Camilla clucked disapprovingly but Cydric wouldn't be Cydric if he were willing to wait in saftey while an Imperial town was attacked. She Scooped up her clothing and dressed quickly, pulling on her white undershirt, black trousers and the leather armor that buckled over the top. Spying an axe dropped by one of the fallen guards she scooped it up, sliding her rapier back into its scabbard in favor of the heavier weapon.

"Lets move," Cydric directed Thor was hobbling on his wounded leg frantically ramming an improbable amount of powder into the barrel of the coach gun before emptying a milk pail sized handful of musket balls and assorted langridge into the bell mouthed muzzle. Camilla didn't bother to reload her pistols, having no time and having seen the limited impact the firearms had against these strange attackers. The four of them formed a rough diamond with Cydric in the lead, the two dwarves on the flank and Camilla in the rear.

A blast of cold air hit them as they stepped into the street. Men and women screamed as the animated tree things slouched through the streets with deadly grace. Bells told, and shouts and blasts of horns filled the air. Unearthly shrieks mingled with the sound of hard steel biting into timber. A number of bodies were already littering the street, bones broken and bellies opened with slashes of the long wooden talons. Fortunately it seemed that the creatures had goals in mind, they killed those who got in their path, they didn't seem to be eneterying building to slaughter the townsfolk who cowered there.

"Looks like they are heading for the the Graffin's townhouse," Camilla surmised, though in truth there were several rich mansions in that area of town.

"Right," Cydric declared, grabbing a fleeing guardsman by the scruff of the neck as he ran past, eyes wide and a glaive held in a death grip that mottled his knuckles.

"Fall in!" he barked, shaking the guardsmen to emphasise the point. The man, an boy of perhaps seventeen summers staired at him goggle eyed for a moment and then took a shaking step into place. They advanced up the street, which while blood spattered seemed mostly clear of the tree things. As they entered the square at the end of the street however things changed dramatically. The Graffin's mansion was at the far side, set off from the square with its statue of Sigmar by a low stone wall topped with considerably higher wrought iron spikes. The dryads swarmed against the wall, easily thirty of the things, trying to climb over in a tangle of branches and glowing eyes. On the other side of the wall a handful of retainers thrust and hacked at the mass with halberds, though they didn't have the height to really put power into the increasingly desperate strokes. As Camilla watched, one of the dryads seized a defender and pulled him forward, slamming him repeatedly into the iron fencing that separated them, till his shattered skull lost definition in a welter of blood. With a gap opened in the defenses the creatures began to swarm up and over the fence.

"By twos!" Cyrdic roared, broadsword in the air. What few men there were haggard and crawling in from various parts of the estate; many half dressed and some bleeding from various cuts and blunt trauma. It was clear they wouldn't have been an effective unit even fit, but as they were they simply stumbled about and tried to form a ragged line. A few of them were stout of arm and fully armored, hacking at the tree-things and throwing torches on them. But the bristling wall of imperial soldiers Cyrdic hoped for was not non nelle carte like Camilla said: "in the cards."

By a stroke of stupid luck, however, the men took his advice to mean 'attack by groups of two' rather than two lines supporting each other, and it turned out to not be the dumbest of ideas. Half of the men complied, with one man cutting and cleaving a monster to distract it whilst the other guard stuck it with flames. Cyrdic and Camilla actually commited that exact strategy when the bewildered Ostlander saw the others do it. Cyrdic chopped off one of the things' 'branches' and it screeched like a banshee, only for Camilla to set it ablaze and dance out of its reach gracefully.

"Good idea, herr Becker!" One of the more lucid and less sleep deprived men called.

"I have a good idea from time to time." Cyrdic remarked under his breath, Camilla smirking and pinching his cheek playfully.

The carnage that epitomized the beginning of the attack was replaced with crisp, cut monsters and the wailing of those wounded men that were still in earshot. Cyrdic wiped his brow, his broad chest expanding as he breathed in deeply. Gunir and Thor strode out of one of the cottages, a dozen branches between them carried on their backs. Thor smiled at their two human companions, though out of pride or gladness to see them alive, it was hard to gauge.

"What the hell are you doing with those?" Cyrdic asked, sheathing his broadsword. He lamented that he would have to sharpened the blade thoroughly. He might even need professional work done on it. Wood was notorious for blunting blades, animated or no.

"Figured the Graf might reward who ever killed the most beasties." Thor explained. Gunir shrugged and nodded.

Cyrdic and Camilla suddenly looked at one another, remembering who they hadn't seen since the attack.

"The Graf!" they said in unison.

The fight was now turning in favor of the humans. If the dryads had opted to destroy the defenders in detail rather than rushing for the manor house it might have been different, but their alien and insane focus on breeching the walls had given the defenders time to regroup. 'In favor of' didn't mean the humans were having it all their own way however. Even as Camilla watched a grizzled looking older man had his head snapped to an unnatural angle by a blow of a bough that whipped hard enough to send a spray of dead leaves after the fallen soldier. Another soldier, a young man with freckles and red hair tripped on the body and on of the dryads gleeful leaped atop the youth and plunged its wicked branch arms down into the boys guts, the red tips coming away bloody and steaming in the crisp winter air. Camilla fired the pistol she had managed to reload into the things face by way of avenging the fallen. The wood of the things head splintered but its glowing green eyes didn't dim. An older woman screaming in pain and loss swung an oil lamp two handed to crash down on the things back with a shattering scream of glass and a whoosh of oil igniting. The dryad screamed and rushed off into the night, wreathed in smoke, blazing and burning as it went.

