02-06-2024, 05:55 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-06-2024, 06:34 PM by xenosthelegend. Edited 1 time in total.)
Hells.
How did I get here?
That Astral portal Lae’zel opened must not have been as stable as we thought. Strange, that I’ve ended up here of all places?
No doubt Gale is already actively working on a solution to get me back…
Seeking to gain the lay of the land for a moment, Jonathan summons his magic to cast ‘misty step’ and jump to a higher position, to gain a better idea of his surroundings. With a pull upon the magical strands that bind all life together, he expects to feel himself shooting through the ethereal plane temporarily to reappear on the other side, at a much more elevated locale.
However, this does not happen, and his magic fizzles out without hardly any fanfare. Trying in vain to summon so much as a cantrip, the cleric dismisses the thought, looking around much more exposed than before. He did not see anyone yet, though that likely would not last for long. He needed to find a safe place to get his bearings, to understand what was happening.
No magic? Even my items are dead, like there is some…permanent magical drain upon this land. Looks like we’re doing things the old-fashioned way…
Stepping near to the building before him, Jonathan inspects the placard above the door, ornately carved with an etching of a skull shrouded in a black cloak.
The Yellowknife Wraiths…hmm. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and, well, in it. Perhaps the people inside can help me?
Jonathan throws open the door, and steps inside, the glare of the light from inside blinding him for a moment as his eyes blink to adjust, taking in what is seemingly a sports field and practice space, perhaps for a team.
Wandering the halls as Jonathan searches for someone with which to speak for direction, he finds himself staring at a display case filled with all manner of memento and decorum, trophies of various note placed within for anyone walking the halls to see. Hearing footsteps from a nearby locker room, Jonathan swivels on his heel, the first person he has seen since coming to this place, now perhaps with some reason to it.
“Hey, you get lost? I’m pretty sure that PAX is at the convention center…”
Not knowing or really caring what a ‘PAX’ was, or what a ‘convention center’ was truly for either, Jonathan still found himself to be very strangely dressed in comparison to the person before him. In his chain mail armor, he looked starkly out of place in comparison to the…
Wait.
Responding in the only way he knew how, Jonathan questioned the individual.
“Are you…some strange form of halfling, or a child?”
Without another word, the child merely reached into a fanny pack at his hip, producing a bag of fruit snacks, handing it to Jonathan.
“I’m a friend!”
As the small child continued on down the corridor, he waved for Jonathan to follow. Continuing through these locker rooms, they arrived at an open indoor field, a figure at the far end of the pitch braced to run. In a flash, she was quickly to the other side. With small sparkles of lightning seemingly coming out of her feet, and a similar blazing lightning crackling in Jonathan’s eyes, he had found his new calling in this world, at least for the moment, until Gale was able to get him back.
Staring, and completely oblivious, Jonathan heard a sharp snapping sound below him, to see the child urging him on.
“If you’re going to stare at Silence then you had best get in line. It seems a lot of people are interested in the church of speed this year…”
Church of Speed? What in all the planes?
Though I suppose Lathander’s Light has given way to powerfully fast entities before…
“You’ll probably want the DSFL locker rooms, I think.”
Snapping out of his momentary fantasy, Jonathan addressed his attention to the child again with a perplexed look.
DSFL? Locker Rooms? Surely this was a strange place, to be sure.
“If the DSFL is where you think I might go to find my way back to my home plane, then I suppose I shall head there.”
The child, confused but altogether unphased by the cleric standing before him, turns to walk into the head office. Sitting down at the desk, booster seat beneath him and feet up on the counter, he waves his hand to a bulletin board with a list of names on a roster; a draft.
“Well, there isn’t a lot left of this season for the DSFL, from what I understand. But, from here, of course, you’ll certainly be able to go and join the tail end of the season, participate in the prospect bowl, and eventually you’ll be drafted for your first official run!”
Jonathan, still a bit unsure what he was getting into, steps into the room, sitting down in a chair. His suit of armor clinks uncomfortably in the leather chair in which he is seated, as he begins.
“I’m sorry, I’m still not quite sure…you say the DSFL? The…Church of Speed? What is all of this? Perhaps these are dumb questions to be asking, but I’m hardly from here, as you could…likely tell.”
The child nods to Jonathan, opening the drawer of the desk before him to retrieve a small packet, as well as a smaller envelope with several leaflets of paper contained within that Jonathan knew as the tell-tale signs of a sum of money, his eyes growing wide.
“The packet should be enough to give you the general idea of what I mean, as well as some of the more confusing bits that I couldn’t explain to you in hours, but I do think there is definitely a team somewhere that could use you as a wide receiver. You mentioned wanting to pursue speed so that seems like the logical choice for you.”
Standing from the desk, grabbing a key from off a hook, the boy waves him out back into the hall for a moment. As they continue down the hall, they come to a large area of showers and lockers. The child drags a stool in front of a large set of metal cabinets, placing the key into the lock of one of them, pulling it open to reveal an array of football equipment, padding, and helmets.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to look through what we have in store, feel free to get set up with padding and cleats that will fit for you and I’ll come check back in to get you sent somewhere that’ll be able to help you get acclimated.”
