The town was in an uproar - alarms, normally reserved for dragon attacks, were sounding, blaring into the night as the ground seemed to steam faintly, the taint of necrotic magic screaming into the abyss of the nighttime air, proclaiming the crimes of the night to moon and star. The dragon's town had been protected - their deeds that night were seen, and even now people rushed into the night, coming with lanterns and torches to see what had happened. Warriors and peasants, priests and farmers, all came... And witnessed what had been done.
They regarded the great dragon guardedly... And moved to the girl as she wept on the ground, broken and locked in despair. An elderly woman - a priestess in white robes, knealt in the blackened earth and scooped up the young fey in her arms, paling at the state of her body. Others - another priest and several (most of the town's supply of) guards approached the wounded, accursed dragon with caution and dread.
What ha been done had been witnessed - they knew their guardian. But did he know them?
"What has been done to you, child?" The old priestess asked the tiny figure in her arms, eyes wide with horror at the scope of the terrible magic that soaked her body to the bone, that sustained her even as it fed upon her. "Oh, child..."
The men with halberds and armor approached the dragon with ultimate distrust... But the priest, a man in his forties, was not so cautious, and approached Veraxitoc openly, eyes big as saucers and body shaking as he said "You fought to save us, didn't you?" He asked, fear and awe in his voice. "A voice told me in my head of what you've done as I slept - Noble dragon, what may we do?" He asked. The guards gritted their teeth, exchanging glances. They could not believe any of this!
"How may we help you, and the fey?"
==============
This was another place, hundreds of miles away, but a breath apart. For an extradimensional demiplane, one might have thought whoever made it would have made it seem more... Magical, more unreal, but for all the world, the place looked like nothing more extraordinary than... Someone's living room. In fact, that was what it was.
Bookcases lined most walls, and in front of a fireplace was several chairs. The fire crackled... But all the chairs were empty. In one corner, there was a desk, and that was sprawled with books, scrolls, and vials in racks, but in the center, in front of the person who sat behind that desk, who presumably owned it, was a crystal ball.
In it was displayed the face of an elven maiden with silver hair and glowing skin.
"What then?" She asked, her face suffused with concern. The figure behind the crystal ball sat back and pinched the bridge of her nose.
"I don't know." She said flatly. "I really don't, Ornusjalil, she just showed up out of nowhere, walks into the thunderblacks as bold as you like, and..." She faltered, and sighed shakily.
"Gods, what can we do?" The shadowy figure continued. "Who can plan for that sort of thing?" She finished, half to herself. "Do you remember anything? About her? About the cult? Anything at all?"
Ornusjalil looked crestfallen. "No... I just felt the magic... She's hunting for the tomb of dragons, I bet my life on it." From a dragon, that was no idle phrase. It made the woman peering into the crystal ball look up. "I shudder to think what she wants it for..."
"... I wish this really had been a dream. Thank you for confirming it for me though..." She said, and sighed.
"Dyan... We need to stop her. I know you're busy with other things... But think of the death this could bring... I hate Adela, but it doesn't deserve... This." The Silver Lady soothed. Her voice was ever smoothe and calming, but there was an edge to it.
Dyan nodded. "I think... I think I can do something for your old nemesis and the girl..."
The elfmaid looked surprised, eyes big! "But... That's--!"
"Necromantic blight. I know..." The woman responded, peering again into the crystal ball. It was apparent she hadn't been getting much sleep. "I'll telepo--" she began, but Ornusjalil cut her off with a stern glare.
"No, you won't. You're just like your great grandmother, you tamper with dark magic and poke an prod... And I don't approve, but even if you really can help them, Dyan, I will fetch them personally... The spell wards and wild magic there will stop you from teleporting in." She said, her tone cold and level.
"I will retrieve them myself, and bring them to you." She said, the vision fading in Dyan's crystal ball.
"Make preparations, girl." And the ball went dark. Dyan was left in the flickering light of the fire in her living room, startled by the ancient dragoness's stern words. But there was no question of her obedience. She stood.
===============
The pond Ornusjalil, the Silver Lady had used to communicate with her late friend's great granddaughter stayed dark for some time as the old dragoness sat there, kneeling and shaking. Magic. That had been the start of her problems, and would it now be the finish too? Could she really trust the girl to do the right thing? And how would Veraxitoc react to his old great enemy riding into his lands, fit as a fiddle and bold as brass, while he was crippled and weak?
The war was still so vivid in her mind... How many times they had fought, how much they'd both lost, how much bad blood there had been... And he was going to have to trust... her? bloody hell this was a mess. But... Could she live in a world where necromancy corrupted everything, where undead dragons terrorized, or worse?
She stood. No. She could not.
The elfmaid took a running start at the precipice of a great valley and leapt into the gorge, but she never struck the water and rocks below - silver wings carried an old creature into the night sky, roaring wind describing her wide, sweeping arc as she made her way to the ancient adelan south, towards the mountains she'd clashed over many years ago - the Thunderblacks.