"We have to get inside before they get to the Graf," Camilla declared, eyes darting around for the nearest gate. The gatehouse, two pillars of stone with vast wrought iron doors was a mass of struggling men and hissing thrashing dryads.

"We will haf te fight our wae every step..." Thor began to object, but Camilla was already thrusting her mostly useless rapier back into its scabbard.

"Sollevami," she said and ran at Cydric. The big mercenary dropped his own sword and made a stirrup of his hands. Camilla stepped into it and leaped upwards as Cydric uncoiled his vast leg muscles hurling her ten feet into the air and over the wall. She tumbled in a full circle, caught the edge of the wall and landed on her belly an arm reached down towards her companions. Cydric ran at the wall grabbing her arm as he leaped. Cydric outweighed Camilla by nearly a hundred pounds, but she dropped over the far side, her dead weight allowing the mercenary to keep is momentum till he reached the top and could grasp the top of the wall.

"Oh aye," Gunir groused disgustedly, "but what about thaes of us tha no be circus freaks?" The drawven accent on 'freaks' made it sound like frakes which made Camilla snicker.

"Got any rope?" Cydric asked with a meaningful look at the coil of heavy dwarven cord that hung from his belt.

"Aye ya'right," the dwarf grudgingly allowed and hurled the cord up to Cydric who quickly made it fast around a wrought iron spike. Leaving the dwarves to their slower progress, the two humans dropped into the garden of the manor house. Bodies of livered guardsmen, most only partially dressed and indifferently armed lay steaming in the chill, their bodies bruised and torn by thorny arms. Piles of dead timber which had once been dryads were scattered around too, though they had clearly had the better of the exchange. A broken window winked jagged glass and the sounds of fighting could be heard from further in the house. A vine from a nearby tree reared back and whipped at Camillia, her rapier hissed free of her scabbard and severed the questing vine neatly. Other plants began to shiver and grow agitated.

"Into the house," she called and jumped through the window, crunching broken glass beneath her feet. They were in a large parlor that must have also served as a ball room. A servant lay in the corner in a pile of blood and bloody tracks lead out one of the side doors. Camilla followed, though what use her rapier was likely to be was open to question. Through the door was a scene of chaos. A score of dryads were attempting to surge up an ornate stair case that lead to the upper and private areas of the manor. The climbed over each others like spiders, spilling up over the elaborate banisters like the surf rushing up a channel. At the top of the stairwell, wearing a cotton nightgown with pink roses embodied on it, was three hundred angry porcine pounds of the Gräfin of Dounkebruk, swinging an ancient battle axe in a way that would have made any orcish chieftain jealous. Her jowly face was white with fury as she hacked and chopped any of the dryads that tried to reach the landing. Piles of dead wood were aiding her in her task but for all her fury it was obvious that within a few more seconds the climbing dryads would be able to flank her and reach the second story.

@POOHEAD189

The manor was a mess of deadwood and dark blood, expensive paintings scratched and ripped; busts knocked over and the couch was simply ruined. Cyrdic had never stepped foot in the house since their recent employment, and though he never had an eye for these types of things, he felt Camilla would have found it impressive. Even in its destruction some if it still remained, but Cyrdic was more focused on the mass of trees whose rage focused solely on his paymaster. It was strange hearing the crackling of their wooden skin and the rustle of leaves as they rushed up the stairs and climbed buttresses to try and read the Grafin.

Camilla gasped when she saw the fraulien surrounded, Cyrdic giving a grunt in acknowledgement. His lover was probably the most dangerous woman he had ever met, but the Gräfin of Dounkebruk looked like she was born for the axe. He wished he had a woodsman's weapon to help her, even his broadsword was inadequate in this situation. A few of the tree-beasts 'heard' their entrance in a fashion and turned to glare balefully at Cyrdic and Camilla. The muscled merc yelled "Go!" To his new lover, indicating she save the Grafin. She said something in Tilean he had begun to suspect meant "you better not die" and she was off, leaping over the tree 'tops' and pushing off the wall, grabbing the chandelier above them and using it to pivot her body, Camilla's lithe form landing beside the Grafin to fight with her back to back.

Cyrdic gave a low sound; a primal noise of anger as three of them converged on him. Rather than retrieve his broadsword, he charged the front one, grabbing its branches and suddenly pulling with all of his might. His muscled were cords of iron, and within moments there was a great crackling rip like a tree falling, only this was the thing's branches being torn from its trunk, taking half of the trunk with it. It was a monumental feat of strength, but it didn't seem to deter the other two that launched at him, cutting vines and whip-like branching tendrils across his exposed face, slicing his sleeves and drawing blood. He simply grabbed one, ignoring the wounds and throwing it into its companion. They both fell in a heap, writhing long enough for Cyrdic to pick up a large chair and begin slamming it on them until they stopped struggling.

