Your Featherlands CYOA Journey ~ Chapter 6 (Patreon)

You feel Tiamalla’s eyes on you. The weight of every stare bears down on your position, but Tia’s seems to stand out through the uncomfortable silence. You look around, hoping the answer to be made more easily apparent, but such luxuries fail to come so simply for the alleged ‘fabled human savior’ or whatever title slips from the lips that pass you in the halls. You stand among them, members of the guard, as if all had forgotten that you are still just a stranger to their land. You nervously scratch at the back of your head.

“I-I’d say that investigating either the trolls or the sirens sounds the most sensible,” you say, trying not to be so definitive. Lynn bows her head and sighs.

“I knew this was a mistake,” Lynn grumbles. Tia turns her head toward the captain.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“Your human here isn’t in a position to lead,” Lynn says, crossing her arms. “These are efforts better spent on training other members of the commune that have experience, not hang on some hearsay superstition.”

“With all due respect, my Captain, the human here wasn’t brought in to lead just yet,” Dynacia says. “It’s just a simple recon mission.”

“Yes, but we needed them to show some signs of being decisive,” Lynn says, “and they’ve already failed before they’ve even left the room.” A silence falls over the group. The torches in the room flicker and crackle in your ear. You suck in a deep breath before stepping forward.

“I don’t think that’s very fair,” you say. Lynn looks back at you, eyes narrowed in disgust.

“Excuse me, human?” Lynn says.

“You want to fail me already, fine, but from the moment I appeared here, I’ve been studying this world,” you say sternly. “I was brought here for a reason. What that reason is, I don’t know, and it really seems like no one else does either, but I know it can’t be for nothing. So if I can’t find my reason for being here, then I’ll make one by proving myself just as valuable as anyone else. You and that rude elf boy and whoever else may look down on me for being human, but I-”

“Human, we are trying to defend our people from horrors unimaginable,” Lynn interjects. “Against my wishes, by the word of the Council, you’ve been brought before me to prove your abilities, but I care not for the things that you think you can do. You are certainly not the first stray that we’ve adopted. Anytime we try to bridge the gap between us and others, they run at the first sight of trouble. The abandoned Orc girl, the wayward Arthro pair, the feline beasty siblings from the North, we trusted them all with basic assignments and they fled. They fled because our troubles matter not to anyone else but us. And do you know what happened, human? We lost. Battles. Wars. Hundreds of our own kind. Younglings. Innocents. Family. Friends. So you’ll excuse me if I harbor reservations about relying on another waverly, flaky, ‘mysterious savior’ purely for being someone else’s reason for being here.” Lynn’s eyes glimmer in the torchlight. A tense silence falls over the room. Eritrius scratches at the back of his neck. Dynacia’s eyes shift over to you and Tia, who stands by your side with her hands cupped in front of her. You swallow and nod, insisting on breaking the silence.

“I apologize if I’ve been an inconvenience so far, but I promise you that I am determined to remain and help anyway I can,” you say.

“We don’t need empty promises and vague calls to action,” Lynn starts up again. “We need–”

“I am still learning your ways and do intend to follow through,” you add. “Just because I may not know what it is you’re up against here doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I do care. You may think that I don’t, and that’s fine. I accept that I have to earn trust. But until the time comes when I have betrayed that trust, I won’t stand by while you unload your own prejudices on me.” The eyes in the room nervously fall away from you. They widen and cautiously distance themselves from solidarity. Lynn’s, however, glare like daggers in your direction.

“Excuse me, human,” she says through gnashed teeth. You sigh. Your heart races as your mind mulls over the severity of the apparent mistake. You quickly weigh the options of both doubling down on your tone or backtracking and surrendering feebly to the consequences. Your stare, frozen in the path of Lynn’s, you begin to see your answer.

“Work on your personal problems on your own time, Captain,” you say. “We have missions to attend to. And Tia and me are going to take the trolls in the West.” Another pause rings through the room. The absence of sound chimes louder against the others’ composure than any piercing cry, but they stand by, shuffling in their stances. You keep your eyes fixed on Lynn. You swallow once more. Her face remains still, her lips tucked up in a slight snarl. Her expression, marked by years of experience resting across the skin of her face, was stony and unmoving. That is until her eyes release from their squinting leer. Her lips widen slightly, cracking into a smile that, even on first impression, seems like an uncommon occurrence for her. Lynn leans back and chuckles heartily.

