The witch's cottage

Khelgrath weighed her options carefully, the distant yelps still echoing through the marsh serving as an ominous reminder of the untold perils lurking within. Ultimately, the promise of even temporary respite from the oppressive swamp won out over her reservations. Cautiously, Khelgrath approached the cottage, her hand resting on the hilt of her blade. Just as she reached for the door, it swung open of its own accord, revealing a slight, youthful figure. A young witch, swathed in ragged robes, emerged from the shadows, her emerald hair framing a cherubic face marked with ceremonial lines of paint. Despite her small stature, there was an air of ancient wisdom about her, tempered by a shy curiosity as she regarded the imposing half-orc.

"Welcome to my humble home, traveler," the witch said softly, her voice carrying a resonant power that belied her delicate appearance. "You've found one of the few sanctuaries in this treacherous marsh. Please, enter."

Though still wary, the half-orc assented with a curt nod, ducking to pass through the cottage's low entranceway. The cottage was modest, filled with the scent of herbs and the soft glow of candles.

"I am Cleo, caretaker of this sanctuary," the young witch introduced herself, seeming to draw courage from Khelgrath's piqued interest.

As she straightened within the modestly appointed dwelling, Cleo's gaze fell upon Khelgrath's sodden boots and soaked socks.

"Oh, you must be chilled to the bone," the verdant-haired witch tutted, beckoning with a delicate hand. "Here, let me take those from you. It won't do to track marsh water through my home."

Khelgrath hesitated a moment before relenting, peeling off her damp footwear to reveal her large, but shapely feet. It was then she noticed Cleo's own petit feet were bare, the soles looked surprisingly soft and unblemished despite dwelling in this treacherous bog.

"You invite strangers into your home freely?" Khelgrath asked, her voice gruff with suspicion. "Even fearsome half-orcs like myself? That seems... unwise."

The witch smiled, a slight, knowing curve of her lips. "I appreciate your concern, but I have taken precautions. This cottage is warded against those who would bring me harm. You, however, are a traveler in need of sanctuary."

With a casual gesture, the witch wiggled her toes, summoning a shimmering magical sigil that encircled Khelgrath's feet before fading away. "See? You mean me no ill intent. Now, make yourself comfortable while I prepare something refreshing to drink."

Khelgrath watched as the witch disappeared into the depths of the cottage, her mind racing with questions about this enigmatic figure. When the witch returned, she carried a jug of chilled, pale green liquid and simple cups. The drink's crisp aroma filled the room as she poured a glass for Khelgrath.

"Here, try this," the witch offered. "It's a blend of mint and fruit, perfect for cooling off after a long journey through the marsh."

Khelgrath accepted the drink with a grunt, settling cross-legged on the floor in typical orcish fashion. The witch seemed unperturbed by her rough demeanor, instead seating herself nearby and regarding the half-orc with open curiosity.

"So, my formidable guest," the witch began, her tone light and melodic, "I'd very much like to learn about the traveler who has found their way to my door. Who are you, where do you come from, and what brings you to these perilous marshes? Please leave out no details."

"I am Khelgrath, a clanless half-orc," she began. "I seek solace beyond the reach of those who tormented me, both orc and human alike. My path leads ever southward, away from the orc hordes that made my life a living hell."

Khelgrath studied the witch over the rim of her cup, her gaze intense and searching. Despite the horrors she had endured, this young witch showed no sign of fear or pity, only a genuine interest in her story. With a sigh, the half-orc continued to speak, her voice gravelly and worn. She recounted the tale of her brutal upbringing and her escape into the wilderness, Cleo listened with rapt attention, her eyes never leaving the half-orc's face. The grim tales were told of her brutal upbringing among the orcs, she did so without holding back the more disturbing details. The young witch's fascination was clear, though she gave no indication of judgment or shock. Instead, she nodded for Khel to continue. The half-orc spoke in a steady, gravelly voice, recounting how the chieftain's wife delighted in tormenting her with cruel, relentless tickling, a form of **** that left deep scars on her spirit. Though the memories still stirred echoes of humiliation and anger, they had long been buried beneath the armor of her resilience, hardened by years of survival.

Cleo listened with wide-eyed fascination, her expression open and unflinching despite the horrific nature of Khelgrath's experiences. Her delicate features were a picture of innocent curiosity, as though the horrors Khelgrath described were merely fascinating stories rather than real events.

