Mason Plumlee walked around the verdant landscape uncertainly. He had just been taking a nap, and now he was here, in some lush countryside. He ascended to the top of a small hill, hoping to get a hint of some landmarks from that raised-up vantage point. However, all he could see was a few cottages in the far distance.
While he was squinting at the clutch of houses, wondering if he should try to walk over there and get some assistance, he was startled by the clops of a horse behind him. Turning around, he saw a knight in full medieval-style armor, brandished sword pointed right at Mason’s chest.
“I’m not a threat, man,” Mason stammered, putting up his hands. “Be careful with that!”
The knight lifted the visor on his helmet. The words that came from his mouth were colored by a distincty British accent. “Please accept my apologies, Sir Plumlee of Brooklyn. I have ridden many leagues to find thee, and I was not eager to let you escape again.”
“What’s going on? Where am I?” Mason asked, stepping back a few steps to get out of the path of the horse’s hot breath.
“Why, the great kingdom of England, of course,” the knight answered. “You currently walk upon lands that are the domain of Duke Dunksworth the Fifth. Tynesbridge is but a four-hour ride to our north.”
This answer, stated with confidence, did not explain how Mason had ended up where he was. However, he still had questions. “You say you were looking for me?”
“Under decree of the King, I was sent to find you to give you something of greatest importance.”
Something of greatest importance? What would the King of England want to give to a 21st century basketball player? “I think there’s been some misunderstanding, uh-”
“Sir Leorick,” the knight supplied.
“Right, Leorick. I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”
“You are Sir Mason Plumlee of Brooklyn, are you not?” asked Leorick.
“Yeah, but-”
“This is for you,” said Leorick, holding out the sword laid out across both of his palms. “It’s the Sword of Dunking.”
Mason simply stared dumbly at the offered weapon. “The Sword of Dunking? Like, I take it and then I can dunk better, is that how it works?”
“Precisely!” confirmed Leorick. “The wielder of the sword is granted dunking powers that exceed even that of the greatest dunkers of your time.”
Mason pushed the blade away. “I can’t accept this. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m already an elite dunker.”
“If that is your wish, then I must respect that,” Leorick said sadly. He reached behind him into a pouch on his saddle and withdrew a scroll. Unfurling it, he read aloud, “If Sir Plumlee refuses the sword, it shall rightfully be claimed by the next in line, Sir J.J. Barea of the Dallasian Duchy.”
“Oh, he’ll love that,” Mason said sarcastically.
“The King’s orders are final,” Leorick responded with a shrug. “We’ll, I must go find this J.J. Barea. Safe travels, Sir Plumlee.” With that, he turned his horse around and rode swiftly down the hill, soon disappearing into a dense growth of trees and out of sight.
“Wait! How do I get back?” Mason yelled, but it was too late. Sitting down on the green grass, he waited for some way to return to his own time and place.