He coughed, sweating and bleeding. It had only been a twenty or thirty second melee, but he was merely a mortal man, albeit a tough one. He saw Camilla slice at the vines and dodge expertly, but she would tire soon. He grabbed what he had yet to use: His pistol. It couldn't do much normally, but he wasn't going to shoot at the Dryads. Instead he aimed it at an oil lamp hanging upon the wall near the stairs. He prayed to Ulric for guidance as he took a small breath, and though he wasn't nearly as good a shot as Camilla, he was serviceable at it and proved it when his weapon discharged. The pistolball struck the oil lamp, sending it crashing onto a wave of the tree-things, igniting them like the dry kindling they were. Even as they were set ablaze, he asked forgiveness from Taal. Through all this, he knew not what was or wasn't blasphemous to any of the local nature Gods. He just wanted to get paid, leave with Camilla, and keep good imperial men alive.

For his last trick, he used just his brute strength. With the tree-kin scrabbling and being set ablaze, the rest that still surged up where the fire had not reached were still many, but they were considerably weakened when the couch crashed into four of them. The fire and the couch did at least some good in stemming the flow. The rest was up to Camilla.

This might, Camilla realized, have been a mistake. Even with the disruption Cydric was causing, the press of tree-kin was tremendous. The Grafin did well enough with her axe, hewing the beasts with great cuts that send limbs flying and splintered trunk to sappy pulp, but her own light rapier proved to be all but useless. The best she could do was to deflect the branches that would otherwise have blindsided the axe wielding noblewoman. Nor, unfortunately, was it possible to retreat to the next doorway, a heavy wooden affair that would have made a better defensive position, as the tree kin were already on the landing in number enough to begin to flank. A branch cracked against Camilla's wrist and she responded with a back hand cut which was as useless as her other strikes had been. The light flickered and danced and she glanced above her to see one of the smaller treekin crouching atop the wrought iron chandelier. It leaped at Camilla like a missle leaves fluttering as it came. The Tilean sellsword dropped her blade and caught the thing with both hands, redirecting it over the splintered railing and down into the malestrom of flaming trees below.

"Run!" Cammilla shouted at the Grafin and then leaped upwards, catching a torch sconce and vaulting up onto the chandelier landing with both feet as close as she could to the central pilus. The ancient plaster above gave way and the wrought iron ring plunged down into the spot the Grafin had just vacated with a shower of powder and a crash like the world ending. Camilla rode it down, leaping clear at the last moment and then snatching for her sword. One of the flailing limbs caught her a glancing blow and sent her staggering backwards. She bounced off the wall and tumbled over the mass of half inanimate wood and vines. Camilla tried to scramble backwards, but one of the treekin was already rearing above her like a wooden scorpion, wickedly sharp arms ready to strike down through her belly. The Grafin of Donkeubruk unceremoniously grabbed Camillia by a handful of curly hair and yanked her back through the door a heart beat before the creature struck, its arms driving into the floor hard enough to splinter both flooring and limbs.

"Come and get it ye overgrown kindlin!" a dwarven voice shouted as Thor and Gunir, having finally cleared the wall, charged in to Cydric aid. The dwarves came on with a hatred and glee that Camilla had only seen in the settling of grudges, their axes hewed the creatures down like so many corn stalks, sending sap and splintered wood flying in all directions. Nor, it seemed, were the dwarves put off by the fact that most of their oppponents were now on fire. They hacked on, beards and clothing smoking as they pressed home their attack. It wouldn't have been exactly accurate to say that the attack broke the dryads. They neither fled nor panicked but the seemed to realize that the game was up. Between one heartbeat and the next glowing eyes and thrashing timber became dead and inert firewood.

"Oh eye, run awae ye damned Elgi marrionetes!" Gunir yelled, clearly arrived. Camilla, aching and bruised sagged gratefully against the wall whispered a quiet prayer of thanks to Myrmidida.

"Does Grimnir count trees as kills?" Thor asked his companion whilst Gunir continued to chop his axe into a twitching tree. He chopped at it almost redundantly at this point, clearly not hitting a 'vital' area if a dryad could be said to have it. Gunir responded with. "He ESPECIALLY counts trees ye dolt! Trees are friends of Elves after all!" He cackled, and continued his work. Cyrdic knew were it normal battle axes, they would blunt. But Dwarf work axes would stay keen regardless.

Cyrdic stumbled past the two, carrying himself stoicly despite his injuries and tiredness, making his way up the staircase of fallen timber and dead foliage daemons, stepping on them as much as the steps as he ascended. His heavy foot snapped a branch audibly, and he crested and made it to the top of the stairway to see Camilla leaning against the wall. He moved to her and they checked the other for injuries.

The Grafin spat on the once pristine carpeted floor, blood mingled with saliva. He wouldn't have thought it was her blood until he remembered trees didn't bleed. Then again they didn't walk until now, either. Behind him the Dwarfs still grumbled in Khazalid as the Grafin spoke up:

"This axe has been in my husband's family for generations, and now its blunted from woodwork. Ah, Herr Becker and Fraulien de la Trantio, you seem to have been worth the money. You and the stunties over there. You'll all get bonuses for this! No-"

"M'lady, where is your husband?" Cyrdic asked. Camilla's hair bounced as she nodded her agreement to the prudence of the question.

"That is what I would like to find out." The lady said, looking half mad with her torn dress and frizzled hair, not to mention the wild look.

The Graf was found cowering in a supply closet. Graf Von Donkeubruk had been a powerful man in his youth as was testified by his ropey muscles and the several portraits of him which hung around the place. Time however had not been kind to the man, he was emaciated and his flesh seemed to have withered on his bones. There was no logical justification for it but Camilla had the impression that he had lost every pound his wife had gained. The Graf's skin looked patchy, as though it had been painted on rather than growing naturally.

