Aliases are alternative forms of a reference. They can include actual aliases for characters, nicknames, plural variations, gendered versions of some [Classes], and even typos.
“Do you think I do not know that, you sand clod, you? Bezha, do I not bleed monthly? Do I not have breasts? Am I not veiled? Do not speak to me of what I know. I will mind my tongue in the presence of the King of Destruction and his servants, and not before.”
Bezha snapped back. Nawal tossed her head, but kept silent. In truth, she was afraid. She was the best [Blacksmith] of the Tannousin clan since her father’s passing. But she was young, not of the level he had been and she feared the King of Destruction might scorn a weapon made by a woman, for all he had claimed otherwise.
“Lord Orthenon of Reim! I am your humble servant, Silmak of Clan Tannousin. With me travel thirty two of my kin. Among them I name Hesseif, who is chiefly tasked with defense of the caravan. Bezhavil, my aunt second-removed who is tasked with overseeing the womenfolk and managing the caravan itself, and Nawalishifra, who will serve as, ah, the [Blacksmith] in forging the Naq-Alrama steel. We have come far, bearing it, and are prepared to honor the oath made by Nawalishifra to the King of Destruction, long may he live!”
Hesseif, Bezha, and Nawal all approached and bowed deeply with Silmak. Nawal wondered if they should have knelt, but the stern face watching them gave no sign of displeasure. Then again, that might be as easily expressed by all of their heads suddenly rolling on the ground. She bowed her head, keeping her veil in place with one hand. And she kept it bowed, until she heard a voice.
The old woman finished her tour and Bezha nodded. Both she and Nawal stared at the indoor well—who would have thought of such a thing?—and tried to guess at how much water it could supply. A lot, surely, if it was free for anyone to use. Reim must have been one of the natural oases—like many of the kingdoms or cities, it had grown on top of the only available water supply. Of course, there were some parts of Chandrar that even had streams and rivers, but Nawal had never seen them. She was born of the Tannousin tribe, and they wandered the edge of the great desert, plying their trade while mining the scattered deposits of ore only their tribe remembered existed.
The King of Destruction lacked for neither, or so Nawal had assumed. The brief tour had taken her to the banquet halls, past training grounds filled with soldiers, through bustling corridors filled with servants, and finally here, to a wing of the palace devoted to guests. And now she and Bezha returned to the quarters gifted to the Tannousin clan.
The quarters were…nice. Yes, nice was the word. The palace of Reim had enough unused wings and rooms to house a caravan twenty times the size of Clan Tannousin without issue, and so the clan found themselves treated to wide, spacious rooms freed of dust and beds of soft cotton. Nawal had her private room, as did Silmak, Hesseif, and Bezha, as befit their status. Meanwhile, the rest of the clan was given two large bunk rooms, one for the women, and one for the men.
Bezha wondered the same thing as both Hesseif and Silmak met with them. Obviously it was inappropriate for them to be together in a closed room, two men who weren’t Nawal’s immediate family in the same room, but Bezha was Hesseif’s aunt and they were all of the same tribe, so they left the door partly open. This wasn’t the time for strictest adherence to custom either.
Bezha wondered the same thing as both Hesseif and Silmak met with them. Obviously it was inappropriate for them to be together in a closed room, two men who weren’t Nawal’s immediate family in the same room, but Bezha was Hesseif’s aunt and they were all of the same tribe, so they left the door partly open. This wasn’t the time for strictest adherence to custom either.
He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Nawal flushed. It was true; expecting that would be insane anywhere but the King of Destruction’s castle. Bezha nodded, running her tattooed hands up her covered arms.
Bezha smacked Nawal on the back of her neck. Nawal’s grip tightened on her dagger, but she didn’t unsheathe it. Silmak looked between the two, not wanting to intrude on the argument and go the way of Nawal’s brother.
“Patience, Nawal, Bezha. We know not if offence has been given or taken. It is simply good now that we were issued a welcome and both bed and sustenance, is it not? We should eat first, and then inquire. But tell me—that foreign boy whom the King’s Steward spoke of. Trey Atwood. He was the one who you met, wasn’t he, Nawal?”
A second poke at Nawal. The [Blacksmith] girl knew they were right—she’d gotten into trouble countless times and been taken to task by everyone from her deceased father, may he rest in the sands, to Bezha. But she still tossed her head defiantly.
Silmak’s eyes were guarded. Nawal’s bluster faded. She looked around the room. Hesseif, Bezha, both stared at Nawal with the question in their eyes. Could she do it alone? Nawal had been trained by her father, yes, and aided him when he was too weak to do the forging, but always under his supervision.
