There are questions you should never ask*, because there's a distinct possibility that someone out there in the multiverse will answer it...
Everthing was going smoothly or the former members of Der Chelonian Mobile Enterprises. Having been recruited by a number of local deities and promoted to 'hemi-god' status, our intrepid adventurers had merrily, if not improbably, made their way down to the 142nd layer of the Abyss. Once there, they not only set about tracking down the leader of a fairly small (by Abyssal standards) realm, but they also managed to (even MORE improbably) blast him out of existence.
This casual coup d'état also served to place Koresh on the throne of a small yet geographically enviable piece of land, surrounded by bloodthirsty enemies, and with few (if any) resources to draw on for the overwhelming demonic invasion that almost immediately ensued.
*Should they stay and defend this nascent realm?
*"Why the heck not?" was the ominous reply.
So what happened next was what Abysstorians will forever refer to as 'the Battle of New South Waco': where a ragtag group of adventurers, conscripts and last-minute allies defeated three separate invading armies; where Koresh was transformed into the demon-winged, tiger-skinned deity/ruler of the realm; where he thereby defeated a draconic general of Tiamat's army in single combat and absorbed his armies; where he then used said general as a weapon (wielding him by his testicles) to behead a different general (and thus absorbing her armies); and where Stonehenge used love's sweet inspiration to drive a shambling, gibbering horde of invaders from the realm.
The field was won.
The day was saved.
And a period of Peace and Plenty was declared for as long as it took the victors to party and pass out... twice.
It was at this point in the revelry that The Enigma, not used to Strong Drink (or Le Tournedos de Stench Kow et son Ragoüt de Chimpanzee å la Béarnaise, for that matter) climbed the Rickety Staircase of Consciousness, rummaged through the Untidy Attic of Reality and asked with a groan:
*"Where's my head?"
It was at precisely that moment that Stonehenge looked up from his Le Carre d'Agneau Roti et son Jus au Romarin et Flan l'Ail and saw an assassin at the window. But keen eyes and swift actions are nothing when compared to the God Squad's Improbability Vortex, and The Enigma's head returned to the scene just in time to intervene and deflect a Dagger of Truly Horrible and Soul-Destroying Venom as it was headed for Dolorous' spine. Stonehenge and Koresh tracked down (with appropriate comedy) the assassins and dispatched both (with extreme prejudice).
The Enigma then got his act together (along with his body and his head) to See with the Light of One Million Clarities and violently punch Dolorous' fork out of her hand. The fork, it turned out, was no normal fork; it was a Fork of Eternal Thanksgiving. Had she continued to eat for just a few more minutes she would have weighed as much as a small star.
Thankful for the reprieve, Dolorous decided to repay The Enigma's kindness by poking The Fork with her holy, anointed silver Fist of Vishnu.
*"What could it hurt?" she asked.
*"What happens if she rolls a one?" thought the DM.
Meanwhile, Koresh was having a tough time of it. Catching up to the whirling sand/obsidian storm that was Stonehenge, he watched as his friend clumsily (yet thoroughly) interrogated the two blonde assassins. But rather than turning it into a workable (if a little derivative) scene from Penthouse Forum, ("Dear Penthouse Forum, You'll never believe what happened to me while chasing down assassins in the jungles of the Abyss last night...") Stonehenge botched it by sandblasting the both of them, scouring every bit of soft, supple flesh from their bones and incorporating thousands of bone fragments into his ever-growing storm field.
It was too much for Koresh to bear.
Eyes rolled. Spittle formed. Muscles convulsed. A rant was formed and Koresh, seized with self-righteousness, brought down his fury on Stonehenge for killing without permission in his realm.
Stonehenge, sick of the self-important posturing of this overinflated gnome gave him the back of his hand.
*"What happens if he rolls a one?" thought the DM.
Within the temple, the Fist touched the Fork.
Without, the Hand slapped the Face.
Ones were rolled.