When the Old Ones created Dragons, a fissure was created in the magical weave of existence. What was one became two, and what was two became four, and then seven, and then hundreds. Beings sprouted into existence that had not been created by the Old Ones, some speculate that they were created by the First Dragons, the great ones. It is said that Bahamut created the elves, a beautiful and peace loving race, and his younger sister, Tiamut, became so jealous that she created her own shadowy replicas of her brother’s creations, and hence where the Drow born.
Later, things became more convoluted. The dragons began to fragment into lineages, until the lineages became so separate that they could barely be considered the same species anymore, and other humanoids spung up that seemed to have no clear link to the Old Ones and their Draconic Children.
Time passed, and the dragons dwindled away to a pittance of what they once were. The stories of old told of massive tyrants that ruled the skies, of mostly benevolent overlords who led the tribes of man to great victory, but few believed them to be more than myth. The Great Silvers forsaw the end of their kind, perhaps the end of all Dragonkind in turn, and sought out the help of the elves, the ancestors of their creation.
A few select elves were chosen, selected equally for their beauty and grace as the strength and tenacity of mind that was characteristic of their race. Named the Orn Vaecaesin, the Silvers bred their lineage shamelessly into the line. From them rose protectors, martyrs, great magicians and fighters. But as time went on, even the Orn Vaecaesin suffered the weakness of the dragons, and so, in a fleeting attempt to save their dying race, they began to interbreed with humans.
Today, magic is but a memory, and few remember the great magicians of lore, let alone the dragons. Even the few vestiges of magic left in the world, great works of ceremony made to protect and defend, are failing.