Induraine's Application [Accepted]

[Induraine]

Introducing myself, AKA player talks:

I'd like to start by explaining a bit about Induraine's creation and introducing myself, the reasons on why i'd like to join and then proceeding to tell his tale for ya'll guys, hope you find this interesting (even if a bit too long)!

In fact, Induraine is quite new, as is my Antican life. He was created sometime at the middle of 2014, but never played, as i was rather busy with university and everyday affairs. As a MMORPG player, i like to invest some time thinking about the general lines of personality, storyline and how i would like my characters to look like ingame (i even draw some of them beforehand, that's a concept-artist-wannabe-fetish, i guess), and i had in him the (often used but not really well-explored) ideal of a "saint swordsman", laying down his whole life in pursuit of what is the ideal of perfection through the sharpness of a blade. Yeah, Musashi-much. But then again, i didn't want him to be a strict, boring and too serious character, he's young, hell, he's a boy to most, even though to his people he is a man, a traitorous man even, and deserves a full-grown man's death, but we'll get to that. So i made him a cheerful, talkative person, willing to sit for hours and doing nothing besides chit-chatting about whatever brings up his interest, telling jokes and even getting to do silly things, as a young lad would, but then, he can be more than often spotted sitting alone under the trees of Ab'dendriel and taverns, going to lonely places to hone his skills, a often quiet, solemn person, surely because of his past, his misdeeds and the death-mark that hangs above his head.

Well, then there's me. Name's Vitor, i'm 26 years old, and i'm currently studying to be a graphic designer, 2016 will be zze last year, and i'll finally be done with university and ready for unemployement (hooray)! I've been playing Tibia on and off for the last, what, 10 years? Yeah, since 2005, i remember it quite well, even though i wasn't really a good player, so it never took flight, and i would just play around without much focus. So i had other pursuits in the gaming world, until i started back again in 2010. Server was Elysia, the one i picked in 2005, and been there ever since. As time passed by, a sad thing happened there (as in many other worlds), and masstransfers started, and so the pushwars came with them. Their methods were lowly, and soon elysian warriors got tired of fighting hopeless wars, and away they went. Many years of wars were still fought, a small resistance, a lot of backstabbing and the brazil lads fighting each other, and finally as a result, this almost killed our community intirely. Then i decided, yeah, i'll give it a shot somewhere else. No better place than ancient Antica (pun intended) and the living history i see walking in the streets every day. Hope you enjoy my application!

Why i'd like to join
Since i've started playing in Elysia again, in 2010, i've been trying a lot to bring up some roleplaying into the community, and my characters there have personalities and stories of their own as well, but since the decay of Elysia (and well, before wasn't that good either) the roleplay isn't much of a concern for most players. I must say, though, that's a problem i've found here as well, powergaming and people being just extensions of their jerky personalities in virtual environments (and even worse because ingame they're allowed to do almost anything if they have the 'power' to do so) are commonplace. So i decided to try and get to know and maybe join a real roleplaying guild, and even better, to stop looking at your printscreens full of jealousy (nothing harmful, just a 'wish i could be there' thing, haha) and becoming a part of it. I surely don't want to sound like a... well, arse-kisser (sorry for the language), but i have the utmost respect for your history and legacy in Tibia, and would sincerely love to join your ranks to at least help preserve and keep it burning brightly.

And here's the main part:

Induraine's History:


As a boy, Induraine was called Indu Ibn al-Safyr, and was the offspring of a prominent and very ancient nomad bloodline, who threaded the golden sands of Darama way before Ankrahmun and their fallen Pharaohs reigned and were cursed by their greed of everlasting life.

He was a vivid, well-liked kid among his tribemen, who respected him for his brash and fiery nature and the blood-legacy he carried in him. The boy enjoyed, more than anything else, the company of his mother Isama, and gorged himself listening to her long stories, sitting by the campfire at the bright, starry nights of the Kha'labal. Learning the lore of his people and the many tales of his father, a hero who passed away before his birth, was his utmost pleasure, bringing him sweet dreams as he slowly closed his eyes every night.

To brand and swing around his wooden sword was the second favorite thing to him - as to all nomad boys - but he bested them all. Swordfights were commonplace, and Isama would look at him disapprovingly every time he came home covered in sand and bruises, but he had a fire in him, a fierceness his small and bigger friends learned to respect, and she finally came to understand: no one, not even her, could object to his nature and his legacy.

So the years passed by, and Indu came into full adulthood at age seventeen, and made a name of his own: a young hero to his tribe, who leaded many raids, sacking and laying waste to many unsuspecting caravans, never once failing to be merciful to the hopeless merchants, and stripping them of all their gold coins in the process. But even though the elders and his people rejoiced with him and his deeds, he was not satisfied by any of it. To sit in silent contemplation of his father's heirloom, a blade incrusted with magic jewels and forged by djinn-fire, was now his only source of peace and contentment, as his mother passed away a couple of years before.

