Song of the History of the
By the hammer of the gods, the universe was forged from chaos.
From the sparks of the anvil, the spirits were scattered,
Cast to glimmer and dance in the heavens.
From the forge of the gods, the world was wrought,
Playground of the gods.
The spirits were singing, their voices like starshine,
Shining like the gods themselves, pieces of the heavens.
The gods looked upon them and found them most wondrous.
The gods looked upon them and coveted their souls.
The world shuddered.
Battlefield of the gods.
The High God looked down upon what his god children had destroyed;
His wrath was mighty, his pain transcendent.
From the fire of his anger,
From the divine breath of Takhisis,
From the heart of the flames, the races were born.
Takhisis, Sargonnas, Hiddukel, gods of the Dark,
Made the stony Orges.
Gifted with life, gifted with beauty,
The Orges turned their faces earthward.
Children of the stars.
Firstborn of the gods.
Paladine, Mishakal, Those of the Light,
Made the willowy Elves.
Cursed them with goodness, cursed them with virtue.
Those of the middle, Gi1ean, Reorx, Gray gods all,
Made the plodding humans, set them to serve.
Watchers of the darkness are the mighty Ogres,
Cast down to rule the world from the lofty mountains.
Hair colored of the shadows, eyes like the moon,
Fairest of all and truly immortal.
Singers of starshine, masters of all created.
Rulers of the low ones; the animals, the elves, the humans,
Within our hearts, all dreams are dark.
Within our souls, all pain is pleasure.
We turn our faces upward.
Born of the stars, chosen by the gods.
History of the World,
of the Ogres
This I have salvaged out of the destruction. The
music is gone forever, as is the beauty of the Orges, but the
words are preserved for all to read.
We are the Irda, firstborn of the gods.
The High God looked down upon the chaos and bid the god Reorx
to forge the universe with his mighty hammer. From the forge
of the gods, our world was wrought and the gods played here,
as children gambol in a field.
In the sculpting of the world, sparks flew from the anvil and
settled in the skies, danced in the heavens. The sparks were
spirits with voices like starshine. They shone as the gods themselves,
for they were pieces of the gods themselves.
The gods saw the spirits and wanted them for themselves, and
they battled over them, striking mighty blows upon the world.
The High God looked down upon the destruction and was angry
with his children. In the heat of his anger, he decreed that
each of the triumvirate of the gods, Evil, Neutral, and Good,
could gift the spirits with one legacy, and afterward, must
allow the spirits to go free.
The gods of Light gave the spirits bodies, that they might master
their world. The Dark gods offered weakness and want, that the
spirits might learn greed and corruption. The gods of Gray,
the Shadow gods, gave the spirits free will, that they might
shape their own lives.
And so, the races were born.
From the gods of Evil came the Ogres, firstborn of the world.
Gifted with immortality and untold beauty, the Ogres chose the
lofty mountains as their home.
From the gods of Goodness and Light came the elves, graceful
and regal and good, who sought the enchanted forests and hid
themselves away to live in harmony with the land.
Those of the Middle, the Gray gods, brought forth the humans.
They were short lived and brutish, but they had the capacity
to both destroy and love. To them were left the grassy plains.
The Ogres set themselves above to rule the other children of
the world, but the elves were too placid, too good to make suitable
slaves. The Ogres turned to the humans to build their castles
and their cities and their roads. On the bones of humans, the
Ogres built a civilization.
Like stars in the sky, the watchers of the darkness were the
mighty Ogres, building a nation of order and discipline. But
their hungers consumed them, their greed and desire made them
weak and ugly, and their appetites devoured them.
The humans rebelled against their cruelty and vengeance, and
the Ogres fell from the grace of the gods.
Igraine, governor of a mighty province, learned from the humans
the most precious gift of all. He learned of choice, of choosing
between right and wrong. He learned from the humans the gift
the gods had given, the ability to destroy and to love and the
potential to choose between.
He gathered about him the Irda, the Children of the Stars, his
friends and family, those who believed his vision, and they
fled the mountains. Through hardships they traveled, finding
a new home, Anaiatha, among the Dragon Isles.
The Ogres are no more. They will disappear back into the chaos
from which the world was made.
But the Irda will continue, in goodness and strength, firstborn
of the gods, chosen of the gods.
And this History, the Irdanaith, the Book of the Stars, will
continue. I write it for all the Irda to see and study, that
we may never make the mistakes of our ancestors, that the History
will never be lost.
We have been enslaved but have always thrown off our shackles.
We have been driven back, but always returned to the fray stronger
We have risen to new heights when all other races have fallen
We are the future of Krynn, the fated masters of the entire
We are the children of destiny.
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