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.