It is its eyes that are most striking, however. Their black depths speak of ages - millennia even - of knowledge and experience. And an utter lack of pity or compassion.
"Hhhnnnngh... Heh! Heh..." The jackal-headed fiend's voice is wracked with pain and anger, but the lips curl back to show fangs as it chuckles. "Scragged by a paladin... I'd threaten to share that bit of Chant with Belhifet, but he knows already. He knows everything. How will you beat one who knows so much more than you? You should have garnished my loyalty while you had the chance!"
It points a claw to Zenithral, who is departing with the cambions, and casts a spell that assaults the archer's mind, hoping to cause him to fail his own spell that currently keeps the twins' fear at bay. The insidious weight of arcane magic slides off of the determined half-elf, however.
Whitcomb snarls and ducks into the demiplane, out of sight of all the companions except for Alalla.
Rolls
Zen wis save DC 16 - (1d20+3)
(18) + 3 = 21