02-26-2024, 01:27 PM
(This post was last modified: 02-26-2024, 05:59 PM by xenosthelegend. Edited 1 time in total.)
It was the morning that the curse would be lifted, and Jonathan breathed a heavy sigh as he felt the presence of that thing enter the room. His cleats tied, he fixes the tongue, standing wearily to turn to the monstrous beast that had entered, looming as it did hunched above the doorway, twelve foot frame too large by far to be able to fit within the cramped and humid locker room.
It was here; that wretched creature that had cursed him all those weeks ago, had afflicted his palms with a vile, slick substance that kept him from catching the ball, kept him from being able to succeed, to do well, to manage to catch any time he was targeted. Conversations between Bamford and himself about whether wide receiver, whether the ISFL, was a good fit, all the while bound to silence about the current thing that ailed him and his performance.
It figures that some of the teams would have their own twisted ways to manipulate and control the incoming talent that comes up, but he wasn’t expecting to be the target of that. Clearly there was something that had it out for him, but there was still time. Still a chance for Jonathan to excel, to grow and continue to make moves within the league, to continue this uprising.
But seeded underneath all of this was the dark understanding that he was trapped, utterly helpless against a creature so strong and capable that it had subjugated a mighty cleric of Faerun under its rule.
Or so it thought.
“ᓭ?, ⍑?∴ ⍑ᔑᓭ ?⚍∷ !¡??∷ ᓵꖎᒷ∷╎ᓵ ⎓ᔑ∷ᒷ↸ ?リ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ⎓╎ᒷꖎ↸?”
The creature’s language, a tongue unknown to him, sparks a small bubble to life in front of it, projecting into the common what it had just spoke.
So, How has the poor cleric fared on the field then?
With a wry grimace in the creature’s direction, Jonathan practically spat out his next words at it.
“What, you haven’t been spectating my downfall? Relishing in every pass I miss, each game I ruin for this team? Is it not enough to enjoy my failure, you have to also salt the wound?”
“ᓭᔑꖎℸ ̣ ╎ᓭ ᔑ ⎓?∷ᒷ╎⊣リ ℸ ̣ ᔑᓭℸ ̣ ᒷ ℸ ̣ ? ᒲᒷ, ?リᒷ ╎ ↸? リ?ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ !¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭ⚍∷ᒷ ╎リ.”
Salt is a foreign taste to me, one I do not take pleasure in.
This makes Jonathan laugh, a wild, desperate bleat that abandons all hope, gives up all chances of hiding the tired look behind his eyes, the weary stain upon his soul as this thing caused more heartache to him than the Netherbrain had in far shorter a time.
“It’s like you don’t understand humor yet somehow you are one of the most comically painful and unfeeling things I have ever encountered.”
The creature bristles, the millions of hairs along its carapace chittering in unison as the compliment rings into the creature.
Jonathan had sorted out after the first few interactions, that this thing lived for praise. Devoured compliment. Nourished, fed off of the kind words of others, yet so atrociously hideous that it had succumbed to manipulation and fear to receive its next meal. If Jonathan fed enough compliments to the thing, mustered enough things to say, he could find his window of opportunity.
“You had ought to just finish me now, you have so wholly reduced me to a weakened shell, to atoms, even, your weight upon my mind and heart has been so strong I have been unable to hardly move.”
Another bristle, this time a wave across its back as its mandibles clacked a horrid song.
“╎ ꖌリ?∴ ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ||?⚍ ↸?...||?⚍∷ ⎓ꖎᔑℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷╎ᒷᓭ ∴╎ꖎꖎ リ?ℸ ̣ !¡ᒷ∷ᒲ╎ℸ ̣ ||?⚍ ℸ ̣ ? ᒷᓭᓵᔑ!¡ᒷ ⋮⚍↸⊣ᒷᒲᒷリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ?↸ᔑ||”
Jonathan heard these last words in his mind as he stepped a few paces closer to the thing, hand placed gently over his stomach, the small grenade within his palm pressed closely to himself.
I know what you do…Your flatteries will not permit you to escape judgement today
With a smirk, the cleric nods in affirmation.
“Oh, but it will, I think…”
Leaping forward, Jonathan grasps the creature by the crown of its head, the hand holding the grenade coming forward to find its way deftly into the gilled opening, yanking out the pin with one of its spines as it cries out, mandibles lashing out to tear into the cleric’s shoulder wildly, the man crying out in pain as he pushes the bomb deeper into the gills of the thing, jumping off, wresting himself free as best he could before leaping out of the way.
Sliding along the floor of the locker room, Jonathan presses his head into the tile, covering his ears and head with his hands as the creature screeches, before there is an explosion, a shower of bug guts, and then silence.
The sound of cleats from down the hall draws near as Higbee steps into the locker room before stopping immediately on the doorstep.