The child pulls a sippy cup from his belt that Jonathan was certain hadn’t been there before, placing the cup in both of his hands, tipping it sharply upward to take a sip, before walking out of the room. Turning once more to look back at Jonathan, the child points to the abhorrently muddy boots that adorned the cleric.
“Oh, by the way; Lose the shoes. Those boots look like they’ve seen everything.”
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Gently and carefully bending and stretching the toe of his cleats to break them in, he slips them onto his feet, wrapping the laces once around the heel before bringing them together tight, standing with a spring to his step, far more agile without the bulk of his usual chain mail. Carefully painting the symbol of Lathander’s Light, emblazoned upon his right shoulder pad, he whispers a silent prayer to the Morninglord and to Mystra, that she might guide Gale to bring him home from here.
However, for now, Jonathan would act the part.
Picking up the packet and envelope given to him earlier, Jonathan’s eyes grew wide as he fingered open the slip of paper, containing a rather sizable sum of cash. With a bemused and somewhat shocked smile, Jonathan nods, setting it aside in his pack before picking up the larger packet of papers. Inside contained vast pieces of information about things related to this place. Information about the way the game was played, the current roster of players across each team, the teams and their GMs, and a helpful Getting Started guide written by someone known only as Triceracop. He hungrily absorbs as much as he can, carefully reading each section to understand and comprehend what he was doing.
Coming up from the documents for air, Jonathan sees the child from before, shoulder leaned against the door frame, patiently waiting.
“I take it we’re heading out now then?”
With a curt nod and a smile, he leads Jonathan out of the locker rooms and on to his future, in the ISFL.
Well, all’s well that ends…not as bad as it could have…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Stepping off the bus, an emblazoned image of a pirate glowing in green is seen on the front of this building, with the alliterated words Bondi Beach Buccaneers just above it. The bus pulls away from the front stoop, and Jonathan has fully committed to his next step forward.
Throwing open the door, Jonathan heads in, the glaring light blinding him for just a second. A bright ship light obscures his vision as a deep voice booms into the space before him.
“Halt! State your purpose!”
As the figure steps into view, Jonathan sees the frame of a…for what he can make out to be a dragonborn of some certain intriguing subrace…
“I- I was…told I was picked up by the Buccaneers for the final week of the current season?”
As the blinding lamp flicks off and the normal lighting in this space comes on, Jonathan sees the others in this room come into view, various interesting characters examining the man before them. The figure, now more clearly seen wearing a semblance of a policeman’s uniform, stows away a weapon at his hip, extending his hand.
“Well, you should’ve just said! Irons, right? Triceracop! Welcome!”
Looking sheepishly to the defensive display behind him, the man chuckles nervously, flashing Jonathan an apologetic look as he examines his equipment, then the pack over his shoulder.
“We had heard there was a new receiver coming down to us from Yellowknife, I hadn’t thought you’d be here today…welcome in! We may not be able to do much with you here before the end of the season, but we can definitely get you some preliminary game time. If that sounds good for you, then I’ll show you where you’ll be crashing for the time being!”
With a look of shock and confusion, Jonathan raises an eyebrow as he points a finger matter-of-factly in the dragonborn’s direction, smiling slyly for a moment.
“It’s you.”
With a similar look of shock and confusion from Triceracop, the policeman chuckles nervously back at Jonathan, looking around to try and make sense of the remark.
“Yes, it’s- uhh, me? Triceracop?”
With a start, Jonathan raises a hand in pause for just a moment, before swiveling his pack around to reach inside, struggling desperately to find what he was looking for, retrieving the Getting Started guide at last.
I wish I had a bag of holding…
“It’s you. From the guide. I must say, I imagine I might have some edits if you’d be interested to write version two, but it was influential to help me understand what in all the hells I’m doing here.
Chuckling at the display in front of him, and finally nodding in understanding, Triceracop smiles at Jonathan, gesturing vaguely in his direction.
“Oh yeah, that old thing…I had no idea any of the GMs kept a copy around! Many of my peers labeled it as incredibly basic, claiming that its cardinal inefficiency is that it assumes you know nothing about football or the league, but it certainly seems to have helped you!”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Decorated and furnished thematically to the bunkrooms of a pirate ship, the loft area of the Bondi Beach locker rooms were just the place for someone to experience a taste of life on the high seas. With various hammocks slung from each and every possible post, craft-worked sections of space for various purposes in each and every square foot of this floor, you could almost feel the ocean rocking beneath your feet.
Walking down the corridor, the cleric notices a rather finely-dressed gentleman fiddling with a strange electronic device of some sort that seems to be whirring away with noise, a blue light emitting from the very end. His brow furrowed in concentration, an ornery Scottish accent bleats from his mouth in frustration. Moving on, he sees another character, seemingly absorbing all natural light around it, an eldritch mumbling uttering from somewhere in the floorboards. As Jonathan spies the words ‘Local Cryptid’ scrawled in ornate text on the beam above his bunk, the creature waves him past. Finally coming to his own bunk, Jonathan throws himself desperately into his hammock, unaware of just what awaited him in these coming weeks.
