I come to the realization that someone is swearing, loudly, in goblin. It occurs to me a few moments later that the voice doing so is mine. In my defense, I've only had the voice a short while, it's disorienting. I focus on the threat- the one calling the shots, the head of the snake, the... other, equally apt metaphors. This is just all so FRUSTRATING! Nothing makes sense! Well, it all has an internal logic I suppose but that's not the same thing as /sense/ and... UGH! I reach for the power that infuses all things, the mana the fills the space between spaces, the unstable, erotic power that permeates this whole place, and open myself as a conduit to it, channeling it as a focused, sustained beam at the gnoll queen, which continues to arc and shimmer from my extended hand to her, rippling over her.
((Witch bolt with a level 2 spell slot. 17+5=23 to hit. 2d12 = 6+6 = 9 damage. I can use my action for as long as I maintain concentration to deal 1d12 automatically))