Nearly two centuries ago, after hundreds of years of research, Theranthor discovered a way to reopen one of the portals back to this world.
It was dangerous and would involve tremendous amounts of primordial energy but it was possible.
After decades of work, she was able to prise open a crack between worlds. Wide enough to send telepathic messages through to those who were both sensitive enough and had dragon blood coursing through their veins.
Slowly she recruited an army. Secretly at first but slowly more overt.
Sorcerers all and zealots to her cause.
It took time but time was something Thereanthor had plenty of.
Slightly over a century later, she was ready.
Ready to rule again after a millennia of surviving in this barren wasteland.
Ready to rule over the squirming masses of small and inferior creatures.
After preparing her minions, Thereanthor ordered them to begin the ritual needed to enable her return.
The skies ripped.
The ground shock.
The portal shimmered and, for the first time in their devoted service, the Black cloaks gazed upon the terrifying face of their mistress.
Then the portal collapsed.
Enraged, Thereanthor threw herself at the stoney ground and screamed at the heavens above.