[OOC: They are all procrastinating. Its my character's doing, I tell you
]
Nefir could feel his blood-red skin being prickled by the out-of-control magic spilling down from the sky, wreaking havoc on reality around him. He knew he had to put a stop this, before he sprouted a second head or turned into a barrel of spoiled cottage cheese... eventually. Spying the battle field, he finds the one likely responsible for all that magical pollution - a strange fellow wearing strange clothes and holding a strange.. thing.
He has faced foes bigger, and more dangerous - workaholic accountants, nuns with obsessive-compusive disorder, attourneys so wicked, they need their own attourneys - but returned victorious every time. With a mighty battle-squeal and the sound of hoofs crushing helpess pebbles, the demon charged at Klinkflock, fork extended (a damn fine fork, too).