The Legend of Zarkos Oak - Song

Between Exile and Execution

The Origin of Zarkos Oak

Born in the tavern Golden Oak with an omen of fate, marked by his kindness and surrounded by difficult choices, this is the story of Zarkos Oak. There is a part of his story that few know besides himself; only a few residents of Silverymoon and the small village of Quaervarr remember this fateful story.

The war between Silverymoon and the orcs of the northern mountains has been going on for more years than most of the human dwellers there can remember. Some of them were born into that war and for them, it has always existed; however, some older elven dwellers still remember times of peace.

Zarkos used to help his father, Joseph, at the forge in the afternoons. The heat from the furnaces and the sound of the hammer against the metal were constant, almost like a heartbeat of their shared purpose. “Remember, son,” Joseph said, as he fashioned a red-hot blade. “True strength is not in the sword, but in the heart of the one who wields it.” Zarkos, his arms tired from all the hammering, listened intently, absorbing every word like a devoted apprentice.

In the mornings, training with his uncle Talion was equally rigorous, but of a different kind. Talion, a half-elf with graceful movements, wielded his sword with almost poetic precision. “The sword is an extension of your will, Zarkos,” he explained, as he blocked an attack from Zarkos with ease. “But never forget: the real battle is understanding when to fight and when to spare lives.”

Zarkos's great-grandmother, an elven lady named Ferlana, often told him of the ancient tales of Silverymoon's war heroes, including the tales of his great-grandfather, a human champion named Gondor, one of those responsible for commanding an important battle and fighting in the front lines with the Silver Knights, defeating a powerful wizard who commanded the orc forces that constantly attacked Silverymoon lands.

They would gather everyone around the fireplace, her serene voice narrating stories of ancient heroes and epic battles. “Your great-grandfather, Gondor, fought on the front lines with the Silver Knights,” she said, her eyes glowing in the light of the flames. “But he always said that the greatest victory was keeping his heart intact despite the raging war.”

When Zarkos turned 18, he was already a skilled warrior and motivated by his patriotism. Because of the stories he heard from his great-grandmother, he decided to join the Silverymoon army to fight for its people and defend them from the latest threats.

After a few years on the front lines, fighting as an infantryman, Zarkos excelled in battles against the orcs, and the commanders recognized this, so it wasn't long before they gave him a command position among the forces. 

The commanders received word that a large force of orcs had abandoned Fort Silverspear (an important strategic point for the defense of Silverymoon lands) to attack the village of Quaervarr. So they decided to designate Captain Zarkos to the following mission: Take control of Fort Silverspear. This fort, located west of the village of Quaervarr, had already been under siege for a while and all attacks against it were unsuccessful. The orcs still wanted to hold it, and this would be the perfect opportunity to retake it and secure an extremely important point in the war.

During the mobilization of troops, Zarkos realized that not only the forces of the fort were heading to attack the village of Quaervarr, but also several troops that were hidden in the forest to the north were moving together against the village. The commanders and the people in the village would be slaughtered. He then made the difficult decision to disobey his superiors' command and led his troops into the village to stop the onslaught, thereby flanking the orcs in their movement, arriving at the last moment and thwarting the onslaught of the orcs. Despite the death of some soldiers, in the end, they were successful, and the population of Quaervarr was safe.

The villagers of Quaervarr hailed Zarkos as a hero, their gratitude evident in every cheer and tear of relief. Children ran to him with flowers, and elders clasped his hands, thanking him for their salvation. However, the commanders were far from pleased. In the dimly lit war tent, their faces were grim and voices sharp.

"Do you realize what you’ve done, Captain?" barked Commander Valtor, slamming his fist on the table. "Because of you, this war will drag on. They still hold Fort Silverspear. You disobeyed direct orders. We could have sacrificed Quaervarr and struck a decisive blow by taking the fort."

Zarkos stood tall, his eyes steady but filled with conflict. "I made a choice to save lives, sir. The villagers... they would have been slaughtered. I couldn’t stand by and let that happen."

Zarkos was court-martialed in Silverymoon, facing the grim reality of a death sentence. The courtroom was packed, tension hanging heavy in the air as villagers from Quaervarr and Zarkos’s friends fervently protested. The magistrate’s stern gaze swept over the assembly, silencing the murmurs.

