[center][h1]Gilliam DeWitt and Nasaraph Sana[/h1][/center]

Gilliam hadn't even started to open his mouth when suddenly a raucous battle cry sounded from above, dozens of tiny voices screeching for blood and glory in unison, the pounding of tiny legs across the floor of the level above. The screeches of battle quickly transformed, however, into screeches of surprised. Then they became screeches of fear as the first of the imps, one in a very nice hat, tumble through the hole in the ceiling and landed with a meaty splatter on the debris pile. He was almost instantly followed by dozens more of his kind, falling like the ugliest of autumn leaves from the floor above and impacting the cushionless floor. 

In a few moments not a single of the once vicious horde was left alive, obliterated completely only by the forces of gravity. Naseraph gaped at the shocking display as they began to evaporate into ectoplasmic stains on the floor, reflecting on just how easily he could have ended up like that upon his banishment from the mountain. 

Gilliam looked only for a moment, then turned back to Samoth and answered his question by extending one finger and pointing straight up.

[@Bartimaeus]