In Gromph’s mind, the only thing worse than a psychotic demonic destroyer was a deluded psychotic demonic destroyer.
In other words, a nalfeshnee.
“You have seen Bilwhr?” he asked calmly.
The young drow nodded. “Twice a drow’s height and too wide to come through the door, though the beast would surely make its own door with little effort.”
“It had the face of a gigantic ape,” said another.
“And the body of a great rothé. .” a third offered.
“A boar,” another corrected. “Or half a boar, for it walked on two legs, not four, and with hands that could grip and crush a stone, it seemed.”
More than seemed, Gromph thought, but didn’t bother to say. He knew the power of a nalfeshnee quite well, and had seen one reshape a piece of cold iron with its bare hands.
“Bilwhr is determining who must be taken away,” the young drow added.
“To the Abyss?” Gromph asked.
“To death, at least,” the drow answered. “The beast has killed three already."
“At least three,” another put in. “Three that we have seen.”
Gromph was hardly surprised. The other demons, rampaging though they were, weren’t accumulating much of a body count of drow, from all he could tell, though many kobold and goblin slaves had been devoured. Marilith had left a score of drow wounded in her wake by all accounts, but she had only killed the one fighting beside Malagdorl, and that had clearly been a fight to the death or banishment.
But of course, the situation had to devolve to this, especially with a nalfeshnee demon roaming the ways.
“Where is. .?” Gromph started to ask, but before he could finish, there came a loud thump and a tremor that shook the mushroom-stalk rafters of the common room.
Bilwhr.
The archmage held up his hand to calm the group, all looking around and clutching their weapons desperately. With a sigh, the archmage went back to the door.
The building shook again under the weight of a thunderous footstep.
Bilwhr.
With a sigh, Gromph motioned for the commoners to stay in place, and he went out into the street.
“The beast,” one drow said, an unnecessary warning, when another heavy footfall shook the walls.
“He is the archmage,” the young drow reminded the rest. He led the way, tentatively, toward the window on the street side of the common room.
They heard the moans of the manes, lesser demons they knew to be flocking in front of mighty Bilwhr. These were the spirits of the dead consigned to the Abyss in their afterlife, like semi-intelligent zombies formed of Abyssal muck and cursed to serve the major demons throughout eternity, cursed to battle and be destroyed, only to rise again and serve again. They were the fodder of the Abyss in every manner, and so that proved true now. Before the dark elves arrived at the window, they saw such a flash of fiery power that they stumbled back and covered their stinging eyes.
Just outside, the archmage’s fireball roiled and burned, taking the rotting flesh from the manes and leaving them as puddles of goo on the stones of the Stenchstreets.
“You are in violation!” they heard Bilwhr roar, and they cowered back even more.
A flash of lightning crackled outside, the thunder of the blast shaking the building once more, and then the mushroom stalk rafters verily bounced under the weight of the charging demon. The young drow saw the huge beast, fully ten feet tall and four tons of power, pass by the window, its small wings flapping furiously behind it-though those strange appendages could never hope to lift the bulky Bilwhr from the ground.
Another lightning bolt sounded, then a great burst of wind shook the building, followed by a tremendous crash.
The wall by the door split and the demon-part of it, at least-crashed through. One arm, one shoulder, and the simian head struggled and twisted, splintering planks.
“Kill it!” the young drow cried, waving his sword and leading the charge. He fell back, as did his companions, only a stride later, though, as black tentacles grew out of the floor, waggling and grabbing, mostly at the struggling demon. So great was Bilwhr’s strength, though, that the beast got its thick boar legs planted and simply stood upright, tearing tentacles and floorboards and splintering the wall as if it was no more than brittle paper.
“You dare!” it bellowed, and the dark elves cried out and whimpered and rushed back for cover.
The great demon aimed its ire not at them, but at Gromph, and it burst back out into the street, staggering under the stubborn pull of the remaining tentacles.
Bilwhr had just disappeared from view when there came a blast beyond anything the young drow and his companions had ever experienced, an explosion so violent that it sent them all flying about the room, crashing through furniture and into walls. The front wall by the door all but collapsed under the power of the magical explosion, and shuddered violently as huge pieces of demon splattered against it.
One such chunk of Bilwhr-half an arm, a shoulder, and enough of the back to include one small leathery wing-came flying through the opening to bounce across the floor, and there it melted into black slime.
“The archmage,” the young drow said reverently, and the others nodded numbly, jaws open, eyes unblinking as they continued to stare out the window or through the hole in the wall.
Gromph retreated to his summoning chamber in the main tower of Sorcere on the plateau of Tier Breche, the drow academy. In a magical bag of holding, the archmage carried dozens of tomes, along with all of the scrolls and notes he could find regarding spells of summoning and demonology.
In the chamber, secured by powerful runes and magic circles, Gromph buried his face in the knowledge. Soon, he once more felt the insight he had noted in his time with Kimmuriel, when first he had considered countering demon with demon, and that led him to one particular blackbound book, In the Swirling Smoke of Abyss. In there, he found listings of the demons, the lords, the major demons, the minor demons, with all the known true names.
On a hunch-one implanted by Kimmuriel, though Gromph couldn’t know that-the archmage ruffled through some parchments that spoke of the Faerzress, the magical radiation that gave the Underdark its life and magical energy, and that also served as the barrier and door to the lower planes.
It was beginning to come clear to Gromph. His psionic training seemed to blend effortlessly with his insights regarding the spells of summoning. He unrolled many of those scrolls now, and in their words he recognized new possibilities.
He knew that he was close, that soon he could bring in a balor, even- that monster among many other major demons-and fully control the beast.
But not yet.
He found the appropriate references, the appropriate names, and stepped back from his summoning circle. First he enacted some personal wards and surrounded himself with protective glyphs. He was aiming for lesser demons, but powerful creatures nonetheless, and so he would take no chances.
Gromph began to chant, and he fell into his meditation, as Kimmuriel had taught him. He couldn’t believe the level of intensity. He felt as if he were in the Abyss, so clear did the image of the place, with its swirling fogs, come into his mind. He could smell the stench.