To Olvenking Hazendel's left side stood Horned King Malvolio I, the star-studded black blade of the sentient greatsword Blackrazor outthrust before him, legs wide in a swordsman's fighting stance, ellipsoid crimson flames flickering in the blackness inside the Y-shaped visor of Warduke's Helm as the tyrant antipaladin glared at Wastri. He felt a faint vibration in the gold-wire-wrapped hilt of Blackrazor ....
Two centuries before the Twin Cataclysms destroyed the Baklunish and Suel empires, the Ur-Flan archmage Keraptis trapped a soul-devouring negative energy parasite from an alien dimension, and forged it into a new form -- a greatsword with a blade that seemed to constantly mirror a star-studded night sky -- Blackrazor, "Eater of Souls".... For over twelve centuries, the ravenous blade has hungered for mortal souls, devouring untold multitudes, but never being fully sated ....
In that moment, as its new host held it forth to behold its newest prey, Blackrazor sensed something far more powerful than a mortal soul in the batrachian figure standing on the other side of the elf-king's prismatic wall .... Something far more .... delicious .... intoxicating .... immortal ....
Blackrazor's hunger awakened with a ferocity it had never before felt .... An aching desire bordering on desperation seized the soul-devouring blade, and it expressed its need to its host in a primal, wordless mental plea which was most analogous to a telepathic moan of lust ....
Feed me, my host! I must feed! WE must feed! Such a "soul" would sate my hunger for many days .... Never have I tasted the divine essence of a god before .... What powers might this prey's divinity impart upon me? Upon US??
Unbidden by the Horned King, Blackrazor enchanted him with a battle trance, compelling him and enhancing his already considerable natural ferocity ....
To the left of Malvolio stood the enigmatic Seer of Nulbish, Selephotsiphem, shrouded as usual in crimson-and-black robe and cowl, holding a jeweled adamantine rod topped with an orb of opalescent crystal that flickered with multicolored inner fire. Blackrazor had made no audible sound, no outward sign of its telepathic communion with its "host", but Selephotsiphem's cowled head turned swiftly to face the Horned King; though his face was half hidden in shadow, the strange Seer's sudden alarm was almost palpable, causing Olvenking Hazendel to also glance over at Malvolio, and at the sparkling black blade held forth in his gauntleted hands ....
"My King," rasped Selephotsiphem, "I beseech Your Formidable Majesty -- Do NOT feed that parasite the divine soul of a demigod." The Horned King made no acknowledgment of the Seer's words, seemingly oblivious to or ignoring him. "Verily, I say unto you, Malvolio," whispered Selephotsim, grasping the Horned King's right shoulder with the bony, claw-like hand of an old man with the grip of an ogre, hoping his unaccustomed familiarity and uncourtly manner would get Malvolio's attention ....
The Seer's unseemly insistence worked. The Horned King's red-flame eyes blazed as he turned his helmed head to look at Selephotsiphem. He knew who and what the "Seer of Nulbish" really was, and had they been alone, he would have deferred with something akin to devout reverence to his infernal patron. But they were not alone; the elf-king was looking right at them with an expression of keen elvish curiosity; there were also several others present to keep appearances up for; and Mephistopheles would understand .... (right?) ....
"You dare to lay hand upon Your King," growled Malvolio, "and address him in so familiar and uncourteous a manner? You say verily unto Your King what now??" Selephotsiphem removed the offending hand and bowed slightly and perfunctorily.
Selephotsiphem feigned the humility and conciliatory manner one would expect of a mortal court astrologer and advisor who has just been admonished by his tyrannical liege: "Forgive Your Majesty's humble servant, but .... I must strongly advise Your Invincible Puissance against wielding Blackrazor against Wastri .... At the very least, Your Majesty must take care not to deal the killing stroke to the demigod with that blade! Strike him down, by all means, but use a different weapon, Mighty Horned King! Better yet," added the Seer in a low, wheezing rasp, "let Your Majesty's mighty allies deal with the demigod, whilst Your Majesty sates the gluttony of Blackrazor on the souls of Wastri's mortal minions!"
Keenly aware of the proximity of not only Hazendel, but of several other curious allies standing nearby, the uncanny Selephotsiphem continued telepathically .... "Even I fear what may come of feeding the divine essence of a demigod to Blackrazor .... How would absorbing such great power affect the already near-mythic weapon?? What would Blackrazor become if it fed upon divinity??" In spite of himself, the disguised Archdevil and Lord of Cania felt an extremely rare and fleeting chagrin for not having considered this potential danger until now .... He nearly always had a contingency for every possibility in any given situation, but he had allowed other matters -- secret matters, concerning his infernal domain and the eternal Blood War -- to distract him from the present conflict.
