With some reluctance - humans, when they finally stopped moving, were not uncomfortable to lie on, after all, and Jonathan with his armour had conveniently extricated himself - Old N lifted himself to his feet, his junctures crackling in protest at not having been left to rest for a few more hours. Surveying the situation, he found that he was the only one left standing in the hallway, as the knight had gone to, if the sounds were any indication, demolish half the building, and the Aztec (or was he? Old N had never bothered remembering his exact origin. The damned all tasted equally bad, anyway) brute was retrieving Grog from where the latter had so brilliantly incapacitated himself. This meant that, if any reinforcements were on the way, the gardener demon would have to face them alone - a perspective which stirred his lethargic emotions into something akin to apprehension. More guards would mean merely more work for him, which, though an odious prospect, could probably be kept at bay until help arrived; however, if their leader decided to personally intervene, things would most likely rapidly take a turn for less than the best. Old N was not at all certain whether he could subdue a raging Cambion alone; furthermore, there were no plants nearby which he could animate to improve his chances of victory.

Seeing as disposing of the first enemies seemed to have granted the party a momentary respite, Old N saw himself constrained to try and act quickly more earnestly than it was customary for him. He hastily trudged toward the gazing camera in the corner and, after a few clumsy attempts, lodged what remained of his mushroom stalk into its objective; he had no idea as to whether this would avail him any, but figured it would be best if he took all precautions he could think of (fortunately, these were not many). Having accomplished the first daring step of his plan, he laboriously crouched - stooping with an exoskeleton was, if not impossible, very slow and even more tiring - and lifted an edge of the collapsed table. Noisily dragging the battered piece of furniture across the room, the demon attempted to turn in such a fashion as to be able to turn it toward the door and place it there as a makeshift barricade. Though he was successful in his efforts as far as to position the table more or less where he wanted it to be, he somehow managed to make it stand on one corner, rendering the barrier precarious at best. Aware of this, he chose to follow the course of action which struck him both as most convenient and least exacting: turning his back to the tottering plank, he crouched before it, both supporting it with his bulk and providing an additional layer of defense with his carapace. Any incoming foes attempting to enter would have to make him stand up - in other words, accomplish the nigh-impossible.