I cast a steely glare at the mall security guard as I drew my vorpal sword from its dragonscale sheath. He quivered, but tried to remain resolute in the face of immminent death. I smiled, swiping my blade through the air. The mall cop's newly emancipated head landed with a thud, rolling to a stop beneath a rack of iTunes store gift cards. I casually wiped the blade on the hem of a horrified peasant's dress, barely noticing the bottle of Diet Cherry Dr. Pepper slip through her fingers. I returned my sword to its scabbard and walked out of the Best Buy. At last Season 4 of Dexter was in my hands!
"This is the last time," I thought to myself. I made arcane gestures in the air in front of the child's face, his tiny eyes stretched wide with wonder. He was immobile, afraid motion would break the spell or perhaps kill him instantly. I concentrated on the spell, for these things require an iron nerve lest they go awry and cause unforseen consequences. At last the spell was complete, and with a final gesture I brushed the child's face with my hand. A spark and a flash. "Got your nose," I said, to squealing delight.
I studied the lock intently, looking for hidden needles, gas jets, or other unpleasant surprises. I couldn't see anything amiss, but you can never be too careful about this sort of thing. I tentatively explored the familiar keyhole shape with my probe. When nothing untoward pierced or enveloped me, I worked the lock harder. No luck. This lock was plainly protected by arcane magicks I had not before encountered, perhaps the product of the fiendish mind of Otiluke or even Elminster himself! I gave up, pulling my lone magic item from my worn backpack and summoned Stan, a being of the ethereal plane and avatar of A-1 Locksmiths. My coat hanger lay forgotten in the shadow of the resolute dungeon portal that had defeated me.
"Rise!" I commanded, hands clapsed in front of me. Nothing. The figure lay motionless, bereft of life, no spark within. I gathered myself once more, prayed silently to Talos for the strength to raise this mortal husk, and began again. "Rise!" I said again, louder this time. "Damn, dad, I don't want to go to school. Five more minutes, okay?" The body stirred. Success.
(The inspiration for this rambling claptrap can be found here.)