“Haha, alright,” Lynn says, her tone being released from the vice of anger. “That’s what I like to hear. Keep on that, human, and you might work out. Eri, take the harpy sites. We’ll need a good bow out there. Dynacia and I will cover the stream.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you say assuringly. Tia looks back at you and gives you a firm and eager nod.

Back out in the Featherlands wilderness, you get a better look at the colorful array of life that blooms all around you. The same white cloak drapes across your shoulders, being steadily stained by natural elements. You examine the wand braced to your arm. Tiamalla leads you Westward through the vast array of colorful trees and bushes. Distant calls, sounding suspiciously of laughter, bellow and echo through the air. Sweat falls down the back of your neck. The text you had read to summon Manic Spark plays over and over again in your mind. You want to keep it at the forefront of your potential arsenal. You remain vigilant, wary of the dangers that you’ve been told about, while still managing to appreciate the beauty of the Featherlands’s exotic flora.

“And this here is tingleos angios, or spur weed, as it’s most commonly called,” Tia says. She walks by your sides and points out different plants along your path. She picks a few of ones that she deems harmless and that bloom brightly colored flowers. “You can tell the spur weed apart from the hair vine because the hair vine has many flowers that bloom along the upturned surface while the spur weed has just one.” The weed shifts slightly in Tiamalla’s small hand. Most of the plants you’ve seen so far tend to not remain perfectly stationary, but rather react toward the ticklish energy that Tia claims all living creatures give off. The weed brushes against Tia’s skin, making her giggle slightly, but she toys with it as you two walk.

“That’s actually really cool,” you say, smiling back at her. Tia takes a big whiff of the flower that blooms from the weed, wide and vibrant.

“Mmmm hehehee, I’ve always thought these smelled like candy,” Tia says. “You want to try?” Tia holds the flower up closer to your face. You smile and lean in to sniff it.

“Mmm, yeah, I can see that,” you say. “It’s the sweetness that really takes me… hey, what are you doing?” Tia quickly sneaks the weed from her hand, letting it drop down the back of your robe. You shriek. The fine hairs along the edge of the spur weed tingle as they brush across your bare skin. The body of the weed wiggles and brushes against your back, sending tickles bursting from its path down your spine. “Whaahahahahaeheheheeey! Gehehehehe it out!!”

“Haha! I can’t believe you fell for that!” Tiamalla says. She doubles over laughing and backs away. You squirm in place, trying to get the wiggling tendril out of your robe. Small hairs brush against you, tickling along with the scribbling efforts of the small weed itself. It dances across your skin, swiftly dodging your efforts to catch it. You giggle as the tickles resonate outward, remaining in the places touched by the gentle hairs of the plant.

“Naahahahahahaaaa! Stahahahp it! Gehehehet it out!!!” you repeat as you laugh. Tia jumps up to sit upon a nearby log to watch. She swings her feet as she observes you endure the tickling of this wayward plant.

“You’re so gullible!” Tia taunts. She giggles softly, her eyes squinting as she watches you. She holds a hand up to her lips. You thrash around in place, eventually collapsing to the ground. You roll around in the dirt and the leaves to try and stop the weed from tickling up and down your back. The tickles appear to lodge in place where the hairs touch, sticking into you like ticklish barbs. The effect quickly spreads outward. It circles around closer to your pits and sides. You roll on your back, your hips bucking and head throw back in wild bellows of laughter.

“Gaaahahahahahaaaa! Stahahahahaap it!!” you scream. The plants around you seem to react to your laughter. Roots shift the very ground atop which you lay. Vines begin slowly snaking through the brush toward you. Thye trees rustle, as if engaged and cheering on your ticklish plight. You try and fend off the tickles for as long as you can until you feel a sudden stop to the effect. In an instant, the tickles disperse. The weed falls still and collapses out of your robe. A hill washes over you as you see Tia standing at your side. She points her wands down at you, a cold breeze leaving the tip.

“There,” Tia says. She holds out a hand to help you up. “That could have gotten much worse way out here.”

“Did that need to happen at all?” you ask, standing and still catching your breath. Tia giggles a mousey little laugh.

“No, but it was funny,” Tia says. She shrugs and toys with her hair a bit. “Sorry, but that’s what we’re all about out here. Better get used to it.”

“Is that so?” you ask. You brush yourself off, finding minor dirt stains scattered across your robe, before turning back to Tia. She smiles sweetly back at you, showing off a more playful demeanor out with you alone in the sunlight. Her hair shimmers. Her cheeks beam smooth tones of pale, pink mist. She hops down from the log, her eyes still fixed on yours.