In the morning, he arose with the rest of the team, heading out to breakfast. Arriving at the cafeteria, expecting a somewhat spartan intake of calories before morning’s exercise, the cleric was surprised to find quite the opposite awaiting him within. A laid-back, carefully crafted and delicious morning meal awaited them, and Jonathan found his stomach turning over within itself in hunger.
He had hardly eaten anything since the fruit snacks.
The people back home are never gonna believe this.
Joining the table, Jonathan quickly eats his fill with the team, various members taking a moment to come over and greet him, give their official welcome or offer general pointers. With polite smiles and gratitude to each of them, the cleric finished up his meal along with the rest, then headed out for the pitch.
Arriving to the field with the rest of the team, Jonathan practices tirelessly, eventually finding himself using muscles, reactions, and leg kinetics that he had not accessed in quite this way, falling short of the steam necessary to keep going indefinitely, struggling to maintain a semblance of coherence, sweating profusely and breathing heavily throughout the entire practice.
Doubled over, exhausted, quite ready to give up entirely already, the cleric summoned all singular mental fortitude and power he had within him, and pressed on, enduring.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Touchdown! Jonathan Irons with a short pass into the end zone!”
In a flair of performance, something he had already planned for such an ocassion at the behest of his other offensive teammates, he enacts his touchdown signature, the Lightning Bolt, reaching up into the heavens to pantomime a lightning bolt being struck against the ground, the ball acting as the point of said lightning bolt, before setting it aside and walking off to reset for the next play.
My first game, my first touchdown…I hope the gods are watching me…
With the game coming to a close, Jonathan hobbles off of the field, far more running and bursts of speed than he was used to as he wearily collapses into a heap, but they had won. With an incredible excitement that felt alive within the locker rooms, several of the others clapped him on the shoulder in congratulation, a victory well fought and a profound way to end the season.
With everyone relaxing into the off-season now that the final game was done for the time being, Jonathan joined in on the festivities, various team members exchanging a kind word with him, even more still laughing with him and making him feel welcomed.
As the powerful sound of roaring laughter filled the practice space, Jonathan looked around to the faces, new and old, who made this place feel like a home for the short time he was with them with a soft smile, closing his eyes for a moment.
A kinder folk I can’t say I’ve met…and this party? Never a dull moment…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Over the next several weeks, various strange and interesting people approached him with lines of questioning, Triceracop being the first. He inquired after Jonathan’s intentions for the league, what his personal goals were and whether he were interested to play any other positions.
Jonathan had expected this question…the child from before had warned him many would be curious to know, and he was right.
Several others blurred together, each and every person interested in the very thing that made Jonathan so powerfully fast in games, and what had enabled him to run the touchdown he had; speed. With various teams interested to land a premier outstart with good abilities but also wisdom to be able to pick his placements well, he found himself quickly swarmed by team pamphlets from every manager in the league. While the cleric did not currently possess the endurance to manifest longer stretches of blisteringly fast movement, he had a capacity to harness the latent energies of his lightning magic into finite bolts of electricity, like tiny motors strapped to his heels, and that was interesting.
Soon after, Jonathan heard word from a few of the teams about their vested interest in him for their teams, and waited patiently for the day he’d be drafted by a team. Within this scouting, there was an opportunity for the cleric’s own discernment, an opportunity to make sense of the teams and their motivations.
Triceracop himself was obviously going to be thrilled to have him return to the team, but for far more important reasons than just his own proficiency on the field. The place had been a home for him, a temporary solace in an otherwise weird and confusing land. Others, a certain representative from Portland, seemed quite interested to see what chances there might be to pick him up as well. Further still, a representative for Tijuana comes to him in the dead of night with a greater zeal for the team than those of the Absolute’s followers.
Lying alone in a room of his own somewhere, Jonathan stares up at the ceiling with his hands clasped; In between locker rooms, in between teams. Something that Triceracop had said is called ‘Free Agency’ in the normal season. An independent player, working with teams that need his skills. His mind, his thoughts drifted to Gale, and where he was somewhere in the planes. A sound, almost like a microphone being tapped for inspection, comes through his mind as a flash of smoke appears and a strained image of Gale appears in the center.
“Hello! Is this thing - Hello? Jonathan? I think I’ve got this blasted thing working…are you quite alright? You look- healthy - well, I suppose anything is healthier than being infected with a mind flayer tadpole…if you happen to find a way back to Faerun, then wonderful, but we’ll keep working earnestly here to find you a way back!”
With a curt smile and a nod, Jonathan chuckled at the wizard, bushy cheeks obscured with hair from the comfort beard he’d grown since their fight with the Netherbrain.
“I’m glad you were able to find a way to even get magic into this place…there seems to be some anti-magic field, like a beholder of some sort. Still…it is good to hear from you. I’ll be alright…I have…actually made some rather kind friends. You’d like them.”
Exchanging a few more kind words, the wizard’s apparition dissipates, leaving the cleric alone in the room yet again. In the quiet of this space, it seemed…profoundly lonely. He had been surprised how much he had missed his friends from back home.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Standing before a ‘Television’ the man had called it, Jonathan watched as what appeared like a major image flashed before him, projecting a live stream of the draft as it was happening. With his fellow Bondi rookie McDripsen having been drafted back to the team, Jonathan quietly hoped that he would be picked up by them again for this season as well.
