions that are not your own, but you can also still feel the touching sensations of running your fingers across Tiamalla's slender underarms.

"I… I'm sorry…" you say, bewildered by the circumstances. Tiamalla begins to giggle. She stands and squirms in place, keeping her arms up and pits exposed for you to tickle.

"Heeheehehehehehe! Dahhahn't beeehehe," Tiamalla says. She wiggles a bit in place, but mostly stays as still as she can to allow you to scribble at her ticklish underarms. Her skin is silky soft. Her laughter is musical and fluttery. Her face scrunches as she giggles, showing off a noticeable wrinkle across the bridge of her nose. You want it all happen as if only observing the actions that your body takes on its own. You scribble your fingers faster and faster against Tiamalla’s armpits. She squeals into louder, more rapid fits of laughter, but still manages to stay as still as she can for you.

"I… I guess you're pretty ticklish too, huh?" You ask. Tiamalla nods, still giggling and squeaking though her enthusiastic ticklishness. You smirk, watching her squirm before you. Your hands fall down to her sides. You almost fail to notice your palms stretched widely against the regions before both begin vicious squeezing and clawing. Tiamalla shrieks. She squeals into a newly heightened flurry of laughter.

"Gaaaahhhhhahahahahaaa!! Nneeeeheheheee!!" Tiamalla laughs. Her laughter becomes louder and more frequent, without losing that mousey, melodic quality. Her knees buckle slightly. She squirms more as she keeps herself locked in place for you to tickle.

"Heh heh, tickle, tickle, tickle…" you tease, stearing into the exercise. Tiamalla laughs jovially. Not as strained or tortured or pleading laughter, but laughter from genuine, carefree glee. It's sweet and flows from her lips like honey. You continue to squeeze at her sides, doing so harder and harder by each passing moment. She shakes her head, her hair being tossed side to side. You can't know if it's the enchantment spell that's causing you to give in and tickle her as much as you are or if it's simply enjoyment in the bonding activity. Still, you continue to tickle the elf girl until you pause to help carefully lower her down to the ground.

"Heeheehee… uh oh… heheee…" Tiamalla giggles. She puts up a slight fight to gauge your assertiveness. You manage to pin her down against the grass, however, still only observing your moves instead of making them. You worry about her safety, about how much the spell will make you do to her, but as you reach for her bare feet, you know the plan remains relatively innocent.

"Hehe, sorry for what's about to happen," you say. Tia giggles anxiously. The other elves observe with murmuring whispers as you scoop up her ankles beneath the crook of a single arm. Without hesitation, you release your scribbling fingers against the elf girl's petite soles. A sudden shock races through her body. Her limbs jolt, her head flings back with an instant burst of laughter escaping her lips.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! NAHHAHAHAHAOOO HUMAAAHAHAHAHAHA!!!" Tia's laughter soars into the surrounding forest. Her voice, once tiny and frail, echoes all around you with a feverish volume. She thrashes and squeaks. She pulls at her legs, unable to free herself from your grip. Your five fingers mercilessly scribble across her plush, soft soles. Her toes curl, one foot alternatingly trying to protect the other, but even as you only observe the actions, you feel as if you would be taking them anyway to hear more of her sweet, musical laughter.

"Tickle, tickle, tickle…" you tease. Your nails scratch up and down each arch. They work from the heel of each foot to the base of her toes. Her delicate feet writhe beneath your arm. She flails about, her laughter screaming once you dip your devious fingers beneath her toes.

"NAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA!! OKAAAHAHAYYY!! CEAAHAHAHAHSI!!" Tiamalla screams. She grips onto her wand, but struggles to concentrate on the spell as your nails scratch around her frail and delicate toes. They claw gently against the helplessly clenching pads. They slip underneath and in between each, ravishing all of the most sensitive spots around her digits. Tiamalla, once stoic and proper in her intellectual identity, had been reduced to a screaming, laughing tickle victim like you had been the night before. You smile and can't help but enjoy what she makes you do to her. Only after Tia can obtain a brief moment of composure does she flick the wand again.

"Had enough, ticklish Tia?" You ask. Red, magical lights shoot out from the tip of her wand. As much as you feel you could keep going, you can finally move your own body again. When control returns, you pause. You stop tickling and assess Tia's state. Her cheeks and ears burn a bright red. She heaves for air as you had done. She wears a wide smile across an exhausted expression. You sit up and help her do the same.

"That's what… what my friends… used to call me…" she says breathily.

"What?" You ask, keeping a close eye on Tia. She raises a hand to her face, bashfully looking away.

"Ticklish Tia," she says.

"Heh, well it's cute," you say. Tia winces. She shakes out the tangles in her hair and throws her good back up, barely concealing the rich redness washed over her cheeks and ears. Tia swallows and continues to catch her breath.

"Well… those are the four main schools," she says, trying to regain a collected composure. "Conjuration, Evocation, Illusion, and Enchantment. To understand where our studies should focus, you must pick one."

"I can't study all of them?" You ask.

"You may later, but in the interest of preparing you for the world, it'll be better to master one school rather than trying to tackle all of them at once." Tia pushes herself to her feet with your help.

"Makes sense."

"So," Tia asks. "Which one would you like to master first?"

What school of magic do you want to learn?