Xorin

The Dragon god watched impassively as the others - like him, yet not - spoke and circled and talked. He watched, his eyes glowing with inner light, his vast pinions spread. Then he beat his wings a single time, and with the wind that sprang forth from them, his Firstborn were scattered to the four corners of the world, each coming to rest in a place that was right for it - some were born young, others came to be as elder wyrms, though there were few of these. And he raised his head and bellowed a for the second time upon this world, and his children awoke in the places whence they had been places, and came to *Know* themselves. And from his mouth there issued a great gout of light, riot of light and color that filled the glade with dancing light. His vast head looked downward at the others, and he spoke again.

My children, too, will the stuff of legends and stories - sometime the villians and sometimes the heroes, but they will be writ large in the world and in the mind of those who inhabit it. Cruel or kind, creating or destroying, they will leave their mark.