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“GREAT GRANDBABIES!” Renilde couldn’t wait to spoil them.

“Stassion no more. The original plan has been completed.” Renilde remembered the day one treacherous Stassionite had strong-armed her into an agreement she’d never liked, set up by someone without such authority. “They had no interest but their own in mind every step they took.”

The tune is whistled by the entire staff of the House of the Petra, by command of the Majordomo.

Renilde compares the Brascan title in the Queen of the Petra's signature to the bequeathing of the title of Brasca in the missive she received. She shrugged, and put both documents down, declaring, "Not like they have an estate or anything for their family..." Flashes of the Siege on Brasca overtook her vision, a battle in which the Coalition had emerged, yet again, victorious from the rubble once known as Beaumont - or whatever the 'baroness' called this rendition of the replicated keep, once standing on Petran soil.

“That’s what happens when you’re a trustworthy man.” Renilde spits in the general direction of ALMARIS, where the remains of her first husband laid in the waste conquered by the Mori’quessir.

“STASSION WILL DIIEEEEE,” Bellowed Sorcha, the majordomo, beside the poet laureate, enjoying a dram of whiskey.

"None of them had any follow-through." Renilde cackled.

“Ignorant Stassion fucks, nary worth the mere Mina we sold them for.” Renilde recalls the fateful day where she and her council made the play of the century in trading the treacherous vassal to Aaun, in return for nothing save peace in the Commonwealth. "They will learn."

"What do you fight for, Hohkmat?" The Queen-Emeritus had asked of the people representing the Mages of the Hohkmat Enclave, giving them a mighty cry from the dais where she stood, overlooking her fellow soldiers. "We fight against the Antethema, against Veletz," shouted Master Fatebinder's reliable second, Isabella Sanz. "They are both terribly evil, and we are determined to put them into the ground. We fight for Petra, we fight for Hohkmat. Petra is our oldest and most benevolent ally, so we shall follow them wherever they go, even if that means to the trenches and back!" "That's beautiful," remarked Renilde, before going on to the next proud soldier, and asking the very same question. @Minuvas @Dj_McMuffin

"That's some good shit." Renilde put the lyrics to a tune on the pianoforte in side room of the foyer.

"So good." The Queen-Emeritus of the Petra stood among the citizens of the Commonwealth, bearing the minor wounds endured from a less-than-eventful, decisive battle. "They mother ****ing thought. You Veletzians can raid us, you can bandit us, hold us for ransom - but you cannot win on the field of battle. You do not learn, and that shall be your downfall."

“My son,” Renilde murmured to herself as she read the letter to her treacherous neighbor. “I’ve never been more proud of you; seems you inherited that unstayable tongue of yours from me.” In a new light, the Queen-Emeritus saw her son - a changed man, perhaps with a brighter outlook than she once thought he’d had in their estranged days. Quietly, she made plans to see him - for prayer or familial pleasantries, who knew.

"Another title for this treacherous idiot to add to his signature of stolen, unrightful titles. Fitting." Renilde pushed away the missive, holding no empathy for the lowland lowlifes or their outcasted once-vassal.

"Wub dah zkah?" Renilde, ever the curious woman, tried the brutish tongue of the common orc or uruk, finding it quite the fun phrase to use instead of the cry of her mother tongue.

“******* love Master Fatebinder.” Renilde pinned the recent missive to the city notice board of Vallagne.

"The Adrians of that time were not the Veletzers of this time. Heinrik was my friend, and we had alike minds full of mutual thoughts. There is nothing similar to what Adria was then and what the League's tyranny has turned it into. This is not what Heinrik wanted, and not what his Adria was intended to be." Renilde pondered over the snippets of history laid in her lap, bouncing her leg as the memories played before blank eyes.

"Mostly the same, yet strikingly different. Fit for the times, av," Renilde said amid the Garmont Assembly who'd approved the bill, looking from left to right, nodding in encouragement.

Renilde the Lightbringer smiles a dazzling Sun's Smile.

"Huh, weird. No raid here." Renilde looked from side to side in the ballroom where 3200 Petrans enjoyed themselves over drinks and laughter.

“Aaahhhh!” Renilde gets scared, or at least pretends to be.

“Huh…” The former Queen of the Petra squints at the familiar handwriting and lowers her head with a long sigh. “The Veletzians and their forced letters… I do not understand.”

“And we stand by you,” Renilde smiled at the publicly dispatched letter, recalling a day in her youth when the worn and weary Xavier Adiler had made her acquaintance for the first time, the two enjoying a lighthearted chat in the war-torn square of Valfleur in Almaris.

“Love you, Uncle Konny.” Renilde pounded a fist to her heart twice before showing him a peace sign with her middle and forefinger. “You did an exemplary job, and I don’t know who will ever distinguish themselves as gracefully as you have.”

Renilde squints hard to try and decipher the dark-on-dark lettering of the missive before her. To no avail, she tried and tried, straining those aged peepers until she gave up with a huff and handed the letter to the Hostarius to read. “What does this say?” She grumbled. @HurferDurfer1

"That's some good stuff," Renilde nodded, wondering why it'd taken so long to begin with for this conversation to be started.