"Order!" he demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

Joseph, Zarkos’s father, stepped forward, his eyes pleading. "Your honor," he began, voice trembling. "My son acted with the noblest of intentions. He saved innocent lives. Please, I beg of you, show mercy."

The magistrate’s expression softened slightly, his respect for the Oak family evident. He glanced at Zarkos, who stood tall, his face a mask of resolve. "Captain Zarkos Oak," the magistrate pronounced, "your disobedience cannot go unpunished. However, in light of your intentions and the lives saved, I sentence you to exile. You will leave Silverymoon until such a time as we call upon you again."

As the magistrate was about to conclude, the doors of the courtroom swung open, and Spellguard Commander Tarthilmor Aerasume entered, his presence commanding immediate attention. An elf of striking appearance and a long-time member of the council, Tarthilmor had a history entwined with Zarkos’s family. He had been friends with Zarkos’s great-grandfather, Gondor, but envy had always simmered beneath the surface, especially after Ferlana chose Gondor over him.

"Your honor, if I may," Tarthilmor interjected, his voice cold and measured. "This man’s actions, while seemingly noble, cannot be allowed to set a precedent. A soldier who disobeys orders yet is remembered as a hero might inspire others to defy command."

The magistrate looked worried, but gestured for Tarthilmor to continue. With a wave of his hand, Tarthilmor brought forth a few members of the Spellguard to assist him and then in concert they began to cast a spell, their fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. "I invoke the Mind Scar spell," he declared, his eyes shining with a mixture of determination and ancient resentment. "This spell will erase Zarkos Oak from the memories of his friends and the people of Quaervarr. Such a man cannot be remembered, lest his disobedience encourage further insubordination."

Gasps and murmurs filled the courtroom. Zarkos’s friends and the villagers of Quaervarr looked on in horror, unable to intervene. Among them, Uriviel Lightmoon, the half-elf wizard with whom Zarkos had been developing a deep bond, stood paralyzed, tears streaming down her face as she struggled to comprehend the spell's implications.

"No!" Uriviel cried out, her voice breaking. "You can't do this! Zarkos saved us all!"

Lilith, the human warlock, gripped her staff tightly, a look of helpless rage in her eyes. "This is injustice!" she shouted. "You can't just erase someone like this!"

Torstein Moscovita, the earth genasi fighter, stepped forward, his rocky form trembling with anger. "We owe him our lives. This is madness!"

Errautsak, the halfling druid, clutched his fiery squirrel companion to his chest, his usually cheerful face contorted with sorrow. "Zarkos is a hero," he whispered, his voice lost in the din of the courtroom.

Osmadiel, the fallen aasimar fighter, with his hair darkening as his anger grew, stood beside Lilith, his eyes fixed on Tarthilmor with burning intensity. "You will regret this," he said quietly, his voice filled with a dangerous promise.

Jasegrim, the half-elven artificer, and his friend Fini, the gnome artificer, exchanged looks of disbelief and despair. "How can they do this?" Fini muttered, tears in her eyes.

Sonata, the blue-skinned tiefling bard, began to sing a haunting melody, her voice filled with sorrow, trying to reach Zarkos’s heart one last time before the spell took hold.

Dimbar, the firbolg druid, stood tall, his nasal voice breaking the silence, "Remember him as a hero, even if we forget his name."

Zarkos felt a searing pain as the spell took hold, a burning sensation that crawled through his mind. Faces of loved ones and comrades blurred and faded, their memories of him dissolving like mist as he was being forgotten. The courtroom swayed, the figures around him becoming shadows.

“You will be exiled,” Tarthilmor’s voice echoed distantly, “and you will be forgotten by those you saved.”

The last thing Zarkos saw before the darkness claimed him was the cold, satisfied smile of Tarthilmor. When he awoke, he was outside the gates of Silverymoon, the faces of those he loved now mere phantoms, their memories of him erased. 

Arriving in the bustling city of Baldur’s Gate, Zarkos found work as a guard. The city, rife with corruption and darkness, needed someone with his strength and honor. Here, he vowed to protect the innocent and fight against the evil plaguing the streets, determined to forge a new chapter in his life, even if those he cared about no longer remembered his name.