Simultaneous to the brief exchange between "Selephotsiphem" and Malvolio described above, the bullywug vanguard of the Hopping Horde caught up with their frog-like demigod outside the South Gate, and beheld the magical barrier of prismatic force that now barred the archway in place of the sundered gate portals with bewilderment and dismay .... But Wastri was already in the process of analyzing Hazendel's prismatic wall with his divine senses, determining the exact series of spells required to bring down the barrier's seven component layers, each a different color of the visible light spectrum, and each presenting a different hazard to any that might attempt to pass through it ....
After a few seconds of ogling the multicolored barrier with his bulging eyes (his wide mouth gaping to reveal a lolling, sticky, batrachian tongue), Wastri called out in a strident, booming croak: "TO ME, MY LOYAL MAGES OF PURITY!! YOUR LORD HAS NEED OF YOUR MAGIC!! As powerful as the demigod was, Wastri's powers were still limited by his natural inclinations -- he had been a mighty warrior-monk as a mortal man, and his powers still ran along those same lines, albeit augmented by the salient powers he'd acquired upon ascending to demigod status several decades ago. He could use a considerable array of divine spell-like abilities, and even a few arcane spell-like abilities; but he did not have the power to cast all seven of the "key" spells required to "unlock" the seven layers that made up the prismatic wall ....
In answer to their demigod master's command, his three "Loyal Mages of Purity" advanced through the ranks of bullywugs from the rear of the Hopping Horde -- three humans of strong-if-not-pure Suel ancestry (two men and a woman, pale-complexioned and ill-favored in a batrachian way that was common to the human followers of Wastri), clad in parti-colored gray-and-yellow robes, embroidered with spidery arcane sigils, and stained with muck from the Vast Swamp, each bearing a gnarled staff engraved with arcane runes. At once, the three mages began to cast the requisite "key" spells in swift succession ....
First, the Wastrian evoker Grankuss uttered an invocation and thrust out his staff, blasting the red first layer with a cone of cold spell, and the red layer faded away; he followed this by casting a gust of wind spell, and the orange second layer vanished .... Next, the Wastrian transmutrix Wilmyrra uttered an incantation, pointing her staff at the yellow third layer, and bringing it down with a disintegate spell, followed up with a passwall spell to bring down the green fourth layer .... Then, the Wastrian conjurer Marthrick pointed his magic staff at the blue fifth layer and uttered a word of command, and a trio of magic missiles sprung from the tip of the staff to dispel the blue layer; he followed this by casting a daylight spell to bring down the indigo penultimate layer .... In a matter of less than a minute, only the final violet layer stood between the Hopping Horde of Wastri and the allied defenders awaiting them on the other side of the gatehouse! Wastri cackled hideously, his bulging eyes ablaze with unholy malice and anticipation ....
Among the allies gathered around Olvenking Hazendel of Sunndi, Horned King Malvolio of Medegia, and the Seer Selephotsiphem are several powerful adventurers and rulers of lesser fiefs. These include Countess Olivia of Pontylver, a mighty arcanist archmage and former adventuring companion to Malvolio and two of the others that were present (Lord-Protector Baron of Willip Monduel the gnome mesmerist, and Lord Bob Crossbowman).
Seeing that Wastri's trio of "Loyal Mages of Purity" were quickly dismantling Hazendel's prismatic wall, and would soon open the way for the rank-and-file bullywug minions and human cultists to swarm like a plague of locusts into Pitchfield, Countess Olivia stretched out the jeweled golden greater metamagic rod of delaying, ready to unleash arcane destruction upon Wastri and his trio of ugly, toadish magelings ....
In the Infernal Tongue of Baator, she issued a calm warning to her assembled allies: "When the violet layer vanishes, give me half a second before anyone charges out through the archway .... unless you like being incinerated, or you are impervious to fire ...."
Almost immediately after she spoke the warning in the language of devils, she was about to repeat it in Elven for the benefit of Olvenking Hazendel and Prince Melf Brightflame, when one of Wastri's homely mages -- the frumpy toad-lady -- cast a dispel magic spell, dispelling the final violet layer of Hazendel's prismatic wall, and without hesitating for so long as the blink of an eye, the Countess of Pontylver cast one of the mightiest spells in the arcane repertoire, freezing time itself all around her with a time stop. She then proceeded to cast a series of devastating evocations, delayed with her greater metamagic rod of delaying to detonate as soon as time resumed its normal flow again .... "Right .... about .... NOW!!", she announced to herself, as the meadow beyond the South Gate of Pitchfield, crowded with hundreds of bullywugs and perhaps three-score human cultists, not to mention Wastri himself, suddenly ignited into a blindingly bright maelstrom of delayed blast fireballs, a delayed wall of fire, and just to cool things off a bit after all that fire, a delayed polar ray, just for Wastri himself ....
