It had been a few days since Siegfried left Estwin. The days were uneventful as he walked the road, following it north as often as he could. He rested, ate, and drank. Once back in the wild and on the road, Siegfried was reminded of the luxuries of living the civilized life; the comfort of his dwelling, his bed, and the presence of always in reach water and food.

Though despite the inconveniences and physical exertion, Siegfried found himself enjoying the silence of solitude, the noise of nature, and the exercise. Some part of his old self felt that this was where he belonged, out in the world, free, able to spread his wings.

During these days he had tried to regain his demidragon form; all to no avail. He wondered why it didn’t work and why it did. He played the scene and the sensation over and over again in his mind, eventually thinking that it must have been a heat of battle sort of thing, something he could only tap into when his life was in danger. But then he thought about his encounter with the boar and was fairly certain that that encounter met the above conditions, yet he didn’t change back then... I had my armor and spear. I wasn’t truly in danger - without any other recourse.

And so an idea hatched in the once dragon’s mind, but then it was quickly thrown away. Endangering my life to the absolute possible limit just so I may have a chance of not even regaining my complete true form, what a stupid idea.

And with his one clue to regaining his form gone, he settled back into his first idea, to find his sister Celadon, who he was pretty sure of the location of, give or take the possible movement of a dragon’s dwelling in a hundred or so years. His green brother, Ornir, was the nomadic sort, like him before the transformation, but his red and blue siblings tended to stay in the same place; Celadon in her ice palace, and Tyradon in his cave, being served by goblins and orcs.

— — — — —

Siegfried was surrounded by bandits on a road that was bordered by a forest of birch trees on both sides. The time was high noon. They wore browns and grays, their armor was sparse and light. Their demeanor was much like any sane person’s in such a situation - one that was filled with tension, aware and fearful of the violence sure to come. And of course they had weapons in hand, though none looked so fine as Siegfried’s spear which he had held high and ready, prepared to strike at a moment’s notice..

The bandits didn’t like how the once dragon eyed them; he was serious, ready to kill and die, and all for what, a few coins? They thought he was bloody mad.

The largest among them, John, stepped forward from the encirclement and proclaimed with an air of authority, “We won’t ‘urt you if you give up whatever gold and silver you’ve got on you.”

Siegfried’s reply was low and quiet, cold as ice, “I would love to see you try.” He meant it. Instead of thinking about his mortality or money, he thought only of his ability. Back at the bar, he was manhandled so easily, but thinking back on it, Siegfried realized he hadn’t been ready, that it wasn’t fair, that he truly did not know yet how strong he was, or if he had gotten any stronger. Without his demidragon form, just as a human, what could he do?

With a sigh, the bandit leader said, “Get ‘em.” The bandits had no intention of killing, despite their pointy weaponry, they would only knock him around a bit, until he grew more hospitable. There were many of them and only one of him; surely, no one would get seriously hurt, right?

It was with that thought in mind that the group slowly pressed forward, shrinking the perimeter of the encirclement.

But just before one of them was in range, Siegfried swung his spear in a horizontal arc. The way its edge hissed through the air, and the way the blade glinted in the sunllight dissuaded any from getting even an inch closer.

The larger man sighed again and said, “Everyone, step back!” And they did. John stepped forward again, his quarterstaff at the ready.

Siegfried stabbed at John’s chest. Before the spear’s blade could touch him, John bent his torso back, and as he righted himself, he swung his quarterstaff at Siegfried’s side.

Siegfried deflected the blow with the sharp side of his spear, and brought the flat side down in an overarching swing. John dodged it again.

It went on for a while like this, without either of the two scoring a blow.

It was as if the two were dancing; as one stepped forward the other stepped back; their actions were in tempo, knowing that if they stopped for even a moment, that they would be struck.

Siegfried changed his advance, quickening his pace in trade for weaker attacks. This time he did not intend on doing damage, but instead tried to push his opponent back to disrupt his tempo and change the terrain.

John couldn’t adapt soon enough, the change was too quick and soon overwhelmed him, causing him to trip backwards. Siegfried found his opening and swung at the bandit’s head.

But in the midst of his swing, a memory of Susannah flashed in his mind, of her pleading for him to stop, causing his spear to cease in midair. Why, why should I?

Right after Siegfried’s thought occurred, an arrow whizzed by. It was in front of where his spear would have gone.

From up on high, a voice of playful tone sounded, “That was a close one Little John. What a sorry show for my second.” John sighed at that and said, “I thought I told you to stop calling me that?”

Jumping down from a tree was a half elf dressed in verdant green and oak brown. Atop his head was a green bycocket hat with a scarlet feather plume. In his left hand was his bow and with his right he helped John up. “And I thought I told you that nicknames are fun? How are the people supposed to remember a bandit hero who simply goes by the name John. It doesn’t roll off the tongue or stick in the mind at all.”

John towered over Robin Hood and everyone else as he stood and dusted himself off. “I don’t think anyone will remember any of us, especially as bandit heroes.”

“You’ll see, Little John, you’ll see. I promise you that.” And he meant it.

Robin turned to Siegfried, and bowed while bringing his right hand to his chest, closing the open hand until it was not quite closed. The motion was so smooth and natural, like watching the reverse of a bud’s bloom, leaving an impression of class and civility. It struck Siegfried so strongly that he would etch every motion in his mind. “I am the eponymous Robin Hood.” He paused.

