Three hundred years have passed since the Rending, and nearly all that was once Norrath has vanished, vanquished utterly by the Gods, who were angered and saddened by the arrogance and irreverence of their children. Having torn Norrath asunder, they silently withdrew. Even now, we still feel the aftershocks of the Shattering. Grounds rumble, and spew forth vile creatures. Rock bursts into flame. Plagues settle on unsuspecting villages. Sacred springs dry up, or turn to poison. Crops fail. Cool dark forests wither and die, as do the strong-limbed children who still play on the green. It seems, at times, that all goodly races are doomed.

And yet... not all hope is lost. There are those who still sense the hand of the Gods upon us all. Those who, in that twilit world between sleep and waking, can hear the music, faint and indescribably lovely. Music that tells of the wonders of the old world, and promises a beautiful new one, to those who choose to heed the call.

Anyone may hear this tune if they so choose. It is in the babble of the brook, the gentle sigh of the wind in the trees, the curve of the neck of the noble stag as he bends his head to sip from the pool. It is in the chatter of the small birds who flock to the fields to eat the spare grain the farmer has sown. It is in the laughter of the child who sees that which his elders will not. Those who truly believe that the Gods have not forsaken us, hear the call, and answer.

We watch over Norrath. We study such ancient tomes and artifacts as survived the Shattering. We travel the land, seeking to heal the wounds she suffered at the expense of her inhabitants. We are ruthless hunters, seeking to eliminate the evil that threatens to overrun and destroy all that is good and beautiful in the world. Not for us the walled cities or the politics of men and Queens. We follow a higher calling. We seek to preserve, protect, and restore nature, and prepare it for the coming of the gods.

We are adventurers. We are scholars. We are artisans. We are fighters. We are healers. We are restorers. We are the guardians of all that is good. We are all around you, recognizable by our emblem, the verdant oak tree with stars interlaced in its boughs.

We are the dauntless watchers. We are the Norrath Tirthalion.