This is an old character & has been deleted.
Summary: Blessed be Petlondail, who defies the Night! May He keep His people until the Dawn!
Gender: Not applicable.
Age: As old as His City.
Group: Main Pantheon
FollowersThe people of Petlondail are fair-haired, but grow no beards; their skin is pale, and their eyes come in many hues. Their tongue is strange, and their mannerisms peculiar, but they are a friendly people, and do not make war on others. They are great ship-masters, and often the port of Petlondail is filled to the brim with vessels of many shapes and banners. The people of Petlondail love the Sea also, though less than Petlondail, for it does not cherish them as does He, but merely desires them and their ships as playthings for its cruel games. And when the Sea cannot catch any ships to throw against the jagged cliffs, it boils and froths in rage, and in that hour the mariners of Petlondail anchor their ships steadfastly in port, and go to the taverns and the city-squares, saying, "It is well that we are ashore".
DomainSomewhere in the Western plains beside the Sea there stands a great City, whose name is Petlondail. It is Petlondail whom the Sun greets last as it passes over the Worlds, and in this City the Sun finds its final stronghold in the latest hours of the day, when Night creeps over the grasslands and the plains to conquer what the Sun once held. Then Petlondail stretches His spires up into the sky as far as they may go, for he is ever loyal to the Sun, His liege, and even as Darkness wrenches away His battlements and plants his gloomy banner a-fluttering over the walls, and Silence floods the streets, singing triumphantly his war-song, the spires of Petlondail glow still defiantly in the Sun's last rays. And when Night has finally slain the Sun, then in the Tower of the Last Rays the great yellow stone, which some whisper is the heart of Petlondail, hewn from the flanks of mountains far away, releases from its depths the light gathered in the long hours of the day, and pierces defiantly Night's cloaked flank for as long as Night may reign.
The fields around Petlondail are blessed with the very same beauty that dwells upon His walls and towers, and provide for His people everything that they may desire. To the North, they are flanked by the Three Peaks; colossal mountains, wreathed in snow, whose names are Irigon, Rosack, and Tartagis. Tartagis, the oldest of the Three and the most perilous, reaches out with his swarthy bare feet even to the Sea; Rosack draws up around him the thick forests, that he may be warm; and from Irigon flows a Southward river, whose name is Deur, and upon whom the people of Petlondail set sail when they tire of the Sea's wrathful ways, going inland to trade. It is said that Deur the Southward river pays homage to Petlondail as he drifts lazily past, but the Three Peaks defy the City and His people, and frown upon them; and whenever a caravan sets out upon the treacherous paths which wander over Rosack's forested flank, the mountains rumble with anger, and cast great boulders upon the unwelcome travellers, so that they become trapped upon the mountain road and are never seen again in Petlondail.
To the West of Petlondail there dwells the Sea, who is capricious in nature and wrathful in demeanor; for the Sea desires greatly to play with the ships of the people of Petlondail, but is loth to cherish them, and would break them over jagged cliffs if it tired of playing with them overlong. Indeed, it is well that the mariners of Petlondail are masters of their craft, that they might escape the anger of the Sea.
Physical AppearancePetlondail is said to wear a crown of spires upon His head, and His feet are dressed in towering walls and crooked battlements. The tale-tellers of Petlondail, who are often to be found in His taverns and His squares, sing ballads of His marble-white figure stretching out above the City, or marching with sword and heart ablaze against Night and his dark allies.
Personality and interestsWhen Night has settled in around Petlondail, besieging it from all directions, He takes up his sword and plants His feet over the Eastern Gate, and there defies the armies of Night. And in that late hour, when the taverns are full and the tale-tellers tune their instruments, Petlondail hears them, and lifts His spired head higher, for His yellow heart is gladdened, and his resolve bolstered.
Petlondail ever keeps a watchful eye upon His roads and the roads that lead to Him, for he is a kindly God, and gives shelter to all those who would seek it.