"Is it over?" the old Graf asked, his voice trembling. Camilla helped him out of the closet and deposited him on a setae. He blinked vaguely and then seemed to focus on the mercanaries and his wife. The grafin rushed up to her husband. She had lost the axe but her clothing was a ruin and her cheeks were flushed with her recent exertions.

"You are alive!" she gasped, enfolding the Graf in a hug that threatened to smoother him. Camilla averted her eyes politely for several seconds until the couple could compose themselves.

"Do you have any idea why these... things would attack your home?" Camilla asked after a moment. The Graf looked compltely baffled.

"My dear, I'm afraid I dont have the slightest clue."

Unfortunately that was not good enough for Cyrdic. Which was a strange concept to the man who never questioned orders before he sprung his new lover, and even after that he had remained loyal to any paymaster for as long as was befitting a soldier. But he found he had more cares at the moment with Camilla nearly being skewered on animated tree branches, and she likely did with him. That, and Cyrdic was tired of being torn out of bed from some new threat. Sigmar's balls, he hadn't a decent sleep in weeks.

"My lord, has this ever happened before?" He asked the Graf, clearly his throat so he sounded less grumpy.

"No, it hasn't." The Grafin spoke up, clutching her husband.

It was at that point the Dwarfs made their way up the stairs, twigs and leaves in their beards. They looked none the worse for wear. It was incredible their axes showed not the least signs of blunting, nor the Dwarfs themselves. In fact there was a feral gleam in their eye. As if killing trees was as cathartic to them as settling a grudge against the grobi. Later that night Cyrdic would mention it, and Camilla would reply 'may-be they joost hate sings that are green?'

"Grungni willing, we can go and stop the fuckers if we knew where to go!" Thor declared, realigning his grip on his axe in anticipation. Of course, he never forgot his Dwarfish sensibilities. "That is, if you're willing to pay some more, yeah?"

"If we're to protect you, we need some rest." Cyrdic said, crossing his powerful arms. "The men out there need cohesion, too. We barely stemmed the tide, Fraulien, and there's a lot more trees than men in the Drakwald."

The Graf looked surprised at something, but to what no one could have guessed. He looked to be in his own little world, likely frightened out of his mind. The Grafin told Cyrdic she was going to go out and help the men, and that this manor was theirs to use for sleep if they needed it, in any room that wasn't wrecked or the Lord's and Lady's chambers. Not only that, but finding out what caused this would get them triple pay, and stopping it from ever happening again was a one time payment of a thousand krowns to each.

Camilla and Cyrdic looked at one another, but they needn't say anything.

"Done!" Gunir said.

The accommodations in the Grafs manor were a considerable step up from the taverns and dives they usually slept in. It wasn't all good news however. The winter winds were howling outside and with windows shattered and doors broken from their hinges the icy wind was difficult to escape. Cydric and Camilla solved the problem by commandeering a downstairs parlor and rigging a series of quilted blankets to the door to keep out the cold. Snow had begun to fall and was growing in intensity, blanketing the afternoon in leaden gray. Camilla wondered if any of the bandits they had run off into the woods earlier in the day would survive. Maybe, the Drakwald was filled with caves and overhangs that might shelter a man in a blizzard, though that depended on it being unoccupied by something that would kill faster than the cold would.

"Luckily," Cydric said as he stepped through the quilts carrying an arm load of branches, "whatever these things were they left plenty of firewood." There was already a merry fire blazing in the stone hearth on the far side of the room, but it was likely to be a long night. Gunir didn't seem to think there was any chance of the tree things reanimating, but the dwarves had cut up the remains that hadn't already been shattered by axe blows or sword strokes. The garrison had been called out and was on the walls in full strength, a miserable business on a night like this, but nothing anyone was shirking after the events of the day.

Camilla poured two glasses of the Grafs excellent brandy and took one over to Cydric as he deposited the timber with a clatter. She doubted the Grafin intended for them to have the fine spirits, but there was enough confusion that nobody had noticed or cared that Camilla had acquired several bottles during the ongoing clean up.

"What do you think they came for?" she asked.

"Even spirits don't attack without some goal," Cyrdic replied, accepting the cup from his companion and downing it in two huge gulps. There was still just a swig left, but he decided to keep it there for when he wanted to savor it. For the moment he wanted to loosen up a bit. "Or cause. Ulric knows I wish I knew the reason. But even trees make tracks if they walk..."

His handsome face was grim, and he was so lost in thought that it took Camilla nudging him to bring him back to reality. He gave an 'oh' and started the fire with his flint and tinder, igniting the plentiful timber in a blaze of flame. Immediately the room simultaneously brightened and lengthened in shadowed darkness, but it had a welcome warmth to it. His broad shoulders lowered a bit and he relaxed, realizing just how tired he was. Camilla likely was too. He looked at her, dark hair shining in the firelight. Even after all their adventures, he couldn't believe how attractive the dancer was. Shadows danced across her full bosom, and he realized she caught him staring with her sharp eyes.

Initially he felt awkward, but the rough solder just placed a hand on his face and laughed. "Sorry, Cami. I'm just thinking we need a godsdamned vacation," he muttered in his growling baritone, stepping over to the couch and placing himself on it beside the fire. He chose to then finish the brandy, sipping it slowly before he drained the cup, a satisfied sigh escaped his lips. His chin was feeling itchy, he noticed. He would need to shave soon. "When we go tomorrow, I think we'll both need to grab some axes."

