1. The Cloakwood

"We did not say that," Aiwë smiles, her voice easy in unaccented common. "I will repeat, we are here to kill slavers and free slaves. I understand your concern, but metal gear is not a rot. After all, it may be carried out of the woods at will without leaving any taint behind." She leans back, tapping gently on her hand pan. "A mine however, grows and grows, scarring the land and spreading ore far and wide. 'Rot' definitely seems apt." She shakes her head over minor chords.

"We are under the impression that our skill would be of use in closing the mine, and then we would be on our way. If we cannot be allowed temporary passage here... I suppose we will have to leave it be."

Stella looks over the druid's gear in turn. Was he wearing leather, hide, or something else? She didn't wear much metal either, save for coin, a steel knife, arrowheads, and the metal reinforcements of the buckler she occasionally used—she found that too much meal, such as armor, interfered with her powers. But treating it as a rot? She had seen both the beauty and horror of forged metal—the good and ill it could bring. It was using the minerals of the earth, just like one might use the bone or hide of a felled beast.To this druid, was it what the gear represented to him, rather than the material itself? The rot of industrialization, of humanoid encroachment on natural cycles. If so, she could support that. Or perhaps it was simply deeply-drilled traditions of his druidic circle.

Or...perhaps it wasn't about the metal.

"When you say rot, do you speak of iron, or...do you sense mineral poison? If the latter, is it...contagious?" she asks, growing worried. She didn't want to directly admit knowing the plate armor of her companions was made of iron affected by the Iron Crisis. But if it were related, perhaps this druid knew something important that they didn't. Apparent ignorance would be better than apparent indifference, she hoped.

"All metal has a foul stench about it, but the one you call iron... It disrupts our connection to the primal energies of this world."

Stella recalls from her mother's words that there is a strong connection, an overlap, between the magic of nature and that of the Feywild - and that many fey creatures are repelled or hurt by some kinds of iron. It could be that druids, who are generally more in tune with nature's magic than most people, are similarly affected. Or, in this man's case, perhaps he just hates what the metal represents, the exploitation and damage that civilization can wreak upon the natural world. He seems to have forsaken metal entirely, wearing hide armor beneath his robes.

His snarl reveals teeth filed to points. "We have heard of this 'Iron Crisis' affecting the city-folk. Perhaps it is the work of Silvanus, a divine retribution against those who would dare to defile nature."

The druid hangs his head for a long moment, eyes darting this way and that, nostrils flaring as he thinks. "If you truly are here to stop the Iron Throne, you must destroy the mine," he reasons. "How do you plan to do this?"

Stella frowned. How did something that blocked primal energies make it a defilement of nature? Fallen trees could dam up a stream. Clouds could obscure the stars of the night sky. They could cause disruption, but both were part of nature, not defilements of it.

Still, Stella didn't dare contradict him, especially as he bares his teeth.

She purses her lips at his assertion. "I suppose that could be true..." Stella admits, putting a finger to the corner of her mouth. "If we simply free the slaves and drive away the slavers, it could be only a short time before it is made productive again. " She turns to Koveras and Aldous for confirmation, and the other party members for their thoughts. "We could use thunderwaves and shatterings to collapse tunnels, perhaps?" she continues, uncertain.

As the druids have their exchange, Aiwë puts away her steel instrument as though she is bored of it and taps instead on her elk-skin drum.

"I will repeat for the third time," Shelur interjects, tone and posture still relaxed and mild. "We are here to kill slavers and free slaves, to shut down the mine. More than that is beyond us. Once it is cleared though, you and the others that care for these woods will be free to do as you like."

Aiwë leans forward with a grin, bearing her small tusks. "I like your teeth," she admires genuinely. "You did all that with a bone rasp?"

Dieter pauses for a moment being covered head to toe in steel.

What an idiot. I’m glad Stella isn’t like these bumpkins.

"We don’t need to explain ourselves to him. If he wants to destroy the mine he can. Our job is our own unless he wants to pay us for additional services" Dieter murmurs to the group.

"Our job is our own unless he wants to feed us to the trees," Aiwë murmurs back, lips completely still. She pats him reassuringly.

To the druid she speaks up. "So, will you allow us to assist you in clearing the mine? We are ready to move out."