As he feverishly chewed and gnawed at his nails, anxiety towards the situation soaring, Jonathan’s eyebrow raises as they begin to discuss Portland’s next pick.
“In the DSFL Draft, for Pick thirty-seven, Portland selects…”
With a deep breath, a wave of unease flashes over the cleric as the next words come out of the Manager’s mouth.
“Jonathan Irons! Wide Receiver, Personally this is my favorite player in the draft right from the start, I can’t believe he fell this far in the draft but I am so glad. The Dictionary defines Steel as ‘a commercial metal that contains carbon in any amount of about 1.6 percent for the purposes of alloying, and is malleable under certain conditions.’ With those ideal conditions, and some skill, we’ve got ourselves a draft steel.”
With the glowing review from the manager, Jonathan’s eyebrow raised slightly, a small smile coming to his lips.
He had known his was a name that various teams had been interested in, early practice tests had shown him to be reasonably adept as a receiver, but for the most part he assumed that his purpose was to play a part, not to be a participant in the show.
Hmm. Perhaps I shall yet shine with the Morninglord’s Radiance…
With a curt nod and a smirk, Jonathan accepted his new path to the future, and began preparations to depart for the Portland Pythons Locker Room.
Swift as my feet can carry me…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Remember what I told you! Drive hard! Trust the cleats and lean in, move!”
Ripping up sod beneath his toes, Jonathan runs blisteringly fast across the field, eyes back to search for the football the GM had launched in his direction. Moving accordingly, Jonathan times it right to position himself so as to be right in the path of the ball, catching it and carrying his momentum forward into the end zone.
Clapping from the sidelines, Thor smiles, nodding as he jogs up to the end zone. He is enthusiastically charging forth with an encouraging fist pump, a water bottle already in hand.
Dripping with sweat, Jonathan gratefully receives the water bottle, hand on his hip as he drinks desperately.
“Gods…I’ve never run so hard before in my life…this form of activity uses all measure of muscle and sinew I have not accessed in a very long time...”
The man laughs, waving his hand dismissively with a goofy smile.
“Noo, don’t sweat it. You just need to get that endurance up, keep running your drills and you’ll be able to stretch your breath out longer. Don’t be too hard on yourself though! Be patient with yourself and your body. You’d be much better off for us rested and capable on the field rather than injured and waiting in the locker rooms for the rest of the season.”
With a nod, the cleric agrees, smiling softly as he groans, shaking out his legs for a moment before falling into a crouch, stretching his calves and thighs. After a large sigh, he stands, walking off the field with Thor.
At Least Things Have Stayed Interesting…
As Jonathan walks into the locker rooms, a rather enthusiastic golden retriever sits on a bench, looking expectantly at the cleric as he goes past. With a gentle rustling of the golden’s head, Jonathan chuckles, before opening his locker to stuff a few things inside.
“Hello, Brad…how did you do today?”
With a dog-like chuckle and a bright, goofy smile from the golden, he waggles his head, shaking loose a few stray hairs.
“With the exception of a few stray throws I did pretty well! Coach says you and I are going to be the main receivers! That’s exciting!”
With a nod and a smile, Jonathan agrees, though he hides a bit of unease in his own body language. While their perseverance thus far had brought them to task nicely, no matter how Jonathan tried, he could not seem to make pace like he needed to keep up. He had worries, but none of them were unfounded just yet. Their first pre-season game hadn’t gone poorly, but there was still a whole season ahead of them.
"Maybe so, Brad, maybe so...only time shall tell, I suppose..."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Swearing under his breath, muttering all manner of profanity and expletives, Jonathan sits on the bench, yanking off his cleats and throwing them to the side. Their loss, pitiful and disappointing, had seen Jonathan miss more throws than he caught, and had seen the opponent’s star receiver sprint effortlessly away from the cleric.
Wide Receiver indeed…Why did I ask to live in such interesting times?
Coming into the locker room after him, the ever-elusive Bamford had found his way into the same area, sitting down on the bench close by. Quietly, the two of them sat there, not saying a word. After a time, the manager broke the silence.
“The purpose of all of us here at the ISFL is not to keep track of numbers, or try to aim for a competitive showdown that everyone watches and is interested in…and I’ll tell you this; You’ve got a lot more potential than most receivers in the league at your point, and you’ve only had the one game. Train, keep working at it, and watch what happens. But you’ve got to promise me you’re going to actually train, actually fight to make this work.”
Jonathan looks over, expecting to see a sullen and annoyed look on the manager’s face, but he is beaming with a smile. With a nervous chuckle, Jonathan rubs the back of his head for a moment, clearing away some residual sweat.
“If you think it can be done…I shall believe it can be done…”
With a smile and a nod, Jonathan thanks Bamford for the kind words, and makes his way for his quarters, collapsing into bed once more, an almost daily routine for him.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
The rest of Jonathan’s story in the DSFL has yet to be told, but you will be an integral part of it. As he writes his legacy into these halls, blink and you’ll miss him, because he just might run right past you.