His broadsword had been sharpened, the sheathed weapon leaning against the corner of the wall.

"I hear Tilea is nice this time of year," Camilla responded with a slow grin spreading across her her face. She set her own glass down, enjoying the warming burn of the liquor as it slid down into her belly.

"Of course there are the civil wars, the skaven, the plagues, the bandits..."

Cydric laughed at the joke.

"Or we could try Lustria, of course there are the lizards, the dark elves, the plagues, the pirates..." he amplified. Camilla snickered. There were few places in the Old World or beyond in which ease and safety could be found. The Empire, like every other land, was perpetually awash with with troubles.

"Maybe we can take some time when we get to Marienburg," Camilla said hopefully.

"Didn't you get kidnaped by vampire's the last time we were there?" Cydric asked with a cocked eyebrow. Camilla giggled.

"Sure but at least the bandits there are actually the ones running the city." Cydric chuckled at this and Camilla slipped into his arms, feeling the rough scrape of his stubble against her cheek as she lifted her lips to kiss him.

"Oh for Grungi's sake wake up," a dwarven voice groused. Camilla came awake her hand reaching for where she had set her pistol before she realized it was Gunir. She sat up drawing the bearskin covers around her as she did so. The fire had burned down to smouldering embers and the chamber was cold but the faint light from outside suggested dawn had already broken. Cydric sat up and gave the dwarf a baleful look. Gunir didn't look to have slept, though with the cragy features of the Dawi it was hard to be certain. Flakes of snow lingered in his cloak and on his boots.

"Fine I'm up," Camilla said, pulling a cotton shift on over her shoulders and clambering out of bed. The shift hung to mid thigh and preserved her modesty as far as she cared to.

"Trouble, get dressed and come see," he said. There was a pecurliar tone to his voice, the kind dwarves got when they were happy to be the victims of bad luck. Camilla pulled on her leggings and a coat, buckling her sword and hanging her pistols. Cydric did the same, dressing with a quick economy of motion. Camillia didn't don her armor. The dwarf would have told her if that were required, but she did don a heavy cloak against the snow that could be seen falling through the expensive glass window. Gunir was waiting impatiently outside and without a word clomped out into the snow. It wasn't falling heavily but the day was bitter cold and the wind whipped the few flakes around widely. Soldiers had been picketed around the house though they largely huddled around fires made from the bodies of last nights intruders, trying to stay warm. Gunir led them out onto the snowy streets and up to the highest point on the city walls, near the north west tower. Soldiers were on the walls too, many pointing and muttering in low whispers. Camilla climbed onto the parapet and looked out into the early morning.

"Damn," she muttered in Tilean and reached for a spy glass she wasn't carrying. Gunir shoved one into her hands. It was intricate and of dwarven design so she handled it carefully, lifting it to her eye. Across the floor of the valley was the forest only...

"Damn,' she repeated again, "Myrmidia's tits..." The forest was at least a hundred yards closer to the walls than the last night. Worse yet it had grown across the road, the paved expanse of the highway ending at thick old growth forest that looked like it had been there for a hundred years and not over night. The spy glass was good enough that she could see where vast ancient roots had prized up the stones into an untidy sprawl.

"We are under siege..."

Cyrdic crossed his burly arms, prominently displayed even under the wolfskin cloak clinging to his shoulders. He looked over the landscape sternly, as if he had come to judge a fiefdom he had been granted by Karl Franz. In actuality, he was plotting ways to destroy it. He knew there was a catch. Nothing was ever simple as taking an axe to the problem, in a manner of speaking. If burning down the forest was all they needed to do, he wouldn't be so worried.

But it was a start.

The Dwarfs were grinning like halflings at a bakesale. Thor bumped Gunir with his elbow, and their whispering grew louder, as if their private joke was becoming a real conversation. Other than the occasional glances at one another, their eyes were on the forest like it was a target for a quarreled crossbow. "If I had an Irondrake, we could solve it all without so much as a fuss." One boasted.

"Still won't burn as well as grobi flesh, but aye. Ig'd make short work." The other, Gunir, said. "We won't need it though. A few torches, some pitch."

"A couple of good-"

"Passable."

"Aye, passable axes. Though I got me own."

As they spoke, Cyrdic knew he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to help the two. If they were under siege, then he and the Dwarfs would lead a raiding party to slow the advance. Camilla too, of course. But she was more deadly to targets that had a heart to pierce. Cyrdic would ask her to watch their backs, though he knew she would secretly loathe to do it. He turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "Let's find the Graf Von Donkeubruk. I need a big woodaxe."

"You neet a big loomp on ze head," she said back playfully, her diminutive fist pushing against his cheek.

Camilla pivoted right cutting through the grasping route with a clopping sound. The greenish gray root tip dropped to the snow crusted ground and began to slither forward towards the wood cutters. Emmaline kicked the agitated timber back into the forest. Her breath steamed in the cold winter air even as her body sweated from the effort of two hours spent trying to make headway into the stubborn forest. She had traded her rapier for a pair of hand axes with narrow half moon blades. Cydric and the dwarves were hacking their way deeper into the treeline with axes of their own setting the example for a score of soldiers similarly occupied. Camilla let the men work, restricting herself to targeting the constant swinging branches and questing roots that reached out to strike at the axemen.