“Huh. I’m not cleaning that up.”
It was here; that wretched creature that had cursed him all those weeks ago, had afflicted his palms with a vile, slick substance that kept him from catching the ball, kept him from being able to succeed, to do well, to manage to catch any time he was targeted. Conversations between Bamford and himself about whether wide receiver, whether the ISFL, was a good fit, all the while bound to silence about the current thing that ailed him and his performance.
It figures that some of the teams would have their own twisted ways to manipulate and control the incoming talent that comes up, but he wasn’t expecting to be the target of that. Clearly there was something that had it out for him, but there was still time. Still a chance for Jonathan to excel, to grow and continue to make moves within the league, to continue this uprising.
But seeded underneath all of this was the dark understanding that he was trapped, utterly helpless against a creature so strong and capable that it had subjugated a mighty cleric of Faerun under its rule.
Or so it thought.
“ᓭ?, ⍑?∴ ⍑ᔑᓭ ?⚍∷ !¡??∷ ᓵꖎᒷ∷╎ᓵ ⎓ᔑ∷ᒷ↸ ?リ ℸ ̣ ⍑ᒷ ⎓╎ᒷꖎ↸?”
The creature’s language, a tongue unknown to him, sparks a small bubble to life in front of it, projecting into the common what it had just spoke.
So, How has the poor cleric fared on the field then?
With a wry grimace in the creature’s direction, Jonathan practically spat out his next words at it.
“What, you haven’t been spectating my downfall? Relishing in every pass I miss, each game I ruin for this team? Is it not enough to enjoy my failure, you have to also salt the wound?”
“ᓭᔑꖎℸ ̣ ╎ᓭ ᔑ ⎓?∷ᒷ╎⊣リ ℸ ̣ ᔑᓭℸ ̣ ᒷ ℸ ̣ ? ᒲᒷ, ?リᒷ ╎ ↸? リ?ℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᔑꖌᒷ !¡ꖎᒷᔑᓭ⚍∷ᒷ ╎リ.”
Salt is a foreign taste to me, one I do not take pleasure in.
This makes Jonathan laugh, a wild, desperate bleat that abandons all hope, gives up all chances of hiding the tired look behind his eyes, the weary stain upon his soul as this thing caused more heartache to him than the Netherbrain had in far shorter a time.
“It’s like you don’t understand humor yet somehow you are one of the most comically painful and unfeeling things I have ever encountered.”
The creature bristles, the millions of hairs along its carapace chittering in unison as the compliment rings into the creature.
Jonathan had sorted out after the first few interactions, that this thing lived for praise. Devoured compliment. Nourished, fed off of the kind words of others, yet so atrociously hideous that it had succumbed to manipulation and fear to receive its next meal. If Jonathan fed enough compliments to the thing, mustered enough things to say, he could find his window of opportunity.
“You had ought to just finish me now, you have so wholly reduced me to a weakened shell, to atoms, even, your weight upon my mind and heart has been so strong I have been unable to hardly move.”
Another bristle, this time a wave across its back as its mandibles clacked a horrid song.
“╎ ꖌリ?∴ ∴⍑ᔑℸ ̣ ||?⚍ ↸?...||?⚍∷ ⎓ꖎᔑℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ᒷ∷╎ᒷᓭ ∴╎ꖎꖎ リ?ℸ ̣ !¡ᒷ∷ᒲ╎ℸ ̣ ||?⚍ ℸ ̣ ? ᒷᓭᓵᔑ!¡ᒷ ⋮⚍↸⊣ᒷᒲᒷリℸ ̣ ℸ ̣ ?↸ᔑ||”
Jonathan heard these last words in his mind as he stepped a few paces closer to the thing, hand placed gently over his stomach, the small grenade within his palm pressed closely to himself.
I know what you do…Your flatteries will not permit you to escape judgement today
With a smirk, the cleric nods in affirmation.
“Oh, but it will, I think…”
Leaping forward, Jonathan grasps the creature by the crown of its head, the hand holding the grenade coming forward to find its way deftly into the gilled opening, yanking out the pin with one of its spines as it cries out, mandibles lashing out to tear into the cleric’s shoulder wildly, the man crying out in pain as he pushes the bomb deeper into the gills of the thing, jumping off, wresting himself free as best he could before leaping out of the way.
Sliding along the floor of the locker room, Jonathan presses his head into the tile, covering his ears and head with his hands as the creature screeches, before there is an explosion, a shower of bug guts, and then silence.
The sound of cleats from down the hall draws near as Higbee steps into the locker room before stopping immediately on the doorstep.
“Huh. I’m not cleaning that up.”
Raphael will see you now.
S47 Ultimini Champions
S49 Ultimini Champions