“Better get going again,” Tia says. “We have to be back by sundown.”

“Oh no, you’re not getting out of this that easily,” you say, steadily approaching her. Her smile widens.

“What?” Tia giggles.

“No, no, you know what you did.”

“What?” Tia asks.”I didn’t do—” Before she can finish speaking, Tia begins briskly running in the direction of your path. She giggles as she sprints as fast as her short legs can carry her. You chuckle and chase after her.

“Come back here!” you yell. You can hear Tiamalla’s giggles the entire time while chasing her through the forest.

“Nuh uh, you gotta catch me first!” Tia calls back. The young elf races over the forest brush. Her hair flows like her robe behind her. She leaps over fallen trees, landing gracefully atop her light, leather boots. She moves swiftly through the bushes, her delicate frame able to weave through tight spaces easily. You manage to keep up with her from speed alone, but her familiarity with the land and nimble figure leave her with an innate advantage in the chase.

“Don’t make me shock you!” you call out to her playfully. Tia giggles childishly as she runs. She effortlessly hurdles over thorny bushes and ducks below low-hanging tranches. Several times and roots reach out to grasp at the giggling girl, only to miss through her cherubic-like maneuvering. You try to keep up with her, at least, but still attempt to catch the playful elf girl. You laugh along with her. Endeared by such a side to your kind and knowledgeable mentor, you two enjoy the warm, soft weather of the day with a fun and friendly chase to lighten the mood.

“Hehe, still can’t catch me!” Tia shouts. She races through flowery brambles, shifting and reaching toward her as she passes. You find yourself on an easier, parallel path that allows you to steadily catch up to the small girl. You find an opening. You see where she’s going to end up. You dash to catch up, to put yourself in the right place to make a grab for the girl. Perhaps Tia is more concerned with taking the path most scenic for flowers. Or perhaps she’s setting you up for her own trap. Or maybe she even wants to be caught to end the game. Either way, you know what you must do. You race up to the converging spots for both your and Tia’s trajectories and lunge out to grab her.

“Got you!” you say. You grab leaves Tia tripping toward the ground. She stumbles over her feet. You find yourself also careening toward the dirt. You hold onto Tia’s wrist with one tight grab, pulling her in such a way to help cushion the blow of the ground. You both land hard, grunting against the unforgiving ground upon where your chase ends. Before you can adequately check to make sure Tia is okay, you can hear her giggling persist through the collision.

“Hehehe! Oh, that was fun,” Tia says. Still holding onto her, you examine the girl. Her clothes had been scuffed and dirtied up, just as much as you assume yours have. Her hair hoists a collection of sticks and leaves amongst a tangled mess. Her once clean and smooth complexion has been tainted with swears of dirt across her cheeks and nose. Nevertheless, Tia laughs. Her expression is still merry and youthful, wearing a charming smile shining brighter than any light out in the clear, clean day.

“Heh heh, yeah,” you say. “Just glad you’re alright.”

“My brothers and sisters and I used to play like this all the time,” Tia says. She sits up and raises a hand to wipe her hair back behind her ear. Tia gives a hearty, smiling sigh. “Ha, this was fun.”

“Heh, yeah,” you say. “Yeah it was. But I still caught you, so…” You plunge your hands deep into Tia’s small, slender pits. She squeals instantly, her arms retracting to bend and pinch at her sides.

“Nyeeeeeaaaaahhhahahahaha!! Oh naahahahahahaaooooo!” Tia shrieks into a fit of giggles. She falls back down against the dirt, squirming with the twigs and plumes surrounding her. Her knees buckle up defensively. Her fists clench into tight balls by her chin. Her cheeks and ears glow a flushed shade of pink as her light colored hair tangles more against the ground. You hover over the elf girl. You stay engaged with her ticklish senses, as protective over her in the forest as you are playfully toying with her natural, overwhelming ticklishness.

“What?” you ask teasingly. “I thought that’s what you’re all about here. Isn’t that what you said?” You laugh along with her squirming, giggling display. Your fingers dig and scratch into her delicate pits. You nails trace against the frail and supple dips beneath her arms, leaving Tia a laughing, wiggling mess in the dirt. She tries weakly to push back against you, but the joyful tone of her laughter emanates more willingness than you expect. She fights back, but only with aimless kicks and tapping her fists lightly against your chest. As you tickle and observe her reactions, you can tell her demeanor is far more focused on enduring the tickles than preventing them.

