Consequences of spell failure when casting this spell are said to be dire. Legends tell of foolish mages being swamped with mountains of paperwork, spurious mechanic's bills, senile pets, skin disorders, so-called "Acts of God", mountains of spam e-mail, teenage daughters and Biblical plagues of door-to-door salesmen.
We have only witnessed one possibly successful casting of this spell, at least we think we did. It was a bitterly cold day in Febuary. Crowds of apathetic shoppers drifted past us, zombie-like, lamenting the end of the January sales, when, out-of-the-blue we spied him, we think: another mage. A grizzled looking venerable man he was. He resonated a sort of gloating impish wisdom and appeared to be fiendishly coiled, springlike, gleefully rubbing his hands together, where he was, outside the NatWest, right by the where the cash machine is. Dressed in a Holy white robe resembling a nightshift worthy of that great hero Albert Steptoe.
Even in the early stages of the casting, impervious to the chill - and he dribbled, such was his thrill. Five feet four and slightly hunched up, girding himself for the final stages of the incantation. One of his bare knotted grey haired feet rested upon a bright blue skateboard. Then without sign or hesitation he was in motion, gliding effortlessly, with a swan-like grace, head proudly aloft, boney chin and Roman nose raised with an Emporer's dignity he sped through the shoppers at a speed in excess of 4mph. They parted as a sea to a Moses.
We willed ourselves to call after him, "Master, won't you share your wisdom." but could not, afflicted by his spell - even our 30% magic resistence could not help us, nor the +2 Self-Help Book of Protection we carried in our hip pockets. He had passed Debenhams before the effects of the spell had worn off. And we were left in his wake, thinking, "What a fantastic header!" His knowledge forever lost to us.
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