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About tilly

  • Rank
  • Birthday 06/06/1997

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  • Gender
  • Location
    New England
  • Location
    Commonwealth of the Petra

Character Profile

  • Character Name
    Renilde I | Odessa MacPherson
  • Character Race
    Heartlander | Highlander

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  1. Renilde of the Petra made a note to reach out to this guild which she could not pronounce, so as to expose the children of the Paradisian Courts who were warded to her and her fellow courtesans to the rich culture that filled in the rest of the continent that was Aevos. "Most interesting," she began, in an opening statement to the Lady Chamberlain on 'Commonwealth of the Petra' stationary. How vintage! @ibiou
  2. Sorrel shakes his head. Certainly this woman Catherine, one who was so obsessed with him, was not to marry a man he'd never heard of... He went home to Vissengren to ask his mother's advice.
  3. 'Initiate Sorrel' scans the missive over a scheduled tea and biscuits with the lovely Amélie Auclair at her chagrined behest, his own countenance becoming afflush as he realized just how many eyes had been on him and his arm-candy that evening. Nevertheless, he couldn't wait to tell his mother of his mention in the paper, as well as his progress with the woman of his dreams. @carebear @Apricette
  4. Renilde of the Petra smiles, feeling included. "Solland forever."
  5. Renilde I of the Petra, really old but cooler than everyone else
  6. “This Lady Mayor, Mama, she is certainly an intellectual.” Sorrel, over a cup of his mother’s sought-after hot cocoa, showed Calla the well-executed proposal of the Salvian Gauntlet and all of its interworkings, an eyebrow raised as well as the corner of his mouth in an idle smile. “Didn’t I tell you? She is certainly the one - she is, she is!” @carebear
  7. Written by Her Majesty, Queen-Emeritus Renilde Helena of the Petra, Atstana de Regne Petrère 121 On the continent of Aevos, where legends roam, And heroes, brave, make their home, There dwelled a warrior, distinct and true, Whose deeds would shine in skies of blue. Alberic, his name, did it ring, A champion bold, with a sword to swing. Beside him stood Astraea’s flair, Their bond unbroken, beyond compare. Siblings as they were in heart and mind, Their fists held high, used against the most unkind. In Lotusgrad's streets, they fought as one Against darkness’s nightmares, 'til the day was done. But shadows lurked, with eyes unseen, And fate's cruel hand played in between. Bound by chains of Azdrazi's might, To Azdromoth's realm, they took their flight. The Arch-drakkar, with words of deceit, Offered freedom, if Alberic would cheat. But true to his honor, he stood his ground, Refusing the bargain, in courage, he was found. Summoning Xan's grace, he broke the chains, And battled foes through fiery plains. His spear, a beacon of righteous ire, Struck Azdromoth, a kill to admire. Yet, in that clash, fate's cruel call, Alberic's defeat, in the final fall. But his sacrifice was not in vain, For freedom's light began to reign. A comet streaked, across the sky, A testament to a world he would too soon say goodbye. In death, he soared among the stars, His legacy etched in fantastical memoirs. Though Alberic's journey has reached its end, His spirit lives on in every friend. For he stayed true to his noble creed, In valor's name, he planted his seed. So let the bards in keeps and halls resound, The tale of Alberic, forever renowned. In epic verse, his fate has been told, One of bravery and honor, having broken the mold.
  8. "Master Fatebinder," Renilde croaked, already wrought with the grief of her first son's passing just months earlier. Renilde had never known Fatebinder casually, and had only once seen him without his mask - what a handsome face she thought he'd had. Yet, he'd been a fine conversationalist when their paths did cross politically, and he was ever reliable whenever she'd sought to call upon him or and Hohkmati for assistance. Her fist struck a blow against the surface of the table, rattling the tea-things she usually read her correspondences over. The elderly woman wondered, clutching onto the letter as though it were a lifeline. Would her time come soon, where she would join the better half of her family and friends in the afterlife? Each passing day, she had less and less ties to those who lived above ground...
