Pernicious Argon'atsu

"Prince Pernicious Argon'atsu, third son of Zumaridi Argon'atsu III and Queen Khenemara, was a man of paradoxes—a prince whose legacy straddled the fine line between savior and villain, protector and predator. While his brothers each carved their names into Adyntia's history with strength, madness, or cunning, Pernicious wove his story with charm, deception, and a mastery of the unseen."- Passage from The History and Legends of Adyntia, by Sir Warth Fallow.

​

The Mask of the Prince

From a young age, Pernicious exhibited a natural ability to blend into any crowd. Unlike his brother Iniquitous, who influenced through strategy, or Calamitous, whose madness made him unpredictable, Pernicious worked through adaptability. He could change his demeanor as easily as a serpent sheds its skin. Among nobles, he was polished and articulate. With soldiers, he became brash and camaraderie-driven. In the underbelly of Adyntia, he adopted the rough-hewn slang of thieves and beggars, moving through shadows as if he were born of them.

​

His powers of Ankh’Tahar, the manipulation of time and vitality, manifested in subtle ways. While Khenemara wielded time to heal and Iniquitous bent it to foresee outcomes, Pernicious learned to steal moments. He could draw vitality from those around him—not in the overt draining that left corpses in his wake, but in a way that seemed almost natural. A handshake that left an elder slightly more weary, a kiss that sapped vigor from a lover, a dance where his partner found themselves out of breath, their youth slipping away. Pernicious fed on life in increments, taking what he needed while leaving only whispers of exhaustion behind.

​

A Weaver of Lies

Where Nefarious embraced his darker nature openly, Pernicious wore a mask of virtue. He presented himself as a mediator, a peacemaker, and a voice of reason among his siblings. He would step into disputes, diffusing tensions with soothing words and gentle touches. Many courtiers believed him to be a kind soul, a rare oasis of calm in the turbulent palace. But beneath the façade lay a man who reveled in deception.

Pernicious cultivated secrets like a gardener tends to rare flowers. He gathered information, not only through spying but through confession. People trusted him, opened their hearts to him, and he collected their truths with a warm smile and a gentle nod. He kept no written records—his mind was a labyrinth of hidden passages, each secret locked away until needed. He became a confidant to nobles, merchants, and even the lowly palace servants. And when the time came, he turned these secrets into leverage, using them to maneuver his pieces across the board of Adyntian politics.

​

The Night of the Poisoned Moon

One of Pernicious' most infamous tales occurred during the Feast of Twilight, a festival celebrating the union of day and night, light and shadow. During the festivities, an assassin made an attempt on Nefarious' life. The blade, dipped in a rare toxin, struck close, and chaos erupted in the great hall. Pernicious was the first to leap into action, his movements graceful, his voice commanding calm.

He knelt beside Nefarious, applying a poultice and whispering prayers of Ankh’Tahar that seemed to draw the poison from his brother’s wound. His heroism earned him praise, and the assassin, a young woman of the lower castes, was quickly executed. However, those who looked deeper saw the threads of a darker tapestry. The woman had been a servant in Pernicious' own wing of the palace. Her family, previously destitute, had recently come into a small fortune. Whispers suggested that the entire event had been orchestrated—that Pernicious had crafted a hero’s story for himself, playing both sides of the blade.

Nefarious himself never spoke of the incident again, but his gaze grew wary when it landed upon his younger brother. The court, ever eager for scandal, began to spin tales of the Poisoned Moon, suggesting that Pernicious had not only staged the attack but had also chosen a poison he could cure, ensuring his role as both the orchestrator and the savior.

​

A Prince of Two Faces

While his brothers grappled with their desires for power, Pernicious maintained a delicate balance. He did not openly covet the throne, nor did he shy away from opportunities to increase his influence. He became a favored emissary, traveling to distant lands, brokering trade agreements, and securing alliances. His charm worked wonders, and he often returned to Adyntia with gifts and tributes, each success further cementing his place in his father's court.

Yet, his travels also served another purpose. Pernicious maintained a network of spies not only within Adyntia but across Evernia. He communicated through codes, messages hidden in the harmonics of musical performances, and symbols carved into the stonework of temples. His influence extended into the courts of allies and rivals alike, and through his agents, he could create conflict or sow peace with a single word.

​

The Web of Pernicious

When Acrimonious died, and rumors of Nefarious' involvement spread, Pernicious played his role perfectly. He mourned publicly, holding his siblings close, offering support to Hexonia Ray’zore as she transitioned into her loveless marriage with Nefarious. Behind closed doors, he spoke softly to those who doubted Nefarious, never outright condemning his brother but gently stoking the embers of dissent.

It was said that during the final days of Zumaridi IV's illness, Pernicious had spent hours at his bedside, speaking with the spirits through Nehekhara rituals he had learned from Khesinari. Whether he sought to save his brother or simply to gather secrets from a dying mind, none could say for certain. But when Zumaridi IV passed, it was Pernicious who had prepared the rites, who had whispered to the ancestors and led the mourners through their grief.

​

A Legacy of Shadows

In the end, Pernicious remained an enigma. He was a prince who seemed to offer everything to everyone yet remained just beyond understanding. His name became synonymous with quiet influence, with power wielded through suggestion rather than decree. He did not need to sit upon the throne to rule—his hand guided the crown, whether Nefarious or another wore it.

​

His story was told not in the grand murals of Adyntia’s palace but in the private journals of those who had known him, in the coded songs of traveling minstrels, and in the sudden changes of fortune that seemed to follow his gaze. He was the prince of two faces—the smiling diplomat and the hidden serpent, the kind brother and the silent judge.

And when history asked if Pernicious had been a hero or a villain, the answer lay hidden, just as he preferred, veiled in the shadows where only the cleverest of minds might find it.