Lancelot's senses prick and he turns to watch the creature emerge.

It's at this point that, belatedly, he somewhat regrets not having a decent weapon. He has a silver knife and that's it. Knives require getting close, and from the looks of the claws on that thing he'll need to be careful it doesn't rip his insides out. He swallows hard, gropes up the blade from where he dropped it while strangling the gnome and takes a slow breath.

Well, he reminds himself, he's quick. Perhaps it will be slower than him? Less agile? He can hope.

"Come on then," he murmurs, and takes a half step forward -- braces himself and waits to see if it will make the first move.