How did I get here?
That Astral portal Lae’zel opened must not have been as stable as we thought. Strange, that I’ve ended up here of all places?
No doubt Gale is already actively working on a solution to get me back…
Seeking to gain the lay of the land for a moment, Jonathan summons his magic to cast ‘misty step’ and jump to a higher position, to gain a better idea of his surroundings. With a pull upon the magical strands that bind all life together, he expects to feel himself shooting through the ethereal plane temporarily to reappear on the other side, at a much more elevated locale.
However, this does not happen, and his magic fizzles out without hardly any fanfare. Trying in vain to summon so much as a cantrip, the cleric dismisses the thought, looking around much more exposed than before. He did not see anyone yet, though that likely would not last for long. He needed to find a safe place to get his bearings, to understand what was happening.
No magic? Even my items are dead, like there is some…permanent magical drain upon this land. Looks like we’re doing things the old-fashioned way…
Stepping near to the building before him, Jonathan inspects the placard above the door, ornately carved with an etching of a skull shrouded in a black cloak.
The Yellowknife Wraiths…hmm. I’ve got a lot on my mind, and, well, in it. Perhaps the people inside can help me?
Jonathan throws open the door, and steps inside, the glare of the light from inside blinding him for a moment as his eyes blink to adjust, taking in what is seemingly a sports field and practice space, perhaps for a team.
Wandering the halls as Jonathan searches for someone with which to speak for direction, he finds himself staring at a display case filled with all manner of memento and decorum, trophies of various note placed within for anyone walking the halls to see. Hearing footsteps from a nearby locker room, Jonathan swivels on his heel, the first person he has seen since coming to this place, now perhaps with some reason to it.
“Hey, you get lost? I’m pretty sure that PAX is at the convention center…”
Not knowing or really caring what a ‘PAX’ was, or what a ‘convention center’ was truly for either, Jonathan still found himself to be very strangely dressed in comparison to the person before him. In his chain mail armor, he looked starkly out of place in comparison to the…
Wait.
Responding in the only way he knew how, Jonathan questioned the individual.
“Are you…some strange form of halfling, or a child?”
Without another word, the child merely reached into a fanny pack at his hip, producing a bag of fruit snacks, handing it to Jonathan.
“I’m a friend!”
As the small child continued on down the corridor, he waved for Jonathan to follow. Continuing through these locker rooms, they arrived at an open indoor field, a figure at the far end of the pitch braced to run. In a flash, she was quickly to the other side. With small sparkles of lightning seemingly coming out of her feet, and a similar blazing lightning crackling in Jonathan’s eyes, he had found his new calling in this world, at least for the moment, until Gale was able to get him back.
Staring, and completely oblivious, Jonathan heard a sharp snapping sound below him, to see the child urging him on.
“If you’re going to stare at Silence then you had best get in line. It seems a lot of people are interested in the church of speed this year…”
Church of Speed? What in all the planes?
Though I suppose Lathander’s Light has given way to powerfully fast entities before…
“You’ll probably want the DSFL locker rooms, I think.”
Snapping out of his momentary fantasy, Jonathan addressed his attention to the child again with a perplexed look.
DSFL? Locker Rooms? Surely this was a strange place, to be sure.
“If the DSFL is where you think I might go to find my way back to my home plane, then I suppose I shall head there.”
The child, confused but altogether unphased by the cleric standing before him, turns to walk into the head office. Sitting down at the desk, booster seat beneath him and feet up on the counter, he waves his hand to a bulletin board with a list of names on a roster; a draft.
“Well, there isn’t a lot left of this season for the DSFL, from what I understand. But, from here, of course, you’ll certainly be able to go and join the tail end of the season, participate in the prospect bowl, and eventually you’ll be drafted for your first official run!”
Jonathan, still a bit unsure what he was getting into, steps into the room, sitting down in a chair. His suit of armor clinks uncomfortably in the leather chair in which he is seated, as he begins.
“I’m sorry, I’m still not quite sure…you say the DSFL? The…Church of Speed? What is all of this? Perhaps these are dumb questions to be asking, but I’m hardly from here, as you could…likely tell.”
The child nods to Jonathan, opening the drawer of the desk before him to retrieve a small packet, as well as a smaller envelope with several leaflets of paper contained within that Jonathan knew as the tell-tale signs of a sum of money, his eyes growing wide.
“The packet should be enough to give you the general idea of what I mean, as well as some of the more confusing bits that I couldn’t explain to you in hours, but I do think there is definitely a team somewhere that could use you as a wide receiver. You mentioned wanting to pursue speed so that seems like the logical choice for you.”
Standing from the desk, grabbing a key from off a hook, the boy waves him out back into the hall for a moment. As they continue down the hall, they come to a large area of showers and lockers. The child drags a stool in front of a large set of metal cabinets, placing the key into the lock of one of them, pulling it open to reveal an array of football equipment, padding, and helmets.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to look through what we have in store, feel free to get set up with padding and cleats that will fit for you and I’ll come check back in to get you sent somewhere that’ll be able to help you get acclimated.”
