You admit that you lied, and letting out a fearsome battlecry, you begin swinging your knife like your D&D character.
His expression morphs into one of shock and a forlorn sentimentality.
Hey.. that’s my son’s hand toy thingamabob.. I miss him a lot…
You don’t have the nerve to let go of the swinging knife to actually hit him, but fate seems to make that decision for you. The fragile toy snaps in half, sending the knife careening towards his head.
It misses.
But the toy catches on the brim of his hat and wraps around his head, then his neck, choking him out.
A-ACKKKKKKK!!!
He staggers, reeling with confusion and pain, gasping for air.
