The gathering of your forces in the tavern isn't comprehensive – a handful of kobolds and goblins are missing. According to Sapphire, they're out on your long standing gathering orders. Still, it's enough. Mercy and Amanda are sat at the tall table, whispering about something. The goblins that remain are gathered near the fire, paying about as much attention as you'd expect. Even as you watch Feathers smacks Hammer around the back of his head, making him drop the stick he was gearing up to poke the oread with. Said oread is stood in the middle of the room and surrounded by empty space, with a look of mild irritation on its face. It's staring at the kobolds, who are sat at the table closest to you and muttering to themselves.

It's the only emotion you've seen it exhibit.

You clear your throat, letting out a small puff of smoke, and silence descends on the group. The only noise is the fluttering of wings as the imps fly in, perching on the door lintel.

“I'm sure you either saw, or heard about my return yesterday,” you begin, “and I wanted to make sure everyone was as well informed as possible.”

You take a breath, and bite the arrow. “Since my evolution to a Mini-boss, it seems that I am now bound to my lair. When I left yesterday, I temporarily became a Wandering Boss, and with that I received a de-buff that made me strong, but caused me to lose reason. Because of this...” you swallow, but there's nothing else for it. “I will no longer be able to leave the lair except under the direst of circumstances. As such, I'm going to have to ask everyone to put more time into resource gathering for the time being. As we attract more people, we'll be able to relax again, but right now we're running very low on several basic resources like wood and stone, metal and animal hide. With the new floor opened up, getting as much of building materials as possible will let us set up a nice surprise for the next time we get attacked.”

You take a moment to mull over your words.

“However, there is also good news. I've discovered a way to create loot spawning points inside the dungeon that we can harvest. They only refresh when adventurers attack, but we get one free use out of them when I first place them.” With a minor flex of effort, you produce the Axe of Cleaving and look at Feathers. “Who do you think will get the most out of it?”

The gobliness examines the axe for a few seconds, taking it from you and turning it over in her hands. Then she chucks it towards the remaining goblins – Sand and Hammer – with a shrug. Sand leaps for it with covetous eyes while Hammer just steps backward. Sand snatches it from the air with a near manic giggle, and retreats under one of the tables.

The giggling continues.

“Well then.”

You give Sand a few heartbeats to see if she calms down or emerges, then give up. “Any questions?”

Only one person raises their hand. Mercy, who has a troubled look on her face. “Yeah. It can wait till the end but I need to talk to you.”

You nod, and when no one else says anything you dismiss them. The oread is the last to leave, the expression of distaste wiped away when the kobolds left.

Mercy crooks her finger at you, leading you into the kitchen. Charlemagne looks up at the two of you, snorts, and walks out. As he leaves he calls back

“Nothing unhygienic! I'll be back in five minutes.”

Once the two of you are alone, Mercy turns to you and speaks in a low, hurried voice.

“What the FUCK is the oread doing here?”

You blink up at her. “What?”

She sighs, her skin shifting green as she forces herself calm. Once her horns have uncurled fully, she sighs again. “I forget sometimes how little you know. You don't know what an oread is, do you?”

Unsure if the question is rhetorical or not, you shake your head. “No. The imps that showed up at the same time seemed impressed by her, it. And I saw no reason to turn it away. Why?”

Mercy crosses her arms and she leans against the kitchen counter. One hand reaches up and runs its fingers along the ridges on her horns.

“Right. OK, short version? They're stone dryads. Or stone nymphs, I guess. What a dryad is to a plant, an oread is to a stone. But stones don't... there's no life in a stone right?”

This time you nod, but Mercy doesn't seem to see you, staring off into the middle distance. “Oread don't reproduce. You don't get any half oread wandering around. There's no... spark? Nothing you need to make a life. So that oread is a first generation, because there are no second generation ones. Got it?”

Again, you nod, and again she doesn't seem to see you. “First generation nymphs manifest. They aren't born, they just appear in places of significance. If there's one oak in a pine forest, and the locals worship it, or even just tell stories about it, you can almost guarantee a dryad will manifest there at some point. Once it exists though, a dryad has the life force to survive the death of their vessel right? I have it even easier, in a way, because of my father. But any dryad can survive for a while unbound, plenty of time to reach another suitable tree to bind.”

You nod again, to show her you're listening, but you're not sure what relevance this has on why everyone seems so shocked by the oread. You do, after all, already half a half dryad in your lair.

“Stone isn't alive. No spark. So oread can't survive the destruction of their vessel, they can't find another.”

She fixes you with a stare so sudden you flinch from the movement. “You following so far?”

You nod yet again. “Nymphs, life, any oread is linked to some significant rock somewhere, got it. Still not sure why it's such a big deal.”

She snorts. “A'ight. Maybe this will clear it up some. You ever hear about the Laughing Tree? The Woodwyrd Archipelago?”

This time you shake your head. “Nope.”

“Fair enough. It's a long way away and a long time ago. The Laughing Tree is where my mother manifested. She was pure dryad, and thus didn't feel the need to name herself. She was, if you looked at her sheet, just listed as-”

And it snaps into place. You jaw drops and Mercy stops, nodding.

“The Laughing Tree Dryad?”

Your voice is hoarse.

It takes you several seconds to get your head around the idea.

“So Imporne Oread isn't just... like 'Snow Wolf' then?”

Mercy shrugs with one shoulder. “Congrats Red. You've made the mountain come live in itself.”

“Why is it here?”

“Not a clue. All I know about oreads is second hand. Never met one before. They're meant to be slow in action, deliberate. Like the stones they embody. An oread of a stone monument might take on aspects of the people depicted, acting as a protector of its ideals. But the oread of a mountain?”

Mercy trails off, staring at the wall.

It's Charlemagne who breaks the silence, his voice startling both of you.

“Inscrutable. Deadly. Wild. Imporne is monster land, always has been. But it's beautiful too. Giving, if you know how to ask.”

The goblin smiles a smile full of sharp teeth, before starting to shop a handful of green vegetables.

“Do you know what you're doing boss?”

You laugh, a shaky thing. “That's the wrong question.”

“Aye? And what's the right question?”

Mercy answers before you can, her eyes grim. “Why has it shown up now?”