And he trained. Now his skill was unsurpassed in desert lands, and not even the most skilled nomad swordsmen could beat him, during the annual gatherings of the many tribes. He mastered every stance, guard and cut within the Hamasa traditions, but he knew it was not enough. Often he would -against the rules- leave the tribe for days to look for travelling warriors, eager to learn their ways of blade-dancing. He felt electrified, passionate, attracted to his very soul to the simple, yet lethal structure of a sword. The elegant lines, the cold steel, the ornaments, and how they would change from people to people: slender, broad, giant blades, small daggers, and slowly he noticed how they mirrored the places and costumes and stances from whence they came. O all the knowledge he was missing! But no, the elders would have nothing of this, he knew. To have any contact besides the tip of his blade with a foreigner was forbidden, and he had to be satisfied by what his people had to give him. He was young, they said, and he would come to pacify these thoughts one day, if he sticked to the traditions.

But he could not. Even though he risked himself -and he knew his family name wouldn't save his neck from the Code- every time he did so, he kept talking and learning what he could from foreigners. One of them, a funny looking fellow with a colourful hat, told him there was a respected swordsman living in a marbled city to the north. That would be a longer incursion, and there were risks, as he could be recognized by travelling merchants, since he spared all of them. But he counted on luck, bided some time and one day, when the night fell into darkly hours, through the dusty mountain pass he went.

His tribe never went so far north, as some other less respected tribes did, for the dark presence of the damned lifeless to the west scared them. And so he never once before saw the jewelled city of Darashia. And he thought it was strikingly beautiful in the sunrise, when he finally came to its outskirts. Using his turban as a scarf, he covered his features as good as he could, and made it to the main streets. After asking around a bit, he came to a crowded square, and saw many merchants setting up their tents to sell every kind of goods. Many of them he knew from his raids, of course, but he left his father's blade at home, and they wouldn't notice his face, covered as it was. And he noticed one of them, one he never saw before, had a blade across his belt.

Habdel was his name, he came to know, and he just carried it around as a means of warding off thiefs or people who tried to scam him. But he was no master. He pointed to the big building just besides the fair, telling him Razan Ibn Rublai was a well-known weaponmaster and a famed warrior, perhaps he could teach him a thing or two.

Getting inside the building was easy, as it was allowed for every peasant in town to visit. Full of hope, he took every calculated step into Razan's hall... only to find him sitting in a table, lazily, as no warrior should be, counting some gold
coins. Indu approached him with respect, still, for he knew nothing of the man's real valor, it could be, after all, a deceptive facade.

It was not. Razan was a shopkeeper, like them all. For the few skills he knew, he greedily asked money in return, and they were of no use to Indu. Indeed, he knew most of them, and paid for the rest in contempt, for this was not what he was looking for. Looking up through the window, he saw the sun was getting higher, and it was time to leave, for his tribemen would start to wonder where he went again. Bidding farewell to this lie of a man, he took his hurried feet to the outskirts of town once more...

As he walked under the palm trees, putting his turban back in place, he lifted his eyes... and suddenly came to a halt. For in the distance, Indu saw four nomads, one of them riding a dromedary, looking at him in despise. Slowly, the mounted man raised his arm, making the gesture of shame of the Hamasa, the unwritten rules by which they lived their lives. Rarely used -never in his life Indu had seen it branded against anyone-, it came as a blow to his heart, for the man had the colors of a chieftain, even though he was not of his tribe. And then they charged to attack him.

He tried to reason, but they would not stop to advance towards him. So, filled with fear for what could happen if his tribe knew of his whereabouts, and without a second thought regarding what he should do now, he hurled his sword -a regular sword he brought for his own protection- into the man with a shout, and it went all the way into his chest, throwing him out of his mount's back. He fell with a hollow sound, devoid of any life, and the others stopped and looked horrified to their leader's demise. Trading fast phrases he couldn't understand with the other two, one of them mounted the dromedary and ran away, and the other two once again charged to kill the traitor, full of hate and lust for his blood. Indu was disarmed.

But he was able to outfight them, for in his years roaming the deserts he learned many ways, and one of them was fighting with his hands alone. After killing all of them, for there was no other way, he wept, silently, for their names and families.

And for his.

