During the closing ceremony of the fishing competition James asked the heroes to escort Luciana, a young girl, from the orphanage in Grimsdown to the docks, where Ramona, Lady of the Raft, had docked her ship, the Calypso’s Song. In return, Ramona would give them a piece of writing which mentioned a vault. The page turned out to be ripped from a journal, and written in draconic.
One of our own has been taken. Kalauranthalasis, the Feywalker, is no more. As is customary, a call to conclave went out. Some woke from their slumber. Some emerged from their lairs. And some, like myself, left their positions among mortals to make their way to the Feywalker’s lair. We danced in mourning, waiting for late arrivals. Wrathion, Berazus, Morphaz, Sindragosa, Grakkarond… they were all there.
We were all surprised that his mate did not show, but we knew that the call would not reach everyone in time. Then the catastrophe. The noxious brood had been taken from the vault. The most prized of all the Feywalker’s riches had been taken.
The mourning dance ended, the cries of our brethren rang far, the ground trembled and the sky shook. This will not go unpunished. We must inform Azsharastrasza of this defilement, this insolence, this heresy.