The elven woman's eyea blinked and she was calming, her breathing beginning to slow.  Admittedly the people towering over her prone form, while they looked strange, didn't seem to be overtly hostile.  Generally, their postures, facial features projected little more than concern.

Then the massive golem proclaimed his hunger at the same time as something rushed the small group screaming out, "friend", over and over.  Turning her head, her eyes popped open again...

"By Myrkhul's shriveled black balls!" She exclaimed as the rotting clown rushed the group while calling out for friendship.

Even as the small black pudding moved to hide behind the elven sorceress the elf woman was already scrambling.  Panic was rising in her, stealing her breath as she pulled on the legs of those standing over her, scrambling to get behind the rest of the group.  She hated undead, she hated specters and all their ilk.  Her magic didn't work on them and they twisted your soul into mockeries of their former selves.