Chapter 7: The Birth of the Races
In the years after Genesis, the cosmos entered its second era—the Epoch of Primordium.
The laws of the universe grew ever more complete. As Faerûn's intelligent life diversified, racial gods arose, each embodying the traits and beliefs of their people.
After the Primal Titan and the Nine-Faced Dragon God Io, the first racial deity to emerge was Corellon Larethian, guardian of the elves.
He awoke in Faerûn's most ancient forest, graceful and wise, gender indiscernible, a longbow woven of starlight in his hand.
"The elves shall stand for wisdom and elegance," Corellon proclaimed. "We will live in harmony with nature, pursuing art and magic."
Next, from the continent's deepest mountains, Moradin the dwarven god struck his divine hammer. The resounding blows echoed through the underworld, heralding the birth of the dwarven race.
"Dwarves shall be the emblem of resilience and craft," Moradin's voice rang like stone on stone. "We will build the mightiest strongholds and forge the finest weapons."
Soon after, on a barren battlefield, Gruumsh the orc god appeared with a roar—warlike and mighty, embodying orcish strength and savagery.
"Battle and glory!" Gruumsh raised his battle-axe. "Orcs will live for war, proving worth through strength."
Then came Garl Glittergold, god of the gnomes, born from subterranean gem-veins, clever and quick; and Yondalla, halfling goddess, who stepped from Faerûn's grasslands to represent optimism and adventurous spirit.
Each racial god guided their people, and Faerûn blossomed into diversity. Civilizations rose, and the continent thrived.
Yet the Nine-Faced Dragon God faced a dilemma: as progenitor of all dragons, he needed to create true dragonkind.
After deep deliberation he crafted fifteen Primordial Dragons—paragons of Gem, Chromatic, and Metallic lines—each as sacred and immortal as himself, perfect exemplars of their kind.
The first true dragons were awe-inspiring: wise and mighty, lacking the flaws of later wyrms—neither greedy, nor arrogant, nor overly aggressive. They dwelt peaceably with other races, even aiding fledgling civilizations.
But such harmony did not last.
As ages passed, the Primordial Dragons changed, developing hunger for worldly wealth and amassing gold, jewels, magical artifacts, and rarities of every sort.
"We need greater riches to set ourselves apart," declared the ancient Green Dragon Sselyndix. "And we require servants and heirs of our own."
Collectively they petitioned their maker, entreating him to grant them the power to create life.
The Nine-Faced Dragon God pondered their plea. A deity spanning every alignment, he weighed each path's merits and perils.
At last, moved by fairness and paternal love, he offered a bargain: exchange their innate immortality for the prerogative to create life.
Most Primordial Dragons accepted, willing to forgo everlasting life for the ability to sire their own bloodlines.
First to employ this gift was Sselyndix. The ancient green wyrm shaped Kurtulmak, god of kobolds, from his own blood.
The deity was small and tough, scaled skin glistening, eyes keen. Sselyndix named him Kurtulmak.
To all surprise, Kurtulmak proved singularly clever and capable. He hailed Sselyndix as master, and in time became patron of all kobolds.
All kobolds are thus the true dragons' handiwork; born to see dragonkind as liege, they can scarcely resist draconic will. This master-servant bond became fundamental to both races.
Other Primordial Dragons followed suit, fashioning draconic scions of every stripe: dragonborn warriors, wyvern steeds, subterranean drakes, and more.
Yet creation carried a cost. Each use of the creative prerogative eroded their immortality, rendering them mortal and vulnerable.
Gradually they adopted the vices of later dragons: greed, arrogance, quick tempers.
Io watched, heart heavy with conflicting feelings. As a father he wished his children joy; as a god he sensed far-reaching repercussions.
Ling Hao observed the dragons' unfolding fate, emotions surging. He recognized this as the "original sin" of dragonkind in the game, root of countless later conflicts.
Meanwhile the other racial gods kept a wary eye on draconic activity.
Corellon Larethian voiced the first concern: "The dragons' fashioning of servant races upsets the balance. Each folk should develop freely, not live in thrall to another."
Moradin was blunter: "Those kobolds and dragon-kin already harry our borders. The wyrms must leash their creations."
Gruumsh merely grinned. "Let the winged lizards come! Orcs crave a worthy fight."
Friction mounted among the gods, and Shar saw opportunity in their discord.
The Goddess of Darkness, watching from the Shadow Plane, noted the growing rift and began to nudge lesser deities and their followers.
"Behold," Shar whispered in the gloom, "even these so-called gods of light are driven by selfish aims. Corellon would have elves rule, Moradinwould hoard every gem beneath the world, Gruumsh seeks only war and conquest."
Her poisoned words seeped in, sowing distrust among the pantheon.
Sulen sought concord: "Every people holds worth, dragon-kin included. We need understanding, not strife."
But her voice was drowned beneath rising skepticism.
Chauntea, Mother Earth, strove for neutrality: "All life is my child; I favor none above another."
Mystryl focused on weaving the Weave, trusting orderly magic to keep the balance.
Ling Hao sensed the mounting tension. By the game's lore, such divine discord would spark a chain of clashes—even god-war.
Yet Faerûn was still vast and thinly peopled; open war lay some way off.