When Khelgrath paused, lost in the shadows of her past, Cleo interjected with an almost childlike inquisitiveness. "So, this 'tickling' was used as a form of ****?" she asked. "I must confess, I've never understood why something that causes laughter and smiles could be so feared."

A flush of embarrassment tinged Khel's greenish cheeks as she tried to maintain her usual tough demeanor. "For someone as ticklish as me," she admitted, her voice gruff, "being bound and unable to escape that torment is unbearable."

Cleo's gaze was touched with that unquenchable curiosity. "I see..."

Before Khel could respond, Cleo moved with surprising swiftness, her slender fingers brushing teasingly against the rough soles of Khel's feet. The unexpected sensation sent a jolt through the half-orc, and she yanked her feet back with a strangled yelp, glaring at the witch in warning. But Cleo had already withdrawn her hand, her head tilted in curiosity as she studied Khel, seemingly oblivious to the warrior's irritation.

"I can see now why such focused attention would be a form of torment for one with such sensitive soles." Her emerald eyes drifted down to study Khelgrath's feet with a mixture of wonder and scholarly interest. "Though I must marvel - they are easily as large as my whole forearm! and, surprisingly, soft for someone who's traveled as much as you have." She glanced down at her own small, delicate feet, then placed one beside Khelgrath's. The contrast was stark, and Cleo couldn't help but giggle. "Look at how tiny mine are compared to yours!"

Khelgrath's annoyance simmered beneath the surface, but Cleo's innocent amusement and guileless nature made it difficult to stay angry. The witch's seemingly capricious behavior and relentless curiosity were more irritating than malicious, and despite herself, Khelgrath found it hard to completely dismiss Cleo's sincerity.

Cleo, undeterred by Khelgrath's gruff demeanor, continued her questioning, her eyes shining with eager interest. "So, where else are you ticklish? Is it just your feet, or are there other places that torment you in the same way?"

Khelgrath hesitated, her pride warring with her desire to avoid the topic. But Cleo's earnest expression made it clear she was asking out of pure curiosity, not malice. "My armpits," Khel admitted begrudgingly. "Once they stripped, they discovered that was another spot that caused... considerable distress."

Cleo's face lit up with delighted understanding, though she quickly tried to mask her excitement. "I see, I see... And did they tickle you lots there? They must have been quite thorough."

A fresh wave of discomfort washed over Khel, her thick neck flushing with the memory of those humiliations. "Enough of that," Khelgrath rumbled, hoping to shift the conversation. "Unless you had other questions in mind?"

Cleo considered for a moment, then, with a curious tilt of her head, she ventured into more personal territory. "Well, if you don't mind me asking... have you ever had a lover, Khel?"

Khelgrath stared at Cleo, incredulous. "Do you really think someone like me, with my past, has had time for things like love?" Her voice was rough, but there was a hint of something softer beneath the surface, perhaps a sadness Cleo couldn't fully understand. "Your naivete is... immense."

Cleo's features contorted into an expression of contrition.

"You'll have to forgive me, I'm afraid my curiosities often gallop ahead of social decorum," the emerald-tressed witch said with a rueful smile. "I did not mean to pry into such deeply personal matters. My knowledge of your people's ways is...admittedly lacking in nuance." Khel wondered what she meant by "your people".

Cleo placed a gentle hand on Khelgrath's arm, her touch light and sincere. "Please, stay the night here. Rest. The marsh is dangerous, and you could use some safety after everything you've been through."

Khelgrath’s gaze flicked to the darkening swamp outside the window. The witch’s strange behavior and this odd place still left her wary, but she could sense no deceit in Cleo’s offer. The night outside promised unknown dangers, while Cleo’s cottage, strange as it was, offered warmth and a chance to rest.

"You've cast some kind of spell over this place, haven’t you?" Khelgrath asked, her voice low, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "It’s not natural for someone like you to survive out here alone."

Cleo laughed softly, her voice as melodic as the wind chimes hanging outside. "Yes, I’ve woven a few spells to protect this place. But I promise, you’re safe here. Stay the night, and I’ll help you find a safe path through the marsh come morning."

Khel nodded slowly, her wariness easing but not entirely gone. Whatever magic Cleo had used to create this sanctuary, it seemed genuine. And though Khel still wasn’t sure she fully trusted the witch, the prospect of facing the night’s dangers alone was far less appealing than the warmth and safety of Cleo’s cottage. Though staying likely meant facing more of Cleo's probing curiosity.