The Fire Genasi were not always known as the blight of the mortal world. Born from flame and shadow, they dwelt for untold centuries in a half-existence within a dark dimension that mirrored the Prime. There, their kind thrived as raiders and scavengers, more akin to goblins in habit than to the elemental majesty their bloodline suggested. They did not build kingdoms nor craft wonders. Instead, they burned, stole, and devoured, descending upon lesser prey in chaotic waves before retreating into their shadowed refuge.
Despite their brutish ways, the Fire Genasi were feared for one reason: strength. Individually, they bore the resilience of stone and the fury of fire. Their bodies smoldered with inner flame, their eyes like embers in a hearth. In battle, they were a force that could overwhelm more disciplined armies, though their lack of craft and strategy often curbed their ambitions.
In the Year of the Shield, 1367 DR, that restraint broke. For reasons lost to history—whether hunger, desperation, or a tyrant’s command—the Fire Genasi poured from their shadow dimension in a tide greater than any before. Their target was the bustling city of Khardesh, a jewel of trade and learning.
The assault was brutal and swift. Streets ran with fire, gates crumbled beneath their ferocity, and the defenders fell one by one. Yet when the smoke cleared, an eerie silence followed. For though Khardesh lay in ruins, there were none left to rule it. The city stood desolate, emptied of life—both mortal and genasi alike.
Chroniclers named this tragedy the Ashfall. Of the countless Fire Genasi who stormed the city, 98% perished. Some say the gods struck them down for their arrogance. Others whisper that a curse had been placed upon Khardesh, ensuring that any who claimed it by blood would share its doom. Whatever the truth, only a scattered handful of Fire Genasi survived, fleeing back into the shadows with tales of flame and silence.
From that day onward, the Fire Genasi were broken. Once feared as reckless raiders, they became little more than half-forgotten specters, scattered tribes haunted by the memory of Khardesh. To this day, adventurers sometimes stumble upon the ruins, where the stones are still blackened and warm, and where, on moonless nights, the faint screams of the Ashfall can be heard carried on the wind.