The druid tongues one of his sharpened teeth. "Our ways are our own."

He finally nods. "You will do what you will, and we will allow you. But! You must take her with you." He gestures behind the group to shadowed patch of woods. One of the shadows breaks off from the rest and materializes into a vaguely-canine form, its edges a jagged blur. "She will show you the way to the mine and accompany you inside."

The druid's stare is hard. It's not likely he'll accept 'no' for an answer.

Dieter eyes the spectre with distrust.

"let’s move" He says sharply waving the dog to take point with his index and middle finger.

Hopefully this is the last "distinct" circle of Druids to impose their law on him Dieter thought to himself. For guardians of the woods they did little to enforce their will. By his ancestor’s and his own blood were his laws made and maintained.

Of course what these people do is none of Dieter’s concern, all men are free according to their flesh.

Aiwë stands. "Sir, yes, sir." She puts herself between Stella and the dog... thing.

As the party begins their rest, munching peacefully on wyvern, Aiwë ponders Koveras' Orcish.

"Hey, Lordling," she calls to Aldous over the soft sound of lyre strings, her accent lightly Elvish. "What languages do you have?"

The dread wolf lopes forward to lead the way to the mine, peering back every so often to make sure the party follows. Those who follow too closely, however, are met with an chilling aura and a warning snarl. The group remembers the rumors about the Cloakwood containing bridges to the Shadowfell, and this strange wolf appears to confirm them.

(Dieter Insight: Something about the wolf - its appearance, its mannerisms, the vibes it gives off - stirs Dieter's memories. A time before the kind family of dwarves who took him in. A dark past that is mostly forgotten: ...a harrowing chase through nightmare woods, with shadowed monsters all around. Baleful eyes in the darkness, slavering jaws. The terror of being prey...)

The journey takes the better part of the morning, and the distant sun must be close to its peak when the wolf slows its pace. Before the group, mostly hidden in by the surrounding trees and vegetation, is a wall of distinctly hand-crafted wooden planks: the wall of a tall palisade.

The dread wolf sits on its haunches, the dead orbs of its eyes on the party. They've arrived at the mine.

Dieter looks into the dark depths of the wolf’s eyes, The hair on his neck begin to stand on end. He feels lost for a moment or a bit turned around.

Dieter gives a small huff as if he might need to do something he doesn’t wish to do. Rolling his shoulders he limbers up before climbing quickly up a tree to look into the walls

Stella sends Noctalia to join Dieter and survey the area and try to find a safe way in.

While fairly well-hidden, the tree cover would likely be at a cost. Perhaps there would be some taller trees that could provide entry. She wished they had Sheemish's miraculous ladder...Perhaps she could become a spider again and help them climb? No...she did not want to risk become possessed again. She couldn't be certain how far-reaching the magic was.

She closes her eyes and sees through Noctalia's vision and waits for her and Dieter's report. Hopefully each of them might pick up something useful.

Aiwë crouches in the brush as they wait for the results of the reconnaissance, patting the dirt in a barely audible rhythm. "Hey, Blood, what are the chances of you being able to use the Anchev name to get us in there?"

Koveras rolls his shoulders uneasily. "These men and women will almost certainly know of my family, but I doubt my f... I doubt Rieltar will have publicized my current status."

He absently reaches out to touch the grain of the wooden logs that make up the palisade, then tilts his head. "We could always try it, and be ready for a fight if it fails." A scoff leaves his lips. "We wouldn't want to leave guards alive behind us anyway while we're in the mine. I imagine it will be too easy for us to get cornered down there..."

Eyes still closed, Stella gasps and bares her teeth in both surprise and frustration. She mentally kicks herself for not having Noctalia follow Deiter's lead and try to stay out of sight.

She instructs Noctalia to casually glide down to a lower branch away from the palisade, then glide out of sight in a direction where the group wasn't, ready to avoid any projectiles (Dodges, if that's allowed). An immediate flight away would confirm their suspicions—normal owls likely wouldn't recognize the threat crossbows represented. An owl simply hunting in the daytime wasn't normal either, but it was possible.

"Crossbowmen have spotted and aimed at Noctalia..." she informs the others with a grimace.