The Qualinesti Elves have always been much different than their Silvanesti counterparts. The Qualinesti lived in the wilds of the Qualinesti woodlands, while the Silvanesti build concrete and steel homes in the woods. The Silvanesti believed that the other races were beneath them while the Qualinesti often traded and made deals with humans and dwarves, trading for wares for which the Qualinesti were not always well versed at. No one could make a bow better than an elf, but no one could make better armor or swords than the dwarves, and the humans were so far scattered across Ansalon that they often brought unique food and drink from across the continent. 

So it wasn’t uncommon for these traders to make their way half way into Qualinesti woods and trade in the city of Frenost. However, it was the night when fifty men and women, wearing grey robes, marched down the path in Qualinesti, towards Frenost. Your people have always been generous and trusting, but they’ve never been foolish; Qualinesti elves lined the path, hidden in the trees, always watching those who came into the woods they called home.

When these grey robed figures made a number of the Qualinesti uneasy, the guards called out from the trees, asking the mysterious figures what their business was. When they simply marched on, heads low, several shots were fired in front of them – but this did not stop them, nor did it even give them pause. They simply kept marching forward.

The decision was made to leap down now, in front of them, and demand that they speak their business. The man in the front pulled back his robe, revealing a disfigured human face as he shouted, “We are the followers of Cridheolc and we will see this land cleansed of any reference of the elder gods!” With that, some of them shattered flasks of oil against the trees, while others lit torches and threw them into the pools of oil, igniting the trees in a massive blaze.

You, Breara Quilphestrie, were there that fateful night. On the ground, one of the grey robed figures had jumped on you, with their dagger in their hand and topped you over. Salivating like a diseased animal, he growled, “I will kill you elf and send your soul to the great wheel to be re-spun and reborn a human, cleansed of the unholy blood in your veins! Cridheolc be praised!” Just as he leaned back for momentum, straddling your chest as you lay on the ground, your hand found a large stone and your fingers locked around it like serpent swallowing a rodent and brought the rock crushing against his temple just as he lunged downward. You heart his skull shatter beneath the sheer force of your blow, then your closest friend, Gilliana Korvelstrie, pulled you to your feet, her face stained with blood, her sunrise colored hair, full of leaves. “This is no time to lie down,” she said, as the two of you had gone back to back, firing your arrows.

When it was said and done, all fifty of these Cridheolc Seekers were dead, but sixteen Qualinesti died that night as well. The fire that had ignited was brought under control after six days, but the damage was extensive. Not only to the woods – but the trust the Qualinesti placed in others – especially humans.

Speaker of the Sun, Solostaran Kanan, was outraged by this act made by humans. The Speaker of the Sun ordered the border nations sealed and all trades were to cease immediately. Any and all humans were expelled from the land as the Speaker of the Sun ordered that the Qualinesti elves set up a defensive perimeter to their lands and any non Qualinesti elf was to be met with extreme prejudice, no questions asked.

You were one of the guards of the Qualinesti border, your fight against the Cridheolc Seekers was commended, along with your closest friend, Gilliana Korvelstrie. The two of you had been on patrol on the northern reaches of the Qualinesti forest when two figures slowly approached. They did not hide their features – they were elven – but their attire did not mark them as Silvanesti and certainly not Qualinesti. “There’s no sanctuary for you here, elves,” Gilliana called out. “Turn back or be met with force.”

“Is this what the days have come to?” the man called out. “When Elf would strike down Elf?”

“His accent,” you quickly whispered. “He is Silvanesti. But his clothing looks like the people of Icereach.” After a moment, you called out, “State your business, Silvanesti.”

“My name is Hawkwood, this,” he gestured to the woman next to him, also an elf, similarly dressed, “is my wife Lalena. We have traveled over much of Ansalon and have seen… disturbing things. We had only hoped to come and speak with the Speaker of the Sun and share what we have seen.”

“Tell us what you have seen,” Gilliana called out before you could say anything, “and we shall pass your message to the Speaker of the Sun.”

The male nodded. “Fair enough,” he said with a sigh that could be heard even at the height of these trees. “There is a religious organization called the Cridheolc,” both of you exchange concern glances, “that has been spreading across Ansalon like a fire,” the use of the word ‘fire’ and the irony is not lost upon neither you nor Gilliana. “The people of Ansalon are both fearful of these Seekers, as well as some of them just… need to believe in something – anything… during these times. Among humans they walk in many towns and cities. They believe in ‘purification’, but know when to attack and when to wait. They can walk through a town – and spit on you, but you know they want to run their dagger through your neck if they had you alone.”

“We’ve encountered the Cridheolc Seekers,” you call out from the tree, “and have dealt with them with force.”

The man nods, “That is good. We’ve also seen that goblins, which are normally erratic in their raids, seem to have fallen under new leadership – and that might not be too unusual for a town or two; a strong hobgoblin or a being with evil in their hearts might shape the goblins to be a force to be reckoned with… but we’re seeing this everywhere; all across Ansalon, and that is reason to be concerned. As if that were not enough, we’re getting reports of people fleeing something in Nordmarr.”

“Nordmarr is far from here,” you call out, “whatever threatens those people will be too far from us to be a threat.”

“You may be right,” the Silvanesti elf calls out.

“But you could be wrong,” the female named Lalena calls out to both of you. It’s at this time you take notice that she’s also wearing white robes beneath her furs, and that she is pregnant.

For years, you remained on patrol of Qualinesti, but more and more, as human refugees came to Qualinesti, seeking shelter and you and the others forcibly turning them away – you could not shake the feeling of the white wizard’s robes: “You could be wrong.”

It was one particular night, after turning away a band of humans who claimed to be fleeing from a war that had begun in their country that you heard the Silvanesti’s words again – “You could be wrong.” These refugees were reaching Qualinesti, that meant whatever else could. That night, you had a dream of being perched on a tree branch, looking out to the land, the full white moon of Solinari staring down on Krynn – when suddenly, like red wax running over the moon – the very moon seemed to bleed, almost as if Lunitari, the red moon were eclipsing it, but then that too faded, devoured by shadow and dark, as if Nuitari, the dark moon had consumed it.

You awoke in a sweat. The Knights of Solamnia; perhaps they could help? You left and went north to Goodbay and booked passage to Hargoth, where you heard a minotaur was gathering a group to investigate the weird things going on, and specifically named the Cridheolc that he had wanted to investigate… and by investigate, he meant to put down forever.