The child pulls a sippy cup from his belt that Jonathan was certain hadn’t been there before, placing the cup in both of his hands, tipping it sharply upward to take a sip, before walking out of the room. Turning once more to look back at Jonathan, the child points to the abhorrently muddy boots that adorned the cleric.
“Oh, by the way; Lose the shoes. Those boots look like they’ve seen everything.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Gently and carefully bending and stretching the toe of his cleats to break them in, he slips them onto his feet, wrapping the laces once around the heel before bringing them together tight, standing with a spring to his step, far more agile without the bulk of his usual chain mail. Carefully painting the symbol of Lathander’s Light, emblazoned upon his right shoulder pad, he whispers a silent prayer to the Morninglord and to Mystra, that she might guide Gale to bring him home from here.
However, for now, Jonathan would act the part.
Picking up the packet and envelope given to him earlier, Jonathan’s eyes grew wide as he fingered open the slip of paper, containing a rather sizable sum of cash. With a bemused and somewhat shocked smile, Jonathan nods, setting it aside in his pack before picking up the larger packet of papers. Inside contained vast pieces of information about things related to this place. Information about the way the game was played, the current roster of players across each team, the teams and their GMs, and a helpful Getting Started guide written by someone known only as Triceracop. He hungrily absorbs as much as he can, carefully reading each section to understand and comprehend what he was doing.
Coming up from the documents for air, Jonathan sees the child from before, shoulder leaned against the door frame, patiently waiting.
“I take it we’re heading out now then?”
With a curt nod and a smile, he leads Jonathan out of the locker rooms and on to his future, in the ISFL.
Well, all’s well that ends…not as bad as it could have…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Stepping off the bus, an emblazoned image of a pirate glowing in green is seen on the front of this building, with the alliterated words Bondi Beach Buccaneers just above it. The bus pulls away from the front stoop, and Jonathan has fully committed to his next step forward.
Throwing open the door, Jonathan heads in, the glaring light blinding him for just a second. A bright ship light obscures his vision as a deep voice booms into the space before him.
“Halt! State your purpose!”
As the figure steps into view, Jonathan sees the frame of a…for what he can make out to be a dragonborn of some certain intriguing subrace…
“I- I was…told I was picked up by the Buccaneers for the final week of the current season?”
As the blinding lamp flicks off and the normal lighting in this space comes on, Jonathan sees the others in this room come into view, various interesting characters examining the man before them. The figure, now more clearly seen wearing a semblance of a policeman’s uniform, stows away a weapon at his hip, extending his hand.
“Well, you should’ve just said! Irons, right? Triceracop! Welcome!”
Looking sheepishly to the defensive display behind him, the man chuckles nervously, flashing Jonathan an apologetic look as he examines his equipment, then the pack over his shoulder.
“We had heard there was a new receiver coming down to us from Yellowknife, I hadn’t thought you’d be here today…welcome in! We may not be able to do much with you here before the end of the season, but we can definitely get you some preliminary game time. If that sounds good for you, then I’ll show you where you’ll be crashing for the time being!”
With a look of shock and confusion, Jonathan raises an eyebrow as he points a finger matter-of-factly in the dragonborn’s direction, smiling slyly for a moment.
“It’s you.”
With a similar look of shock and confusion from Triceracop, the policeman chuckles nervously back at Jonathan, looking around to try and make sense of the remark.
“Yes, it’s- uhh, me? Triceracop?”
With a start, Jonathan raises a hand in pause for just a moment, before swiveling his pack around to reach inside, struggling desperately to find what he was looking for, retrieving the Getting Started guide at last.
I wish I had a bag of holding…
“It’s you. From the guide. I must say, I imagine I might have some edits if you’d be interested to write version two, but it was influential to help me understand what in all the hells I’m doing here.
Chuckling at the display in front of him, and finally nodding in understanding, Triceracop smiles at Jonathan, gesturing vaguely in his direction.
“Oh yeah, that old thing…I had no idea any of the GMs kept a copy around! Many of my peers labeled it as incredibly basic, claiming that its cardinal inefficiency is that it assumes you know nothing about football or the league, but it certainly seems to have helped you!”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Decorated and furnished thematically to the bunkrooms of a pirate ship, the loft area of the Bondi Beach locker rooms were just the place for someone to experience a taste of life on the high seas. With various hammocks slung from each and every possible post, craft-worked sections of space for various purposes in each and every square foot of this floor, you could almost feel the ocean rocking beneath your feet.
Walking down the corridor, the cleric notices a rather finely-dressed gentleman fiddling with a strange electronic device of some sort that seems to be whirring away with noise, a blue light emitting from the very end. His brow furrowed in concentration, an ornery Scottish accent bleats from his mouth in frustration. Moving on, he sees another character, seemingly absorbing all natural light around it, an eldritch mumbling uttering from somewhere in the floorboards. As Jonathan spies the words ‘Local Cryptid’ scrawled in ornate text on the beam above his bunk, the creature waves him past. Finally coming to his own bunk, Jonathan throws himself desperately into his hammock, unaware of just what awaited him in these coming weeks.
