Zyrr's eyes widen in alarm. He begins concocting another lie, but then Baalzebul addresses him by name and he knows all is lost.

The waiter's form gives way to that of a drow, who clings to the faint hope given by the fiends' surprise at the poison itself. "The holy water was my idea. The waiters I impersonated said the poison probably wouldn't slow you down but I thought something more divine would get your attention. As for who ordered the poisoning, I'm afraid the waiters who spiked the wine aren't available for questioning - you can find their bodies probably twenty yards below the barge by now - but they did mention that 'she' would pay them well. If I had to hazard a guess, I'd place the blame on your lovely right hand of Grazz't."