Lord, what fools these mortals be!

Those that Hobgoblin call you and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?'

'Thou speak'st aright;
I am that merry wanderer of the night.

Oi, lovebirds!” Puck’s voice shattered the quiet, bouncing through the darkness.
Ash pulled back with a rueful look. “Get a room, would ya? We’ve got better things to
do than watch you suck face!

Robin Goodfellow is a very old faerie. Not only that, he has ballads, poems, and stories written about him, so he is very near immortal, as long as humans remember them. Not to say he is immune to iron and technology-far from it. Puck is strong, but even he cannot resist the effects.

Well, this should be easy, then.” Puck smirked. “We’ll just stroll in the front door, waltz up to Virus, grab the scepter, have some tea and save the world before breakfast. Silly me, thinking it would be hard.

Oh, goodie," Puck said as I stepped forward. "I'm going to have a rash in the most uncomfortable places.