tilly

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.

"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...

“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.

BRING BACK THE HALT COMMAND PMEASE!!!! I LOVE HALTING PEOPLE FROM THE WINDOW. 

PLEASE ADD THOSE PASTEL COLORS THEY ARE PRETTY. 

IT ALL SOINDS GOOD. 

god bless this guy's generosity

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

FULL NAME: Sorrel Tulpe von Theonus

AGE: 30ish

RACE: Heartlander

PRIOR EXPERIENCE, IF APPLICABLE: Covenant War

METHOD OF CONTACT: tillydactyl on disc

wHY IS THIS NOT TRENDING

“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. 

Renilde I of the Petra smiles the Heartlandic smile. 
 

“Together, ape strong.” She murmured. 

Renilde reads the missive, and is ashamed of her cousin’s house for the second time in her life. “Anthony moment,” she grumbled. 

“MARCEL AWWWW NOOOO…” Renilde wept loudly into her hands, wishing she hadn’t smoked that last blunt he’d rolled for her just the other day. “WAAAAHHHHHH…” It was the gross, ugly kind of sob, and she was not a pretty crier. 

“I love that Nico.” Renilde rests easier knowing there was a more suitable place for worship in the city once again. 

“I am spry and dazzling, thank you Pym.” Renilde flipped her glowing copper hair over her shoulder and smiled the Petran smile before committing to signing up for the friendly duel. Water sports were her thing. 

[!] An extension is posted to the challenge, attached by a thick layer of paste.

Mister Volkov,

While I would accept such a challenge any day of the week, I will not do so in order to gain or lose a seat in the Garmont Assembly. The people have voted for each nominee to rightfully earn their seat, and there is no better way for that decision to be made than through the democratic republic we strive to uphold the values of.

The Garmont Assembly is a place for discussion to be had regarding the Commonwealth and her citizens' needs; to brainstorm together what must be done in order to keep our slice of the Heartlands whole. How can we do that, Pym, if we are frequently fighting against one and other - disabled or not, old or not - for our views, our opinions, or our simple seat within such an organization? I feel as though these challenges take away the safety one deserves while within the four walls of the assembly hall, sharing their innermost thoughts of how to make our home a better place to be.

In closing, I ask you, Pym, to respect the process of the voting system within the Commonwealth, and to perhaps think about what it means to try to subvert these very systems put in place, as well as what it means to the institution that you are trying to undermine. I've been with this nation for nearly a century, so I do not blame you for your unknowingness - I've been here far, far longer than most.

You are a young man, so I have no mind to hold this lapse of judgement against you; instead, I hope you have learned a valuable lesson in the importance of structure within elections and, furthermore, the lawmaking process. 

I am, however, still willing to duel you for fun on the River Petra. We will make a new bet.

Cordially,

HER MAJESTY, Renilde Helena of the Petra,

Queen-Emeritus, Privy Seal of the River Council, Principal of the Royal Academy of St. Jude

Renilde filed the legend with a satisfied smile, thinking about the woman who’d had the biggest impact on her own life - the woman who did not give up on her or their shared vision of a whole Heartlands: Dame Catherine of Furnestock. 
 

“You are the reason we are here - I will make sure you are never forgotten.” A copy of the legend was laid out in the foyer of the Petran palace which featured a mural of Saint Emma and the Commonwealth’s most prominent historical figures. Specifically, upon the lectern in front of the one and only Dame Catherine’s statue. 
 

Renilde brushed the stone shoulder of her departed mentor, said a silent prayer, and went for a sit in the adjacent garden dedicated to her late son, Sixtus IV. 
 

(( based Andrew tech world building. I love your imagination. classic. Love you Andrew ))

(( Nobody has any idea how happy it makes me to see nectorist Petra posting ))

“Absolutely SCATHING!” Cried one Margrethe Bertha from the depths of the up-and-coming Barony of Hrenthorne.

Username: tillydactyl

Persona Name: Renilde of the Petra

Persona Age: like 89

Place of Residence / Street Address: Courteis Hale, Solland

Seat you are running for (ex. The People's seat of Val de Lagne): Solland

And they say I’M a risk to the server staff smfh

"I love that this man was the one to post it." A fist was thrust in the air to celebrate one Father David's contributions as the Orateur of the Garmont Assembly. 

“I declare myself to be in the running for the role of OVERLORD - Overlady? - with King Cyris as my consort.” Renilde stated with a chuckle, forwarding the missive to her halfling counterpart. 

“Send these to your parents,” Renilde told her pupils individually at their lessons. “And pack your bags! The academy has just broken ground!”

@TwistedFries@acronius_

“I’ll bring the marshmallows.” Renilde slaves over the stove to make the perfect treat for the giant bonfire. 

Don’t forget the one that is a step after thriving: Poppin’. Specifically for Petra. 
 

PETRA POPPIN’, NEVER STOPPIN’.