[center][h3]Abomination felled, More on their way, a choice of flight or fight is made...[/h3][/center]

	Jericho danced back after plunging a torch into its neck cavity, the thrashing, sizzling, and oozing of black ichor, not wanting the foul smelling stuff on him if at all possible. He hadn't expected things to go so smoothly, then again, he never had a being capable of lifting and smashing down one of these things in his ranks. There was this one giant fellow, had carried an axe with a haft of thick oak and hammered, crude looking iron work for a head. Gods have mercy on whomever got in its way though, he recalled fondly, though he was already giving the one longsword an experimental lift, having kicked it clear of the thrashing corpse. Too unwieldy for his tastes, even if longswords were agile in the right hands, his were not the right hands. Arming swords, daggers, anything that didn't occupy both hands at once was his preference. [color=598527]"'ere, grab 'is kit 'fore we leave. Better some o' us are armed than none o' us."[/color]

	Offering the longsword to whomever wished to take up the two handed blade, and if no one took it from him he would hang on to it since it was better to be armed than unarmed, he would look at the tin lass as she had questioned brute force, the curious gaze lingering just long enough. What, had her creator not given her due strength to protect her master and break them apart bare handed if needed? Gods damned waste, that, but he wasn't some creator of mechanical....things, so he instead turned his attention to the lifted spell, and the mimed action of a running stance by the thing that saved them. Accurate, it was time to go, even if they didn't precisely know where to go, so the one that sprung them from these cells would be the one leading the way, or they'd just be running blind. [color=598527]"'e's right, time t' get scarce. Find someplace t' 'unker down, we can sort t'ings out proper there."[/color]