“Naaahahahahahaaaaa! I caaahhahahahan’t tahahahahaaaake it!!” Tia cries out. She squeaks and bucks beneath you. She twists side to side, tossing her head back and forth in the opposite directions. You continue to scribble your fingers into her pits. Your nails glide effortlessly across her bare skin, warm and slick with sweat. Tia’s voice echoes outward. Her laughter causes the trees around you to shift, seemingly to take notice. You smile and laugh along with her, enjoying her gentle, yet hysterical reactions.

“Aww, what’s the matter?” you ask. “Can’t take a little tickling yourself? Coochie coochie coo!” As her feet push against the dirt and kick into the air, you reel back and manage to catch one of Tia’s ankles. She giggles and turns over, trying to crawl back into another chase, but you hold her steady. You manage to capture the other ankle, wrapping both up in a tight hold beneath the crook of your arm. “Nuh uh, you’re not getting away that easy.”

“Naahahooo, we… we have to get back to the mission,” Tia says. She continues to smile and pant, taking the moment when the tickles stop to catch her breath.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” you say. You grab onto one of Tia’s boots with your free hand. You pull it off of her foot with little resistance on Tia’s part. Still, her bare toes curl as she tries to point her sole away from you.

“No!” Tia says, giggles betraying her objection. She squirms a little, but mostly looks back at you, staring over her caught feet.

“I’m not done with you yet,” you say. You pop off the other boot. You feel the warmth radiating from Tia’s petite, bare feet, freshly removed from their protection. They shield themselves shyly under your mischievous gaze. Tia clenches, her muscles contracting to brace for what’s to come. You smirk and hover your fingers over her blushing soles. With both feet trapped within your bent arm, you bring five scribbling fingers down onto one sole.

“Eeeeeeeekkkkhhehhehhahahahahahahaaaaa!!!” Tia wails with laughter almost instantly. Her body jerks into a hard spasm as the tickles rage through her senses up from her foot. Her toes curl, her feet shifting to try and block out the tickles, but you guide your fingers with precision, shifting from one sole to the other at will. Her legs kick and squirm in your hold, but you grip on tightly.

“You’re not getting off that easily,” you say, chuckling at Tia’s explosive reactions. Giggles pour from Tiamalla’s lips. She claws at the ground, raking up leaves in her fingers. Your own digits dance and scrape along the girl’s supple soles, each little swipe exploding more and more compounding tickles against her senses. Both soles are damp and silky soft against your fingertips. Skittering up and down her feet, from the heel to the base of her toes, happens with remarkable ease and cruel effect for her composure.

“Naaaahahahahahahaaaaa!!! Nahahahahaaat my feeheheheheheheeet!!” Tia squeals. Your hand follows the helpless flailing of her feet. Your nails skitter and scribble up and down her milky white arches. You switch from one foot to the other quickly, attacking whichever puts itself into the way of your hand. Tia squeaks with giggles. Her cheeks blush a brighter shade. The tips of her ears do the same, changing color to match her ticklish ordeal.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle,” you tease the girl. “Look at these cute little tootsies all for me to tickle…” You swipe at the girl’s heels, dance your fingers up and down her insteps, and gnaw your nails against the base of her toes. You come after her digits with a feathery light touch, yet one more than enough to get Tia howling with laughter.

“NAAAAHHHAHHAHHahahahahahahaaaaa!!! Nahahahahahahaaaaoooo toes!! Nahhahahat my toessshahahahahaaaa!!!” Tia shrieks. Her laughter carries out through the surrounding trees. Tears form in the corners of her eyes. She clenches at the dirt beneath her, her hair fraying and tangling more and more. Still, she continues to endure. Through her laughter, you can still hear the mirth beneath the desperation. You start to realize the beauty of the Featherlands. You tickle to bond and connect, to share intimate moments with those you consider close to you. Tia fights back to such a minimal degree that you know she’s letting you take the advantage of having her incredibly ticklish feet in your grasp. You humor her while indulging in your own fun by ravishing her tiny, bubbly toes with your fingers, sending Tiamalla into deeper and deeper ticklish hysteria.

“Ticklish girl got herself caught,” you taunt, pointing out her obvious, yet up-played helpless disposition. You count Tia’s toes on your fingers. You scratch in between and underneath each. Your nails scrape across each bubbly, pink pad. You laugh along with her squeaking cries. Tia bucks and thrashes in the dirt, her voice becoming more and more shrill as you tickle her feet.