Compelled to share his name from this courteous display, he replied, “I am Siegfried of Estwin,” and gave a light bow that looked clumsy and awkward in comparison.

Robin returned to his normal stance and continued, “I apologize for this mishap, Siegfried. My men and I, well, we did not think you were a true knight errant, we thought you were a fake, a pretender, like Don Quixote. We thought you were some noble brat playing at swords and adventures, ripe for the pickin’. But after seeing your fight and lookin’ at you up close, well I’m certain you’re serious, wouldn’t you agree, boys?”

There were nods and sounds of agreement.

“So how about this, if I can best you in single combat, then you are to give a portion of your sums to me.” The archer shined a confident smile.

Siegfried would have gladly agreed under normal circumstances, but something about this Robin Hood’s politeness and honesty compelled our erstwhile dragon to say instead, “I really don’t have much on me. I’m not a noble, I found this armor and spear. I’m on a journey looking for a powerful mage.”

Robin was taken aback, his smile losing its confidence, becoming smaller. “Huh, I see, that’s a shame.” He turned to his companions. “Form up, men, let’s get out of here. I’m sure our scouts have got some other hits.” Then turned back to Siegfried. “Apologies for the detour. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Me too.” He flustered, “I mean, uh, I hope you find what you’re looking for too.”

Robin smiled wistfully at that. “Thanks,” and left.

The bandits vanished as suddenly as they appeared, into the forest depths, leaving Siegfried back on his way.

After another week of traveling, Siegfried made his way to the city of Deepdale. True to its name, the city was situated in a low valley surrounded on all sides by mountains. The city was placed at a crossroads of borders and commerce, and because of this, the city was one of the most cosmopolitan of all, where most of the world had humans, elves, dwarves, and halflings living in their perspective countries and city-states, this was a city where all lived and were born. Why, even the odd goblin or orc could be seen wandering about.

Deepdale was also called by many the Untouchable Jewel. For in the mountains surrounding it sat rare metals and gems, but along with them were monsters and races that lived only underground, like kobolds and goblins. These races were different from the others, less civilized and more animalistic - if one were to meet such an individual in the underground, stopping to talk would guarantee a swift death.

But because of the various treasures that dwelled in them, many organizations and mercenary groups raided its inner reaches, often leaving with heavy injuries or sometimes not leaving at all, and ever more rarely, leaving with an unfathomable treasure hoard.

And because of all these trained troops and the mountainsides that acted like impenetrable walls, though many have tried to conquer the city, it has always remained untouched.

As Siegfried entered the city, the time was late morning, he gawked at his new surroundings. Hidden behind the mountain walls was a city with tall buildings packed together, far off in the distance were towers that reached almost as high as the mountains, overhead were tributaries and bridges and two neighbors talking from their balconies , covering the ground was cobblestone, festooned over and aside the myriad establishments and homes were signs and flags of colorful and fanciful design. And the people, they flooded the street, leaving little room for personal space.

Like a country bumpkin, he stood in awe of the experience, of the countless people who all looked so different from another, who all looked to be going somewhere, who all paid Siegfried no mind, bumping him roughly whenever he was in their way. But after the first few bumps, he realized he had better start moving and did so.

He wasn’t sure what to do or where to go. He knew what his mission was, but this city was a new experience for him. He didn’t want to get distracted by it, but at the same time, Siegfried didn’t want to feel like he was missing out on anything by simply passing through. He decided to find an inn, somewhere that was far from the hum of the crowd, somewhere where he could think.

Off somewhere else in Deepdale, in the basement of a mansion, a young woman was frantically flipping through the contents of a thick book with yellowed pages and worn edges, her eyes scanning the pages. Abruptly, she stopped, she had found it.
Her name was Willow Onder - the only child of the Onder house, and in the center of the room was a circle inscribed with runes and glyphs. It seemed to be chiseled into the ground.

In her mind, she listed off the components needed for the ritual, hoping the lab was stocked with everything required.

Willow scoured the shelves and desks, picking up vials and jars and turning them to see their labels or looking at them through backlight to better see their contents, and pushing aside various containers that were in the way of the ones deep behind.

Almost running, she placed every ingredient where it needed to be within the circle, and then she went to get the final ingredient. She unclipped the clasp and pulled free from the holster on her waist a dagger. While chanting the incantation, she made a shallow cut on the palm of her hand, then she placed it over the circle, allowing a single drop to fall into its indentations. That was all that was required.

The circle began to glow red. At first it was faint, barely visible, but as Willow continued the incantation, the light grew brighter, dying the entire room red. When the light stopped growing, it flashed.

Reflexively, she recoiled, turning her head away and covering her eyes with her arm, though it was too late.

Seconds passed as her vision returned, all the while, Willow heard repeated thuds, like that of a battering ram slamming into a gate.

She lowered her arm and turned toward the circle. Inside it was a red-skinned humanoid with two horns protruding out from its head, a barb-tipped whip-like tail, long hooved legs, its arms were long too, with claw-like nails at the ends of its fingers, and giant webbed wings that were folded in. Though it slouched and stood with bent knees, its muscular form was still tall and sinewy. It wore nothing but a torn cloth around its waist. Its eyes were devoid of any human emotion, pure black as they were. But its face, it told a story of impatience and rage.

At the sight of this, a triumphant grin spread across Willow's face.