When life throws you trials and tribulations, there is only one thing any good dwarf does: grumble about it.  It had been taught to Signod by his father, who had learned it from his father before him.  All in all, it was a tradition that must be as old as the dwarven race itself.  And so, Signod grumbled.  As before, the brunt of his ire was directed at that damn Barnaby brother leader who had caused the forest itself to go wild and make everything that much larger of a hassle.

Fortunately, for the moment it seemed the bi-polar elf had swapped from her murderous to one amenable to preventing death.  It was a slight improvement, which meant it was time to make the other side of this skirmish see reason too.  He briefly eyed one of the people who was cocooned in vines and debated helping them break free.  Though, since it didn't look to Signod like he was in immediate danger of strangulation, it seemed prudent to focus on the bandit who had successfully broken free and charged after the mad elf.  That one was very likely going to die, if the elf turned on him and had another wild mood swing back towards scaling murder mountain.  That meant it was up to Signod to see what he could do to stop the man from making any worse of life choices.

Thus he went stomping through the area of wild growth the elf had conjured up, throwing out one or two particularly vulgar epithets in the process as various bits of foliage grasped at his legs.  Before long, he found himself huffing and puffing slightly, even as he approached the man who had attacked the elf.  Raising his bow, he pointed it at the man as he shouted.  "Oye, you better drop that and beat it, ya damn fool.  If you're lucky the crazy elf might be too preoccupied to murder you right now, though I can't say when that will change."


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Signod moves straight through the difficult terrain towards the one bandit who broke free and shot at Shaedra, pointing his bow at him while he yells.
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[@The Harbinger of Ferocity]