"Stop!" Dorfamal commands imperiously, drawing his wand and holding it up in the air like a scepter of command. He speaks in Common, for the benefit of their foes - for what good that will do them! "You are advised to regard yourselves as privileged, for you are all presently to be privy to a stupendous technology demonstration of incomparable arcane might. Some of you for the first and last time." The wizard sets his cushion on the ground, raises his wand theatrically and lifts his other hand like a conductor at an orchestra. As the hobgoblins and others watch, he begins chanting a long series of magic words, with slowly falling and dramatically rising inflection, waving his wand and his hand in intricate motions. Fire flares in the air between his fingertips, similar to the flameburst spells he has used before, but it does not stay there.

As the Eladrin directs the magical energies with his wand, they begin to form spiraling, twisting flames in the midst of the hobgoblins. "Attend and take heed! I am Dorfamal, the Magnificent, and this is my triumph: the pinnacle of mystical battlespace engineering, the premier all-inclusive integrated system for tactical force projection, multiple target elimination, personal defense, and central heating solutions!" As he speaks, the flames coalesce into the form of a hovering, flaming sphere. The sphere unbearably heats the entire area around it. "Behold, and bear witness: Dorfamal's Remotely Operated Wartime Fire Elemental Mechanism for the Annihilation of Lesser Enemies! Or succinctly... DROWFEMALE!"

The Eladrin makes a triumphant punctuating gesture with his wand, and a jet of flame bursts forth from the sphere at the biggest of the hobgoblins. Under the momentum of the fire, the ball rolls right between a group of the hobgoblins, searing them with its heat. Dorfamal takes the time to observe what effect his device has had on the enemy, and how they are reacting.

"You bring up a good point about metaphysics and consciousness, Dorfamal. How much must one cogitate in order to manifest a spiritual presence? Is it even a requirement? Do simple creatures like oozes and halflings have souls? What about cats? When my pet kitty Miss Fluffikins was sucked dry by a rampaging stirge till she was naught but a fuzzy raisin, mama said her feline spirit went straight to Chauntea's heavenly orchard AND MAMA NEVER LIED TO ME so I think this is a rich topic for debate. Surely these ghosts did not coincidentally appear just as the oozes expired." A newly invigorated Lihu says as she slashes at the spirit again.

"Perhaps being slain by the unholy power of a warlock prevents these oozes from seeking their final rest. Um, no offense intended, Quinn. Ooze ghost! Go into the light! All are welcome!" Lihu shouts, providing a glowing beacon for the spirit.

Quinn shoots Lihu a puzzled glance. "I have no idea what you just said."

Lihu's words actually seem to calm and hearten the wizard. "Why yes, you know, that actually has the potential to be quite a provocative theoretical question in theological circles! Indeed, what is the threshold of cognition whereby a creature must be assumed to possess a soul? I suspect it must be substantially beneath that of truly intelligent beings, such as Eladrin. Why, dwarves are always regarded as having been granted souls by Moradin, and half of them can barely be considered sentient, let alone intelligent! I would be obliged to agree that your feline Miss Fluffikins did have a soul, for spirit felines do exist and it is commonly known that cats exhibit reincarnation, in a range between 7 to 11 iterations, Gaussian distribution, epsilon variance. Yet I still cannot fathom multiple spirits residing in as simple a life-form as ooze! Fortunately for you, our group includes no fewer than three disciples of the divines, so I am convinced you will find a lucrative and fruitful colloquy for your philosophical endeavors. Unfortunately, none of those command any real magic, and so it typically falls to me to handle the practicalities of our mission, while you discuss such trivialities."

The wizard sighs the sigh of a martyr most unfairly put-upon, and returns to the odious task of maintaining his conjuration. Unfortunately, he cannot reach the remaining enemy without burning many allies. Dorfamal considers the battlefield for a few moments, and finally decides to blast the specter with a ray of cold. "Foul spirit, begone! Return to the chill of the grave whence you came!"