Thorn looks at the slowly rippling flesh before him, knowing enough now to not touch its foul slime. He looks back to the others and their meager weapons. He raises his javelin in his right hand and holds his battle-axe in his left, yelling out in a rage as he beckons the group to do their worst to the creature - hack a path through before whatever wrecked head and claws it may have finds its way to them.

He throws his javelin, hoping to - if nothing else - give himself a means of climbing over the monster without touching it. The 6 remaining rowers at his back follow, screaming out in honour of their downed and dying allies in the next room. The party hacks away at the creature, doing their best to keep their distance.