Rook casts about for the missing priest, dander up and ears quivering, before laying eyes on the much bigger, much tastier evil that's suddenly appeared in the room.
"Let the stones have him then," Rook barks aloud, abandoning his earlier prey and charging the vrock.
"Back to the abyss with you, scavenger," Rook snarls in Celestial, "this squalid cellar is lost to you and yours."
Meanwhile Terapin is going to begrudgingly use his second to last summon to summon an unpredictable dwarven alchemist, in a fashion. Throwing his hand out as if tossing a handful of sand, Terapin Lyrakien Azata at Bedlam. The tiny winged woman flits towards him and immediately fires off a spell of Cure Light wounds, points of damage.
Bedlam peeks open a blood crusty eye. The dwarf uses it to wink at Terapin.
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Aurora's gaze flicks over the gore enshrouding the temple, down towards Anzath and her new demonic friend at the opposite end of the massive room. A sigh is growled as the cleric turns to begin her march towards the duo, the silvery flame of her stave feebling as its time draws nearer to a close.