Stalking steadily towards the archfiend, shield raised and blade readied, I hear a plea from the aether. "Can I play?" Ignoring this, I quicken my pace with my sword to the heavens. "Let me have a turn". But there is no time for distractions now. Dodging the beast's fiery assault, I slash and stab with the practiced calm of a seasoned adventurer. "I'll tell on you. You've gotta let me have a turn".  

Gods! I am frozen. Is this the work of the villainous creature? What magic has he worked against me? As time ticks by at a snail's pace, I am unable to move or position myself for defense. It must have been mere seconds, or I would have surely perished. As it was, I suffered a violent slash across my face. Trickling blood lent warmth to my brow and a hint of salt and iron to my lips. 

The archfiend raises its dreaded hammer to smite me to bits, and I see it plummeting towards my soft, vulnerable skull. At the last instant, I find myself free of the spell and manage a clumsy step to the side. The fiend's maul smashes through the rock, sending dust billowing out from the point of impact. But something of the cursed spell must remain -- for I, who have slain dragons and trolls, ogres and hordes of the undead, find myself fumbling about with my trusted sword as a novice, a child play fighting with sticks. I can barely turn to face my adversary. It is as if years of training and experience have vanished into thin air. Every movement of my legs, every shift of my head is a trial. "How do I look around?" 

"How do I attack?" 

The archfiend lets loose a great roar as the hammer soars through the dense, hot air. I am struck without having offered any resistance. Ribs crack and stars explode in the darkness that is my vision. The archfiend steps forward and raises the instrument of my demise once more. I reflect for a moment on my heroic exploits across the realm, and whatever wicked sorcery has bound my limbs and slowed m--
GAME OVER.
LOAD PREVIOUS SAVE.

"Again, lemme try again".