“Staaaaaahhahahahahahahaappppp!!! I caahahahahahan’t tahahahaake it!!!” Tia cries. You give her feet another thorough, ticklish examination with her scribbling fingers. You leave all of both soles tingling with tickles by the time you’re finished. When you do end Tia’s ticklish torment, you pull away and gently lower her legs to the ground. You turn to see Tia still smiling and wheezing for air. You chuckle and come closer.

“Sorry about that,” you say. “You okay?” Tia tiredly nods. The smile stays on her lips. She huffs and strokes her hair out of her face.

"H-heh… y-yes…" Tia says. Her cheeks continue to glow a bright pink hue. You grin back at her.

"You sure?" you ask. "I didn't, like… over do it, did I?" Tia manages a soft laugh.

"Not at all…" she says. "That was… nice… Thank you."

"Heh, anytime," you say.

“Eeeehhehehehe….” a mild cackling echoes from the surrounding trees. You pull away from Tia to look around. You see nothing. You sit back, helping to get Tia’s boots back onto her feet.

“You hear that?” you ask.

“I heard something,” Tia says. She strokes her hair back behind her ear. Tia pauses to listen more. The sounds of crunching steps snap just beyond the surrounding bushes. Birds caw in the treetops above. You swallow and steady your wand-wielding hand.

“Anything good?” you ask.

“Probably not,” Tia says quietly. You stand and help pull Tia to her feet. She brushes the litter out of her hair and cloak, her large eyes diligently peering around you both in all directions. “We should probably head back. Let the others know. Then we can come back with…” Louder footsteps crunch toward you both from the dark brambles. A loud crash rustles the leaves behind you. You spin around, aiming your wand toward the noise, as more snickers echoes from the branches.

“Heeeheheheeheeee…”

“Whoever’s out there… stop playing around…” you say loudly. Nothing seems to answer back. You take a step toward the crash and steady your breath. “We don’t want any trouble.” You continue to slowly move toward the sound until you’re cut off by Tia's sudden shrieking. You spin around again to find your elf companion vanishing into the bush, being tugged violently out of sight. You race to help her, plunging your arm into the thicket. Tia screams your name, but her voice becomes more and more distant by the second. “Tia!”

“Tia, Tia,” a voice mocks your cry from the shrubbery. Others circle you in the shadows, only making themselves known by their insidious snickers. You point your wand to the one voice, still hidden in the bushes.

“Whoever this is,” you start with a serious, yet helplessly shaky, tone, “let her go.”

“Let ‘her’ go,” the voice taunts again. “As if it wouldn’t just be easier to let you go, but here you are playing the hero, like all humans try to do at first.” The voice was gnarly, yet smooth upon delivery. As you stare into the brush of the woods, a tall, gangly figure rises before you. It boasts a shocking slim figure, its facial features enlarged to cartoonish proportions. Its arms and legs are impossibly long, as are the fingers that seem to drag against the dirt. Its eyes and teeth share a shade of yellow. Its skin is dirty and yet it clothes itself with a sense of style crafted from discarded rags. You take a step back, still pointing your wand at the thing with one shaking hand.

“Wha…. what are you?” you ask. The creature lobs its leg toward you with an exaggerated gait, taking little effort to close the distance of several meters. It stands at twice your height. It smiles with an abnormally large grin.

“First time seeing Featherland trolls, human?” it says. “Oh, I’d love for you to show me what you can do with that little stick of yours there. Wouldn’t you all?” The troll raises his hands, seemingly summoning more to stand up from the trees and bushes around you. The snickers take full form in towering creatures, all leering back at you with their large, off-colored eyes. Their lanky frames lumber toward you, the volume of their steps emphasizing the ferocious size difference between them and you. You take another step back, trying to keep an eye on all of them.

“O-oh,” you manage to say after a while.

“Name’s Flauntroy,” says the troll that had greeted you. “And usually, by now, you’d already be strung up in our little laughing farm. I mean, can’t waste the opportunity when a human comes stumbling in, right?” The others laugh booming, deep belly laughs. You chuckle along with them, sweat trickling down the side of your face.

“Heh, y-yeah,” you say. “I g-guess that makes you smarter than me, huh?”

“Oh hoh, I like this one!” Flauntroy announces with a hearty guffaw. “I like this one already. It brought us a sweet little thing back there just now. An elf girl, of all things. Nice and young and pretty. We can make good use of her on the farm.”

“Tia?” you ask softly. “Wh-what have you done with her?”

