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.