[center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center][center][img]https://i.ibb.co/16tCqTN/Combat-Header-Text.png[/img][/center][center]━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━[/center]
[center][hider=Battle Map][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019c0c4e-83b4-70bc-9ade-4da968ec0b8b.webp[/img][/hider][/center]

[center][color=darkgray][h2]*****[/h2][/color][/center]

	Little Lizbeth, now white as chalk but not because of her preternatural ability to cease biology in favor of less living form, continued stepping backward until a shoulder made connection with the wall behind her. Thoughts whirled in her head that she wanted to do something - [i]needed[/i] to do something. Otherwise, all of this she was going through was a mistake. When the Ankheg attacked, it felt like a natural instinct took over and something just happened. This was different. What exactly that difference was, she could not say. But Lizbeth had the visage of a little girl who, despite being in custom green chitin armor and carrying weapons forged for battles long past, was terrified. 

	The girl's mouth opened in a wordless expression as her eyes locked somewhere in the middle distance. Trembling hands moved toward her curved, short sword, gripping the hint with some uncertainty. The one undead creature in the room who was considered an ally, Morty, stepped in front of Lizbeth. It was given an order, and it was obligated to follow. Bodyguard - Lizbeth. No soul, but eternal purpose, so long as its animation held out. Oddly, it gave the young lady a mote of comfort.

	The howl continued unabated. Maddening, unnerving, ruining possible conversation and anything that resembled a subtle sound, the undead horror continued to swell in the confined room. 

	Up above, the Mosswaters (Barbal and Tarace) decided to busy themselves with setting up a quick and simple tea setting. Not the actual tea, mind you, as that honor usually went to the guests, but tiny pastries, cucumber sandwiches, and the like were being assembled as best they might, despite the horrifying sounds coming from downstairs, in the cellar. 

	[color=darkgray][i]"Do you think they might need help with..."[/i][/color] Tarace started, unaware of any details on the event but willing to be neighborly, [color=darkgray][i]"...whatever that is down there?"[/i][/color] He looked concerned. 

	Barbal scoffed at this idea, shaking his head vigorously to the negative. [color=darkgray][b]"No."[/b][/color] It was gruff, flat, and final. When Tarace shot him a quizzically impatient look, Barbal relented and explained his view. [color=darkgray][b]"Look, they knew we were taking Tea together today. It's just bad manners to plan something else at Teatime. I'll hear their apologies later, but this is none of our business - and that's that. Pass be those blackberry preserves?"[/b][/color] 


	[@Arty Fox], it's your turn once more.

[center][h2][color=gold][i]Round Two[/i][/color][/h2][/center]