  9. “To my first son, my first love,” Renilde reminisced aloud a letter she’d sent to Albert just Saints days ago, voice laced with the agony of bereavement. In the secluded confines of Courteis Hale, nestled amidst the whispers of the Petra's ancient forests, there dwelled a sorrow that weighed heavy upon the shoulders of Queen-Emeritus Renilde. Her heart, once a bastion of strength, now lay shattered in the wake of a grievous loss. For her beloved son, Albert Salvian, had departed from this world, leaving behind a void that seemed insurmountable. Renilde's relationship with Albert had weathered tumultuous storms, born from the ashes of conflict and strife. In the aftermath of the Petran Civil War, their bond had been strained, fraught with doubt and discord. There were moments when their voices clashed like thunder, echoing through the corridors of the old Courteis Hale in Valfleur, each grappling with the scars of their past. But time, that elusive healer, had woven its threads of redemption between them. Through years marked by trials and triumphs, they had forged a new connection, one built on understanding and trust. Together, they had stood as comrades-in-arms, facing the perils of battle side by side during the Fall of Almaris. In those harrowing moments, the echoes of past grievances faded into insignificance, replaced by a shared resolve to protect their homeland. And now, as Renilde grappled with the anguish of Albert's passing, she retreated once more into the sanctuary of solitude. The weight of her grief cloaked her in a veil of isolation, shielding her from the prying eyes of the world beyond. Yet within the confines of Courteis Hale, amidst the tranquility of her garden ablaze with hues of blue, she found solace in the embrace of family. Her last surviving child, Paul Alexander, stood by her side, a pillar of strength and consistency amidst the tempest of sorrow. And around them, gathered the echoes of generations, her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, their presence a balm to her wounded soul. Together, they sought refuge in the gentle cadence of shared memories, finding comfort in the warmth of familial love. In the quietude of Courteis Hale, Renilde clung to the remnants of a promise made long ago. Together with Albert, or Bertie as she has called him as a child, they had embarked on a journey of words, crafting verses to soothe the stuttering speech of a timid boy. And now, as she traced the lines of their poetry book, she found herself drawn once more into the embrace of their shared creations - more hers than his as she’d been adding to it in the recent years. Yet, her plan was to give it to him, to pass down from generation to generation. In those pages lay the essence of their bond, a testament to the resilience of love in the face of adversity. And as Renilde lingered amidst the whispers of memory, she found a flicker of hope amidst the shadows of grief. For though Albert may have departed from this world, the echoes of his spirit lingered on, woven into the fabric of their shared story. “Bertie,” Renilde murmured a prayer in the chapel of Courteis Hale, a place she’d visited more frequently as of late. Candles were lit there in honor of the departed man. “You are gone, but not forgotten. Here, in my heart, and all of your nieces’ and nephews’; your brothers’. And the many more you’ve touched along the way.” Renilde knelt before the altar, hands steepled together, and continued to convulse with emotion. With each shuddering breath, the weight of loss pressed heavily upon her chest, threatening to engulf her in its suffocating embrace. Her sobs echoed through the dimly lit chamber, a symphony of anguish that reverberated against the cold stone walls. And yet, amidst the tumult of sorrow, Renilde found solace in the fervent whispers of prayer that escaped her trembling lips. With every plea to the heavens, she begged for mercy upon the soul of her departed son, her words a desperate plea for absolution in the face of unfathomable loss.
  11. god bless this guy's generosity
  12. Name: Sorrel Tulpe von Theonus IGN: tillydactyl Age: 30 Province: The Petra Address: Vissingren, Marignan, the Province of the Petra Campaigning for: Garmont Assembly Discord: tillydactyl
  13. FULL NAME: Sorrel Tulpe von Theonus AGE: 30ish RACE: Heartlander PRIOR EXPERIENCE, IF APPLICABLE: Covenant War METHOD OF CONTACT: tillydactyl on disc
  14. “He’s a growing boy,” the boy’s grandmother said to the overwhelmed kitchen staff at Courteis Hale. Renilde had just finished baking her third batch of cookies that day for her ravenous grandson, in hopes that he would enjoy them this time around. GOD knew what he’d write about her next, should her baking skills not deliver.
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