By night, nearing the camp of his tribe, he knew the word had spreaded like fire. Representatives from the many families were there, including the ones from the dead chieftain, and the air was filled with anger, shouting and cursing everywhere, and it was all meant for him. Disgraced. Outcast. But not for long, as he would get killed if they caught him. His whole life... thrown away for dedicating himself to what he had inside. A traitor, an abomination, he broke the code twice. He knew his father's sword and his mother's precious gem were heavily guarded now, but he had to get them. Indu decided he wouldn't die, for perfection was still too far away. And he waited again for the starless void of deep night.

When the camp had grown silent and everyone was fast asleep, he sneaked into his tent from behind. Since most tents normally had only one entrance, that was not expected by the guards. He got his family heirlooms, and was ready to leave, when suddenly he stumbled upon something... it was not loud, he thought, maybe they didn't... But immediately he heard someone shouting, and the guards stormed the tent.

The next morning, he woke up abruptly, taking his father's sword in hand immediately. He noticed his clothes were covered in blood, and the dromedary he stole was eating grass nearby. The sky was heavy with rain stillborn, a thing he did not see everyday. The ocean waves soothed him, ebbs and flows, ebbs and flows... and allowed himself to relax for a second. Then he recalled, the guards, some of them were his friends from childhood to this day. Many counselled him not to stray from Hamasa, not to disrespect the elders... and now he had killed them. What would Safyr, his hero-father, say?

With rainy eyes, he looked southwest, to the stony walls of Ankrahmun, and heavily stood up again.

Indu knew of Arito and his mark, and so he went to talk to him at his tavern, the Old Scarab's Shell, in hopes of counselling. At first, the man was terrified when he saw a nomad walk by his door, but relaxed when Indu made a greet-blessing gesture they normally used between friends. His countenance was heavily shadowed when the story was told, and many times he made the gestures of surprise and horror and direful fortune with his hands. There was nothing to be done. He had to leave these lands immediately, and Arito decided he would help him with that.

The storm was raging that night. High as towers, waves crashed at the boat frighteningly, the boat his now loyal friend Arito had smuggled him in -for no respectable captain would take an outlaw nomad in his ship, they're sand pirates, after all-, heading towards Venore, a foreign land he had never heard of. Indu was restless. The waves hammered the thin hull and the deck of the ship, and everything was soaking wet. Wood was snapping and the sailors were terrified, shouting at each other commands and curses. The snapping was louder now, wood started to crack and he saw when the mast broke and went down, sails twisting during the fall, and suddenly it all went dark.

Indu opened his eyes to see a slender figure, looming over his head. He was thirsty and wet as a fish, his head spinning, and his hand reached for the blade in his belt instinctively, but the figure smiled at him and offered a crystalline bottle, full of precious water.

- Ashari, stranded seafarer, what is your name?

After drinking greedily the whole bottle, he answered, with his heavy accent:

- I am Indu... Indu Ibn Al-Safyr.

The elf looked at him, amused for a moment, then offered his hand and smiled at him once again.

- We shall call you Induraine. Well met, my friend, and welcome to Ab'dendriel, may Dseyvar bless you!

[Gryphis]

<you see a note pinned to your application>

Greetings Induraine,


Thank you for your application and welcome to the Forums.

When you see me around, feel free to pop a message.


Regards,
Gryphis

[Avora Skyfallen]

Greetings Induraine,

Thank you for your application, I wish you good luck with it.

[Chikilina]

Be greeted, Induraine.

Thank you very much for your application, I enjoyed reading it.
I wish you the best luck.

Kind Regards,

[Induraine]

Well, thanks, and i'm looking forward to talking more to you all!

[Zap Eldorath]

<slams his mug on the table>

I can't trust any sword-wielding foreigner that can't outdrink a dwarven king. How say you on this mug?!
Is it ta your liking? Well now, don't be shy. Share a mug or two of this freshly brewed mead! It'll give you the confidence you
need if you're ever going ta last a crossfire! Haha!

<settles his laughter, by clearing his throat>
Ah well, enough of these informalities, be sure to send me a message, I just want ta get ta know you lad. It surely brings this
old bearded dwarf some warm and fuzzies knowing that some people still feel the spark of light. It must be Banor at work.

Now, off you go. May Banor guide you friend,

[Avenlia Silvershade]

Application noted. Haven't got the time to read it right away.

<opens notebook>

Will put it right here in my to-do list.

<wanders away>

[Induraine]

<looks to the dwarf and his mug of mead, slightly surprised>

Hmm, well, sir, i can say i'm not a most accomplished drinker. But i can at least drink as much as you can, if that's a dare!

<grins in challenge>

Hopefully we'll meet soon and share drinks and words, as many as you need to have you fill!

[Avenlia Silvershade]

<looks up from the parchment in hand>

Very good, very good! Outstanding application! I look forward to getting to know you better.

Best regards,

[Induraine]

Well, mistress, i'm flattered that you liked my story. Looking forward to meeting you too!