In the morning, he arose with the rest of the team, heading out to breakfast. Arriving at the cafeteria, expecting a somewhat spartan intake of calories before morning’s exercise, the cleric was surprised to find quite the opposite awaiting him within. A laid-back, carefully crafted and delicious morning meal awaited them, and Jonathan found his stomach turning over within itself in hunger.
He had hardly eaten anything since the fruit snacks.
The people back home are never gonna believe this.
Joining the table, Jonathan quickly eats his fill with the team, various members taking a moment to come over and greet him, give their official welcome or offer general pointers. With polite smiles and gratitude to each of them, the cleric finished up his meal along with the rest, then headed out for the pitch.
Arriving to the field with the rest of the team, Jonathan practices tirelessly, eventually finding himself using muscles, reactions, and leg kinetics that he had not accessed in quite this way, falling short of the steam necessary to keep going indefinitely, struggling to maintain a semblance of coherence, sweating profusely and breathing heavily throughout the entire practice.
Doubled over, exhausted, quite ready to give up entirely already, the cleric summoned all singular mental fortitude and power he had within him, and pressed on, enduring.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Touchdown! Jonathan Irons with a short pass into the end zone!”
In a flair of performance, something he had already planned for such an ocassion at the behest of his other offensive teammates, he enacts his touchdown signature, the Lightning Bolt, reaching up into the heavens to pantomime a lightning bolt being struck against the ground, the ball acting as the point of said lightning bolt, before setting it aside and walking off to reset for the next play.
My first game, my first touchdown…I hope the gods are watching me…
With the game coming to a close, Jonathan hobbles off of the field, far more running and bursts of speed than he was used to as he wearily collapses into a heap, but they had won. With an incredible excitement that felt alive within the locker rooms, several of the others clapped him on the shoulder in congratulation, a victory well fought and a profound way to end the season.
With everyone relaxing into the off-season now that the final game was done for the time being, Jonathan joined in on the festivities, various team members exchanging a kind word with him, even more still laughing with him and making him feel welcomed.
As the powerful sound of roaring laughter filled the practice space, Jonathan looked around to the faces, new and old, who made this place feel like a home for the short time he was with them with a soft smile, closing his eyes for a moment.
A kinder folk I can’t say I’ve met…and this party? Never a dull moment…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Over the next several weeks, various strange and interesting people approached him with lines of questioning, Triceracop being the first. He inquired after Jonathan’s intentions for the league, what his personal goals were and whether he were interested to play any other positions.
Jonathan had expected this question…the child from before had warned him many would be curious to know, and he was right.
Several others blurred together, each and every person interested in the very thing that made Jonathan so powerfully fast in games, and what had enabled him to run the touchdown he had; speed. With various teams interested to land a premier outstart with good abilities but also wisdom to be able to pick his placements well, he found himself quickly swarmed by team pamphlets from every manager in the league. While the cleric did not currently possess the endurance to manifest longer stretches of blisteringly fast movement, he had a capacity to harness the latent energies of his lightning magic into finite bolts of electricity, like tiny motors strapped to his heels, and that was interesting.
Soon after, Jonathan heard word from a few of the teams about their vested interest in him for their teams, and waited patiently for the day he’d be drafted by a team. Within this scouting, there was an opportunity for the cleric’s own discernment, an opportunity to make sense of the teams and their motivations.
Triceracop himself was obviously going to be thrilled to have him return to the team, but for far more important reasons than just his own proficiency on the field. The place had been a home for him, a temporary solace in an otherwise weird and confusing land. Others, a certain representative from Portland, seemed quite interested to see what chances there might be to pick him up as well. Further still, a representative for Tijuana comes to him in the dead of night with a greater zeal for the team than those of the Absolute’s followers.
Lying alone in a room of his own somewhere, Jonathan stares up at the ceiling with his hands clasped; In between locker rooms, in between teams. Something that Triceracop had said is called ‘Free Agency’ in the normal season. An independent player, working with teams that need his skills. His mind, his thoughts drifted to Gale, and where he was somewhere in the planes. A sound, almost like a microphone being tapped for inspection, comes through his mind as a flash of smoke appears and a strained image of Gale appears in the center.
“Hello! Is this thing - Hello? Jonathan? I think I’ve got this blasted thing working…are you quite alright? You look- healthy - well, I suppose anything is healthier than being infected with a mind flayer tadpole…if you happen to find a way back to Faerun, then wonderful, but we’ll keep working earnestly here to find you a way back!”
With a curt smile and a nod, Jonathan chuckled at the wizard, bushy cheeks obscured with hair from the comfort beard he’d grown since their fight with the Netherbrain.
“I’m glad you were able to find a way to even get magic into this place…there seems to be some anti-magic field, like a beholder of some sort. Still…it is good to hear from you. I’ll be alright…I have…actually made some rather kind friends. You’d like them.”
Exchanging a few more kind words, the wizard’s apparition dissipates, leaving the cleric alone in the room yet again. In the quiet of this space, it seemed…profoundly lonely. He had been surprised how much he had missed his friends from back home.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Standing before a ‘Television’ the man had called it, Jonathan watched as what appeared like a major image flashed before him, projecting a live stream of the draft as it was happening. With his fellow Bondi rookie McDripsen having been drafted back to the team, Jonathan quietly hoped that he would be picked up by them again for this season as well.