"This isn't working," she called to Cydric who was standing atop a pile of greenish woodchips, hacking a great elm that had appeared during the night. The dwarves were cutting like daemons, wide mouth split in toothy grins, tireless in their assault on the woods. After two hours of frenzied effort though, they hadn't made much progress. The forest was resisting the attack. Even worse the areas on either end of the cutting line seemed to advance marginally each time Camilla glanced at them. They were beginning to form a decided pocket, the edges of which were slowly pinching in.

"We need to..."

One of the guardsman screamed like a gelded horse and Camilla's head whipped around fast enough to catch an elm tree gripping the man with great armlike boughs. She flung one of her axes overhand and it whipped thorough the air to bury itself near the base of one of the branches. Unbothered, the tree limbs drew apart with a crack of bone and spraying blood. The motion was oddly unhurried which was even more horrific than frantic action might have been. Screaming with rage and fear a half dozen of the soldiers threw themselves at the elm, cutting and hacking in a frenzy. The elm accepted the blows, as still and uncaring as any other tree save for the sheen of steaming blood on its bark.

"This is Elgi work," Gunir snarled, making 'Elgi' sound like no fouler insult could exist. Camilla didn't speak Khazalid of course, but she had been around enough dwarves to know a few of their words. Her skin prickled, expecting a flight of arrows to issue from the trees at any moment.

"We aren't going to cut our way through," Camilla said, returning to her previous thought. One of the soldiers, braver than the others, pulled her axe from the tree and tossed it underhand towards her. Camilla snatched the weapon from the air before it could fall to the snow.

"A hell of a price to pay for firewood," Cydric groused, his eyes lingering on the blood stained snow.

_________

"All I'm saying is there has to be SOME reason for it," Camilla declared as they sat around the fireplace in the sitting room which the four adventeruers had commandeered for their own. It seemed like at any moment the staff might decend and kick them out but so far the shock of the last few days seemed to be keeping the staff at bay. Camilla sipped a smoky liquor from a leaded glass tumbler and crossed her deerskin boots on the carpet before her.

"Trees don't just decide to attack cities," she continued.

"Aye, they normally have enough sense to steer clear of stone and steel," Gunir agreed.

"Why then, Donnkeubruk isn't any more offensive than any other city in the Empire I'm sure."

"Do you think the Countess is behind it?" Cydric asked. There was a sudden gasp and their eyes pivoted to a serving girl who was standing in the door, her eyes wide and whitefaced. She turned and bolted but Camilla was on her feet and across the room in a flash, seizing the girl by the elbow.

"Please, I'll lose my place if I tell," she blubbered. Camilla cocked a curious eyebrow, having only thought to dissuade the girl from speaking ill of the party to their hosts. She half dragged half guided the girl into the citing room.

"Tell us what?" Cydric asked in a patient tone. The girl began to sob and Camilla pushed her down into a chair.

"The Count's physician, he is an educated man, from Altdorf you know, he took something from the woods, something to help the count get better. That is all I know I swear!"

"You cannot come vin!" a high pitched reedy voice shrieked through the door. Camilla sighed wearily, she pulled her cloak tight about her shoulders. The Learned Doctor Konrad Von Michenkomph's quarters were behind a heavy oak door in the guest wing of the manor house.

"We just want to talk to you about the attacks," Camilla said patiently. Cydric and the dwarves stood behind her, expressions hardening with impatience.

"Vat do I know about botany, I am a phyzic! A phyzic I tell you, not a gardener, take your questions else where!" Von Michenkomph piped in what sounded like near hysteria. Camilla reached for her lock picks but before she could fumble with the tools Cydric's boot smashed into the jamb just above the latch. The door burst open with a metallic sprannnng as the lock gave way. Von Michenkomph became screaming, though in all truth it was difficult to tell where his scolding ended and his screaming began. Camilla entered his chambers, and was assailed with the pungent smells of herbs and medicine. Jars of unguents, leeches, and other tools of the physicians trade were stacked neatly beside dusty tomes on anatomy, humors and whatever other topics doctors stared at till they acquired that squinty look they all seemed to have. A large reading desk dominated the room with a hanging lantern on a chain above it. Von Michenkomph himself was a slight man in late middle age, bent and gray with a pair of spectacles on a birdlike nose. He was wearing a night shirt and cap and furiously stuffing what looked to be a piece of wood into his night shirt.

"I told you not to come in here!" he spat, backing away from the four mercenaries.

"We just have a few questions," Camilla reiterated.

"A few more now," Gunir growled, nodding towards the piece of wood sticking out of the the doctors nightshirt.

"Why don't you put the kindling down and we can talk about this like reasonable people," Camilla suggested. The doctor nodded sagely, glanced at Cydric and then turned and jumped out the window. Camilla put her hand to her head.

"Mia dia, this fucking town..."

Cyrdic glanced at Camilla, who in turn looked at the Dwarfs. Cyrdic didn't need to be told twice, he was going to do it anyway unless his lover had a different suggestion.

"Don't look at me, my legs are too short." Was what Cyrdic heard from behind him when he dropped his norscan shield and stepped up to the window. In the gloom, he saw a very muddied Konrad Von Michenkomph scrambling away. He looked to be limping as it had been a four meter drop, but Cyrdic doubted anything was seriously wrong with the man. Sigmar, he hoped the man wasn't a charlatan and this was worth it. He pushed off the window sill and sailed down, catching himself by hitting the ground with his feet and bending his knees to redirect the full force of the fall to all four limbs.