The hideous cacophony of agonized croaks and shrieks that echoed off the city walls and across the scorched meadow was morbidly satisfying to the allied defenders' ears, but even more edifying was the sight of dozens of black-charred bullywug and cultist skeletons collapsing all around the shrieking, writhing, immolated form of Wastri (who was apparently susceptible to burning, albeit mighty enough to withstand even the great holocaust Olivia had invoked upon him) ....
"YYYEEEAAAAOOOOOCH!!!, shrieked Wastri in fiery (and then frostbitten) torment from Countess Olivia's seemingly instantaneous and simultaneous barrage of devastating high-level evocation spells. He flapped his arms and twisted spasmodically as both blistering flames and flesh-freezing magical cold scourged his pale, mottled flesh. Despite the fact that he was a demigod, and durable enough to withstand several more such barrages, he was not immune to cold, fire, or the pain that could be inflicted by both ....
But a demigod he still was, and he recovered his wits far more readily than a mortal being would've been able to do in the wake of such a withering magical bombardment. His grossly frog-like face quivered with lingering pain and a fury that made bulging veins pop out on his bald pate (his gray bishop's mitre and been blasted off his head by the delayed blast fireballs, and now laid some twenty paces behind him, atop a heap of charred bullywug skeletons) ....
The three "Loyal Mages of Purity" had not fared well against the conflagration, either: the frumpy toad-lady was now a vaguely human-shaped, smoldering black heap of charred flesh and bones; the two male mages were screaming and writhing in the midst of Olivia's delayed wall of fire, apparently too mindless with pain to think of stepping out of the blazing reddish-violet curtain of magical fire ....
"I WAS GOING TO KILL THE SCRAWNY, EFFEMINATE, WHORE-SPAWNED ELVES, FIRST ...." squawked Wastri, his wart-studded batrachian visage bubbling with angry red blisters .... "BUT YOU'VE JUST CHANGED MY MIND, WHORE-OF-DEVILS!!"
Pointing the wicked business end of his glaive-guisarme, "Skewer of the Impure," at Countess Olivia, Wastri squatted low like an obese, man-sized, bipedal frog preparing to leap, then launched himself in a bounding arc through the now open South Gate archway, glaive-guisarme on trajectory to impale the pretty blond Countess between her breasts .... *CLAAANGGG!!!* An arc of blurred night-black star metal trailing silvery white traces deflected what would otherwise have been a fatal impalement of Countess Olivia .... "WHAA--??", grunted Wastri in startled surprise ....
Suddenly hasted by the ravenous Blackrazor, in addition to being compelled by the sentient greatsword into a battle trance that heightened his already considerable natural ferocity, Horned King Malvolio had darted between Countess Olivia and Wastri a split-second before the greenish metal head of the "Skewer of the Impure" could skewer the countess, and almost of its own volition, the star-speckled night-black blade of Blackrazor had swept the demigod's thrust aside like it was swatting a fly .... The hungry blade did not pause, but continued in an arc that spun back around on the upswing to carve a scarlet-billowing rift open in the flabby abdomen of Wastri, whose wide frog-like mouth gaped open in a bloodcurdling shriek of shocked pain and alarm .... Before the stunned demigod could react, Blackrazor had "tasted" its prey a second time, whetting its appetite for a "bigger bite" of this "delectable meal" ....
Malvolio was only vaguely aware of Selephotsiphem cursing in dismay and alarm somewhere behind him; he was vaguely aware of Countess Olivia briefly touching him on his right shoulder blade as she intoned a quick enchantment to compel him to even greater heroism, suddenly amplifying his martial prowess and bolstering him with magical vitality .... He ignored all other vague impressions that might try to distract his focus from the hateful, frog-like demigod that stumbled, backpedaling away from the voracious, star-studded, midnight-black blade .... "What?? .... Had the predatory greatsword just SNARLED?? Had Wastri heard it, TOO?? Or was it only an impression of my imagination? .... No. There it was again, a bestial growl, seeming to have come out of Blackrazor .... Wastri HAD heard it, too ...." The demigod's bulging eyes were fixed upon the long, black, star-spangled blade, like the eyes of a terrified herd animal beholding the gaping, fanged maw of a dire wolf in the last instant before the jaws sunk into its throat ....