“Now, now, before you go off getting all ‘gung ho’ with the hero complex, human, let me just explain,” Flauntroy says. “Elves give us trolls a lot of grief, alright? All we do is simple living like simple folk. Elves have this superiority about them that I’m sure you’ve seen. Obnoxious, right? Imagine trying to make a home next to that. Constantly being pushed out of camps by these little things that think they own the whole forest. There’s more than enough resources within for everyone to live in peace, but they keep hunting us out.”

“They said you’ve been tracking them,” you say. “Taking them when they wander too far.”

“Trolls that wind up on elf land get the same treatment,” Flauntroy says. “Aye, but you haven’t heard that side, have ye? The only difference is what’s ‘elf’ land keeps expanding, pushing trolls out of their own homes and camps until we’re backed into the creeks and swamps where they don’t want to be anyway. We’re tired of being pushed around, human. It’s sick.”

“So, what?” you ask. “You take elves for your ‘farm’; because you feel like you’re in the right to do so?”

“Trolls need nutrients too,” Flauntroy says. “And their laughter is clean and pure. Plus collateral. We use them to maybe keep Elves from pushing us back more. We figured we can do good with that elf girl you brought us.”

“Well, I’m taking her back right now,” you say. “No matter how many of you I have to get through to do it.” A thunderous explosion of laughter booms through the forest. You look around to all of the trolls buckled over, holding their ribs and slapping their knees as they chuckle.

“Whoa, you mustn’t not have heard what I just said,” Flauntroy says, gathering his own composure from his laughing fit. “You’d be one of them right now had you not brought that one to us.”

“I didn’t bring her here for you,” you say.

“Maybe not intentionally, but who’s to say that can’t be the arrangement starting now?” Flauntroy asks. He walks around you, coming closer as he speaks. “You see, we repay you right now by letting you go, hoping that in doing so we can come to an agreement of our own.”

“An agreement?” you ask.

“You clearly have an in with the elves, human,” Flauntroy continues. “You don’t know how much power you wield with just that. You may still not know much about the Featherlands, but many tribes would pay handsomely for that kind of cooperation, us included. For you see, you can come work for us.” Your eyes squint. You back away, recoiling at the proposition.

“Work for you?” you ask. “Why would I do that?”

“Well, one, because we’re letting you go when, and I cannot emphasize this enough, we really don’t have to,” Flauntroy says. “See? We’re not the monsters the elves probably made us out to be. We can be civil. We just want to live in peace. Two, I can assure you that those elves don’t appreciate you. They may act like they do, but elves are far too uppity to truly welcome any kind that isn’t their own. No matter what, they’ll always look down on you. They’ll use you. And when you’re no longer useful to them, they’ll abandon you. If you’re consistently good to them, maybe they’ll just abandon you on some foothills somewhere. The ones that catch on go straight into their farms, and don’t think they don’t have force farms of their own. That’s how elves work.”

“Force farms?” you ask.

“Featherlanders need tickling to survive, human,” Flauntroy explains, “but sometimes, it’s not enough to get it from our own cooperation. Sometimes your supplies run dry and times get a little more… desperate. Force farms take those ticklish nutrients from anyone, willing or not.”

”And that’s what you’ll do with Tia?” you ask angrily.

“Oh, the elf girl is probably already hooked up by now, right next to a station that would fit you right nicely,” Flauntroy says. He lays a massive hand on your shoulder, bending down to get a better view. You look at him straight in his bulbous, yellow eyes. “I’m saying, forget all of that. Bring more elves our way. We’ll teach you the ways of the Featherlands, how to defend yourself, magic that these elves know nothing about. Stick with us, bring more elves this way, have all the fun you want with them, and with your help, we can get our land back.” You pause and swallow. You look around at all of the other trolls standing around you. Their faces are no longer grinning, but rather downcast and somber. In that moment, you hear another sudden explosion of laughter coming from the distance. Tia’s shrill voice echoes through the trees, tired yet radiating forced, hysterical energy. You can hear the tears in her laughing cries and desperate pleas.

“GAAAAAAAHHAHHAHAHHAHAHHA!!!! STAHAHAHAHHAHAHAPPPP!!!” Tia laughs in the distance. You look toward the voice.

“Tia!” you say. You start to jolt off in that direction, but Flauntroy’s strong hand on your shoulder squeezes hard, grounding you in place.

“What’s it going to be, human?” Flauntroy asks. “You gonna help us or what?”