With muddied hands, he raced after the pitifully slow doctor. Cyrdic had good night vision, and with the vague lights from the ruined settlement blazing from windows and street lamps, it was impossible for him to lose the good doctor. Twenty meters and Cyrdic caught up to him by a tree at the edge of a paved road. Instinct told him to elbow the man and send him to the ground, but that might actually cause more damage than would have been necessary. Instead, Cyrdic grabbed the squealing fellow's nightshirt, yanking him up like an eagle catching a hare.

"Ack! Let me go you brute!"

"Don't make me get the sword out," Cyrdic warned, which led to a less energetic panic but he still squirmed. The chase was quick, but it was a long trudge back to herr doctor's quarters. Once they arrived back, Camilla and the Dwarfs were still in there, the Tilean woman cleaning her nails with a dagger she had just sharpened and the Dwarfs were passing the time smoking pipes. Cyrdic shoved him inside the doorway, closing the portal behind him.

"Run again and I'll get the buckshot." Cyrdic warned him, and the doctor quaked sufficiently enough to where he felt confident he would flee, and just to be safe, Cyrdic stood by the window with his big arms crossed.

Von Michenkomph looked thoroughly miserable as he was shoved down onto an upholstered couch. Judging by the blood stained basin beside it and the selection of surgical razors, he had done his share of bleedings. Camilla flipped her dagger over and balanced the point on the tip of one manicured finger, breathing in the rich smell of pipe smoke and blowing it out her nostrils. The physician’s face, miserable with pain, pinched in anger.

“The Grapvinewill hear of this!” he tried to snarl, though the effect was closer to sniveled.

“I’m sure,” Camilla told him reasonably, “You are going to want her to get that window fixed if nothing else.” As if to emphasize her point, frigid winter air gusted in, fluttering the candle flames and waking the guttering fire in the single austere fireplace from its embers to a last few minutes of sparking life. Several papers were picked up by the breeze and fluttered in the draft.

“First question,” Camilla asked, holding up a finger a few inches in front of Konrad’s face. The doctor recoiled as though he feared being struck, pressing his quivering lips together.



“Is that a piece of timber in your shirt or are you just happy to see me?” Camilla inquired. Von Michenkomph’s lips opened and closed like a freshly landed fish and he seemed to fold up over the lump in his nightshirt.

“Oh for Ulric’s sake,” Cydric growled and shoved his hand down the shirt, ripping a lump of wood from within and shoving the doctor back onto the couch when he attempted to grab it. It was a foot long and vaguely golden in color, like the eyes of a wolf in the dark. It seemed to almost pulse with life, moist with sap despite the conditions.



“That is the property of the Graf, give it back at once!” the doctor shrilled. Gunir stood up and stumped over to the doctor.

“I’d advise ya ta let os worry about the graph,” he groused, his accent thicker than normal, “If you donna start ans’ring questions I’ll have to break your other leg.” Von Michenkomph yanked his leg back out of the dwarfs reach.

“This is only a sprain,” he protested feebly. Gunir leaned very cloth, his lips splitting into a wide mouthed grin.

“My mistake, ill break them both for ya,” he countered.

“Lets start with why you were running away with a piece of kindling into the teeth of a snow storm,” Camilla suggested smoothly. There was a pounding on the door and a muffled voice calling through.

“Doctor, are you ok? We heard…” a male voice called from the other side.

“He’s fine,” Cydric called back.

“I am not! Run and get the Grapvine, tell them I’m being attacked!” Von Michenkomph yelled. Gunir drew back a meaty fist but Camilla lay a hand on his arm. The sound of foot steps slapping the stone sounded outside and muffled yells for guards.



“Well before she gets here, you better tell me exactly what is going on. Why did you run? Why take the wood?” Camilla pressed. Von Michenkomph lifted his nose, apparently under the impression that now the alarm was raised his problems were over. Gunir lifted a fist and grinned horribly.

“Its the trees, I think the trees are after it! I know they are!” the doctor bleated. Gunir paused and Camilla leaned forward.

“Why do you think the trees are after the wood?” she asked, genuinely perplexed.

“I read it in a book, that is what happened last time, please, please don’t hurt me!” he bleated. As he spoke his eyes cut to an old book that lay open on a table. Camilla crossed to it and picked it up. Fists began to pound on the door.

“Open up in the name of the Grapvine!”

"They're after this?" Cyrdic asked skeptically, holding up the piece of timber. It seemed unremarkable and even old and worn, unsuitable for use with most pieces of furniture or other woodcraft. Cyrdic had seen his fair share of strange occurrences and magics in the world, but this seemed a bit weird even for him. How would the doctor even figure they were after this very average piece of kindling? Could the treants find it in a pile of other bits of wood, even?

"Sounds like elgi nonsense to me," Thor said offhandedly. As he smoked, the dirty blonde-bearded dwarf ran his thumb over his axe to make sure the blade was keen. He talked a bit less than his companion, so when he did speak people tended to listen. "There are tales of 'elves' in woods close to this one. I bet they had something to do with it."

"Aye, weird magics." Gunir added. "But it makes some sense it looks like that. What better way to hide a magic craft than to make it look mundane. Makes it easier to hide."