As he feverishly chewed and gnawed at his nails, anxiety towards the situation soaring, Jonathan’s eyebrow raises as they begin to discuss Portland’s next pick.
“In the DSFL Draft, for Pick thirty-seven, Portland selects…”
With a deep breath, a wave of unease flashes over the cleric as the next words come out of the Manager’s mouth.
“Jonathan Irons! Wide Receiver, Personally this is my favorite player in the draft right from the start, I can’t believe he fell this far in the draft but I am so glad. The Dictionary defines Steel as ‘a commercial metal that contains carbon in any amount of about 1.6 percent for the purposes of alloying, and is malleable under certain conditions.’ With those ideal conditions, and some skill, we’ve got ourselves a draft steel.”
With the glowing review from the manager, Jonathan’s eyebrow raised slightly, a small smile coming to his lips.
He had known his was a name that various teams had been interested in, early practice tests had shown him to be reasonably adept as a receiver, but for the most part he assumed that his purpose was to play a part, not to be a participant in the show.
Hmm. Perhaps I shall yet shine with the Morninglord’s Radiance…
With a curt nod and a smirk, Jonathan accepted his new path to the future, and began preparations to depart for the Portland Pythons Locker Room.
Swift as my feet can carry me…
_____________________________________________________________________________________
“Remember what I told you! Drive hard! Trust the cleats and lean in, move!”
Ripping up sod beneath his toes, Jonathan runs blisteringly fast across the field, eyes back to search for the football the GM had launched in his direction. Moving accordingly, Jonathan times it right to position himself so as to be right in the path of the ball, catching it and carrying his momentum forward into the end zone.
Clapping from the sidelines, Thor smiles, nodding as he jogs up to the end zone. He is enthusiastically charging forth with an encouraging fist pump, a water bottle already in hand.
Dripping with sweat, Jonathan gratefully receives the water bottle, hand on his hip as he drinks desperately.
“Gods…I’ve never run so hard before in my life…this form of activity uses all measure of muscle and sinew I have not accessed in a very long time...”
The man laughs, waving his hand dismissively with a goofy smile.
“Noo, don’t sweat it. You just need to get that endurance up, keep running your drills and you’ll be able to stretch your breath out longer. Don’t be too hard on yourself though! Be patient with yourself and your body. You’d be much better off for us rested and capable on the field rather than injured and waiting in the locker rooms for the rest of the season.”
With a nod, the cleric agrees, smiling softly as he groans, shaking out his legs for a moment before falling into a crouch, stretching his calves and thighs. After a large sigh, he stands, walking off the field with Thor.
At Least Things Have Stayed Interesting…
As Jonathan walks into the locker rooms, a rather enthusiastic golden retriever sits on a bench, looking expectantly at the cleric as he goes past. With a gentle rustling of the golden’s head, Jonathan chuckles, before opening his locker to stuff a few things inside.
“Hello, Brad…how did you do today?”
With a dog-like chuckle and a bright, goofy smile from the golden, he waggles his head, shaking loose a few stray hairs.
“With the exception of a few stray throws I did pretty well! Coach says you and I are going to be the main receivers! That’s exciting!”
With a nod and a smile, Jonathan agrees, though he hides a bit of unease in his own body language. While their perseverance thus far had brought them to task nicely, no matter how Jonathan tried, he could not seem to make pace like he needed to keep up. He had worries, but none of them were unfounded just yet. Their first pre-season game hadn’t gone poorly, but there was still a whole season ahead of them.
"Maybe so, Brad, maybe so...only time shall tell, I suppose..."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Swearing under his breath, muttering all manner of profanity and expletives, Jonathan sits on the bench, yanking off his cleats and throwing them to the side. Their loss, pitiful and disappointing, had seen Jonathan miss more throws than he caught, and had seen the opponent’s star receiver sprint effortlessly away from the cleric.
Wide Receiver indeed…Why did I ask to live in such interesting times?
Coming into the locker room after him, the ever-elusive Bamford had found his way into the same area, sitting down on the bench close by. Quietly, the two of them sat there, not saying a word. After a time, the manager broke the silence.
“The purpose of all of us here at the ISFL is not to keep track of numbers, or try to aim for a competitive showdown that everyone watches and is interested in…and I’ll tell you this; You’ve got a lot more potential than most receivers in the league at your point, and you’ve only had the one game. Train, keep working at it, and watch what happens. But you’ve got to promise me you’re going to actually train, actually fight to make this work.”
Jonathan looks over, expecting to see a sullen and annoyed look on the manager’s face, but he is beaming with a smile. With a nervous chuckle, Jonathan rubs the back of his head for a moment, clearing away some residual sweat.
“If you think it can be done…I shall believe it can be done…”
With a smile and a nod, Jonathan thanks Bamford for the kind words, and makes his way for his quarters, collapsing into bed once more, an almost daily routine for him.
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The rest of Jonathan’s story in the DSFL has yet to be told, but you will be an integral part of it. As he writes his legacy into these halls, blink and you’ll miss him, because he just might run right past you.
Jonathan "Thunder Thighs" Irons
S47 Ultimini Champions
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