Zumaridi Argon'atsu IV

"Zumaridi Argon'atsu IV was born under a sky of blazing crimson, as if the very heavens bled in anticipation of his birth. As the firstborn son of Mostereem Zumaridi Argon'atsu III and Queen Khesinari, his birth was heralded by the shamans of the Le'keshna and celebrated with grand processions through the sun-kissed streets of Adyntia. From his earliest days, Zumaridi IV was a prince destined to follow in the colossal footsteps of his father—a child of both draconic might and necromantic grace.

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From youth, the prince displayed the raw charisma and confidence of his lineage. His emerald eyes, a gift from his father, shone with the promise of future greatness, and his presence commanded the attention of all who beheld him. As a young warrior, he rode at the head of hunting parties, led skirmishes against desert raiders, and engaged in diplomatic ceremonies alongside his mother. His education was rigorous—combining martial training with the sacred rites of Nehekhara, where he learned to call upon ancestral spirits and wield the power of the dead.

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However, with the blessings of beauty and power came the burdens of temptation. Zumaridi IV was a son of Adyntia, and his appetites matched his ambition. His exploits among the courtiers, priestesses, and even visiting nobles became the gems of whispered tales. His lovers were many, from lowborn maidens seeking the prince’s favor to seasoned warriors whose scars told stories of their own. His charm was undeniable, his smile a weapon as sharp as any blade. But beneath the allure lay a restlessness—a hunger that no bed could sate and no embrace could still."- Passage from The History and Legends of Adyntia, by Sir Warth Fallow.

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The Rise of the Shadowplague

When Zumaridi IV reached the age of twenty-four, Adyntia was struck by a curse from the west—the Shadowplague, a pestilence carried by the dry winds from the cursed lands of Ul’tharek. Unlike common illnesses, the Shadowplague was no mere affliction of the flesh. It manifested as darkened veins beneath the skin, as though shadows themselves crept through the blood. Victims suffered vivid hallucinations, their minds clouded by visions of serpents and flames, their bodies wasting as if devoured by an unseen maw.

The prince, ever valiant, insisted on visiting the afflicted. He moved through the quarantined districts, his voice a balm to the suffering. He held the hands of the dying, whispering prayers of Nehekhara, hoping to guide their spirits to peace. Yet, even the heir to House Argon'atsu was not immune to the creeping shadows. His mothers warned him to keep his distance, but Zumaridi IV could not abandon his people—not when they needed hope.

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It was a fortnight after his first visit to the plague-touched quarter that the prince fell ill. At first, it seemed nothing more than fatigue, a tiredness brought on by his relentless pace. But as the days wore on, the signs became clear. His skin grew pale, the veins beneath darkening to a sickly black. Fever gripped him, dragging his mind through fevered visions where he battled faceless shades and drowned in rivers of ash. His once-commanding voice became a rasp, his strength sapped by the unseen poison.

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The Mothers’ Lament

The three queens—Khesinari, Khenemara, and Sethenya—gathered at his bedside, each a mistress of her own arcane discipline, yet powerless against the insidious nature of the Shadowplague.

• Khesinari, the necromancer, called upon the spirits of healers long dead. She summoned wraiths with ghostly hands, urging them to pull the shadows from his blood, but they recoiled, unable to touch the sickness that clung to his soul.

• Khenemara, the timeweaver, attempted to slow the progress of the illness. She bent the streams of Ankh’Tahar, trapping his body in a temporal loop where the plague could not advance. But even this only delayed the inevitable, for time, like the shadows, found its way through every barrier.

• Sethenya, the mistress of veils, wrapped the prince’s room in illusions of paradise. She soothed his mind with visions of cool waters and endless skies, but beneath the illusions, his body continued to wither.

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As the prince lay dying, his many lovers gathered outside the palace walls, their faces etched with grief. Adyntia itself seemed to mourn—the wind keened through the pillars, the river ran slow and dark, and the sun hid behind veils of dust. Zumaridi IV, the shining heir, was slipping away, and no magic, no ritual, could save him.

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The Final Night

On his final night, Zumaridi IV woke from his fevered dreams with a moment of clarity. He asked to see his father, who sat at his bedside, the Mostereem now a father stricken with helplessness. The prince, with the last of his strength, clasped his father’s hand.

“Father, do not weep for me. My path leads beyond the veil, but I go unafraid. The ancestors call, and I must answer.”

His mothers joined them, and together they performed a rite of passing—a blend of Nehekhara, Ankh’Tahar, and En’keliah—guiding his spirit gently into the embrace of the beyond. As he breathed his last, the shadows receded, leaving his face at peace, his features a reminder of the boy who had once been, the man who might have been.

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A Kingdom in Mourning

Zumaridi IV was laid to rest in the crypts of House Argon'atsu, his tomb adorned with symbols of his life and legacy. His death was a wound to the kingdom, a reminder that even the greatest houses were not immune to the cruelties of fate. Though he had not ascended to the throne, his legacy endured in the memories of those he had touched, in the tears of his lovers, and in the echoes of his parents’ grief.

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The Shadowplague eventually passed, its mysteries never fully unraveled. Some said it was a curse from a rival clan, others whispered of dark magics unleashed from ancient ruins. The tale of Zumaridi IV became a cautionary story—of compassion, of recklessness, of the dangers of hubris and the fragility of life. And though his light had burned quickly, it had shone all the brighter, leaving a mark upon Adyntia that time itself could not erase.