"Why don't we just break it?" Cyrdic suggested, half a serious question and the other half a ploy to see how the doctor would respond. Almost immediately, he did get a response from Von Michenkomph, who looked like he was about to go insane from the very prospect of the deed. Cyrdic raised an eyebrow at him, and someone banged on the door again.

"Help!" the doctor cried.

"No, mi amor," Camilla said, placing a hand on Cyrdic's thick forearm. "We don't know what would happen. The trees might never stop."

"Or it could solve our problems," Gunri said, stroking his beard.

Finally the door caved in, three armed men in the lord's tabards holding billhooks walked in, as did a myriad of the doctor's servants. The two Dwarfs stepped infront of the intruders and Camilla aimed a pistol at one of the guards as she held her rapier out in a low guard. Cyrdic held the piece of wood up and had his sword out in a flash, the point of it at the neck of Von Michenkomph, who stopped his screaming when he realized he was very close to the cold blade of Cyrdic's broadsword.

"The doctor has something to confess to you and the baron, I think." Cyrdic said bluntly.

"When I hired you I rather hoped you would be defending the manor rather than breaking windows and assaulting my household," the Graffine grumped as she followed her guards into the room. She was wearing the largest bearskin Camilla had ever seen, and it still seemed to struggle to cover her impressive frame.

"My Lady, they attacked me, they stole my medicine, they..." Von Michenkomph blubbered.

"What kind of medicine is this?" Camilla asked. The doctor cut his eyes between Cydric's sword point and his mistress.

"It is the ... thing I told you about, for the Graph's ...nerves," Von Michenkomph said, visibly deflating.

"He told us he thinks it is what the trees are after," Camilla provided, keeping her pistol leveled. The Graffine seemed to sag slightly and cast a weary look at the doctor.

"I told you there were risks," Konrad said, "In the old tale a single tree creature was all that came. How could we know that it would be so much worse this time? It is helping the Graph isn't it?"

"Perhaps if we could all put out weapons down?" the Graffine suggested. The guards lowered their billhooks but Camilla made no move to lower hers. Cydric also kept his blade up and the dwarves, casting glances at the humans did the same. Something sinister was clearly going on and Camilla wasn't willing to bet that a noblewoman wouldn't ensure that the Temple of Sigmar didn't have any questions by dumping the bodies of four mercenaries into the snow.

"My husband... he is troubled in his mind," the Graffine said, her eyes on the weapons. "The doctor found an old tale in the histories about a grove of trees deep in the woods. The heart wood of the Great Oak was said to be able to cure any illness."

"I had hoped that we could administer a single dose and then return the wood before it became a problem," she explained. Camilla relaxed, lowering her pistol if not putting it away. Cydric followed her lead and lowered his sword, though he kept his grip on the doctors nightshirt.

"It helps, it clears his mind, but after a day or so the effect fades," she continued. Thor muttered something in Khazlid which definitely wasn't complimentary to humans and their damn fool ideas. Luckily the Graffine was either more ignorant of the Dwarven tongue than Camilla was, or content to let it go.

"How did the story end in the history?" Camilla asked, feeling her heart sink.

"The woodsman in the tale took the wood back into the forest, planning to return it, but he was never heard from again..."

The snow had ceased, but the rain had set in. Not entirely freezing rain. Likely from clouds having drifted in from the south. But it did little to warm the place. As soon as the droplets had hit the earth, they began to cool rapidly and much of the ground was cracked from thinned ice. It was a truly miserable evening, and Cyrdic pulled his cloak closer and kept his hood above his head, the steam from his lips puffing out of his veiled face as he waited for Camilla, who was just now coming closer.

The Dwarfs, Thor and Gunir, wore their regular garb. Dwarfs always seemed slightly miserable, at least when they weren't drinking or counting coins, or slaying things they wanted dead. But they were made of sterner stuff than men and could weather cold and wet better than anyone. They flexed their meaty hands and kept to themselves other than the occasional khazalid muttering, though to each other, their gods, or to themselves, Cyrdic didn't know.

Camilla made it to the tree line, wearing a furred coat that somehow fit her form whilst simultaneously obscuring most of it in a warm bulk. She had two hand-axes that bounced against her hips as she walked, bringing a bundle of provisions, covered torches, and the piece of wood in question they were bound to return. Cyrdic had a few torches in his pack as well, but they would be next to useless if the rain did not stop. Instead of fretting, they had changed tactics.

Cyrdic kept his broadsword in their room, and had taken a large, thick hafted battleaxe they had found being held by a piece of armor in one of the ruined rooms of the manor. They had multiple pistols and gas lanterns to light and keep lighted, and coils of rope to keep connected to one another if one split from the group in the murk. The trees that loomed above them looked inanimate, but their limbs were still gangly and gave the impression of grasping and reaching for their throats.

"Right, I'm ready to put some trees to the axe." Gunir said, hopping off the stump and smiling wickedly.

Camilla placed a finger to her lips, but Cyrdic spoke. "Might want to keep that to yourself unless we need that sort of action." He said. "We want this to stop, remember? That's how we get paid."

Ordinarily they would get continually paid defending the Graf, but it was a losing prospect and soon he would run out of money. But if they halted the threat here, they would get a bonus once he reached his other holdings. Once Camilla stepped past Cyrdic and gave him a wink, the muscled Ostlander shoved off the dead tree he leaned against and followed her, the Dwarfs moving with him into the dark of the forest.