You stepped into the guildhall of the Red Rose. The main hall was cosy like always: all kinds of food were dished up on the table, a flask of Nirdor’s favourite mead was standing on the counter and a crackling fire burned in the chimney. The scent of the Fibulan spring blew trough the opened windows and you inhaled it with a feeling of joy.
Then you noticed something lying on the floor in front of you. It was a letter, it seems that somebody shoved it trough the door crack.
Curiously you picked it up, opened the letter’s envelope and drew a parchment out.
You red the following:
Be greeted fellow Red Rose members!
My name is Belsazar and it would be an honour and a joy for me to join the ranks of this noble guild. With the following lines I want to apply to the Red Rose…
The character information:
I’m called Duke Belsazar and I started playing Tibia in 2007. Indeed, I made my current account one year later, in 2008.
Well, I passed many guilds on my way trough the lands of Tibia. At the end of my application you will find a detailed summary of my whole guild history. Of course I met many fellow people and friends on my adventures here in Tibia. There are too many to list them here, anyways I want to name Count Sibber, a rl-friend of me, Herr Wenzel and Dark Dragon Kingh, both are good ingame friends.
What can I say about my humble self…? Well what I like to do are things like talking with other people (in roleplay-style), helping new players, exploring areas, visiting all kinds of events… in general having fun. What I also like is collecting all kinds of items and of course the good old visits in the tavern.
I never was a power gamer, so when I go on a hunt I prefer some hunting spots that are more calm and relaxed. One of my favourite hunting spots was the Darashian dragon lair, but unfortunately it became infested by people that are suffering under a mysterious curse, a curse which makes them absolutely soulless and forces them to hunt restless all kinds of monsters. I think in the vernacular this curse is called botting.
When it comes about my playing style I would call it more “traditional” playing. I prefer a balanced mix of roleplaying elements and practical playing.
Why I want to join the Red Rose and what I know already about the guild:
Well, I think the Red Rose is one of the few remaining guilds that matches perfectly with my playing style. What I like about the Red Rose is the peaceful and friendly way they interact here on Antica and the roleplay-elements, that are still kept up by this old and honourful guild. I know some things about the Red Rose, many of this information came from a talk with Chikilina some days ago. Personally, for me there was always something like a nimbus of the Red Rose: Being one of the oldest guilds in whole Tibia, being faithful followers of Banor, being one of the two guilds which received own shields as a gift of the gods. The eternal nimbus of the Red Rose is for me comparable with the sunshine that vanishes the frost of the honourless age in which we currently live in Antica. Yes, maybe I’m an idealist, but that’s how I am.
Of course I red the codex of the Red Rose and I agree with all points.
My Story
It was a cold autumn evening, when a foreign man entered the tavern of Thais. The eyes of the present men focused on the door, when it opened and the stranger stepped in.
The foreigner’s clothes were different from the ones that were common on the Tibian continent. He wore a brown, quilted coat, trimmed with grey wolf fur and a scimitar hung from his belt. His face was tanned and he had a thick, unkempt beard. The stranger’s squalid appearance disclosed that he has seen neither a city nor a bath for a long time.
The foreigner ordered a cup of beer and took place by a young man.
“Allow me to drink a beer with you”, the foreigner said.
A little later the young man began to speak.
Hesitantly he asked: “You are not from here, no?”
The foreigner looked at him for a while, then he answered:
“Yes, indeed, I’m not from here. Allow me to tell you my story…
my name is Belsazar. I am from Kasalt, a land faraway from here.
My father was a noble, the duke of Kasalt. Yes, my friend, you heard right, he was a duke. Unfortunately he died when I was young, leaving me in the care of my uncle. My uncle… he was an awful person, a cunning and power-hungy man.
My uncle accused my mother of adultery and declared me a bastard in order to become the ruler of Kasalt. Well, he died shortly afterwards – maybe the revenge of the gods for his devious lie.
After his death his son, my cousin, became the ruler. He was not better than his father, and he knew that I could pretend to the Kasaltian throne...”
Belsazar made here a meaningful pause.
“… One night I slept very fitfully and lightly. Suddenly I heard silent steps… and a sound that makes every men’s blood running cold – the scrape of a blade drawn from it’s sheath.
The door to my bedchamber opened quietly and a person, cloaked in black clothes, stepped sneaky into the dark room. He held a dagger in his hand, ready to assassinate me. I pretended to sleep… and when he stepped close enough to my bed, close enough to ram his dagger into my throat, I grabbed the candelabrum on the table next to my bed and knocked him with it down.
After assuring that the assassin was unconscious, I took his dagger and a small bag of gold coins that was bound on his belt. I knew that I couldn’t stay longer in the castle, so I took swiftly a mantle and the scimitar, a gift from my deceased father, and left the room.
I ran to the chamber of my servant Saschar. Well, Saschar was not just my servant, he was my faithful friend. I told him quickly what happened and we decided what to do. To escape was my only option, Kasalt was not save for me anymore. So we left the castle and headed to the harbour.
After a short talk and a payment of some gold coins a sailor declared himself ready to smuggle me out from Kasalt. The passage with his ship brought me to the small island called Rookgaard, faraway from my homeland. From Rookgaard I finally came here.”
Belsazar bibbed the last gulp of his beer and placed the empty cup on the table. Then he spoke: “Well, my friend, it’s late and I’m tired from my long journey. I wish you a good night!” He left the table and headed to Frodo, the host of the tavern. Belsazar drew a small bag of gold, paid for his and the young man’s beer, paid for a bed and strode finally to the stairs to the bedders. Tired and preoccupied in thoughts about his escape and his new life in Tibia Belsazar fell asleep.
In anticipation of your reply I remain
Yours sincerely
Duke Belsazar
