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.
Yet everyone in Caravan Igheriz’s group knew that Pisces Jealnet was a Gold-rank adventurer and member of the Horns of Hammerad, one of the survivors of the Village of the Dead raid, [Necromancer] and former graduate of Wistram with a bounty on his head from Terandria.
It earned him some respect, ironically enough. The [Guards] were not any kinder to the one Bronze-rank adventurer than the others—yet Pisces they had seen or heard about. He wondered if he could play on their vague admiration, but they still followed Igheriz’s orders readily.
Pisces reminded himself in his head. These were not like any people he knew. The almost exclusively-male group of [Slavers] that made up Igheriz’s Caravan made their living by owning, buying, ‘acquiring’ and selling slaves. The odd, interesting, disturbing part was how Igheriz labeled himself.
Pisces reminded himself in his head. These were not like any people he knew. The almost exclusively-male group of [Slavers] that made up Igheriz’s Caravan made their living by owning, buying, ‘acquiring’ and selling slaves. The odd, interesting, disturbing part was how Igheriz labeled himself.
And there he came himself. Igheriz was a Stitch-man, one of the Cotton-caste, but with noticeable ‘improvements’ from silk. Even a fabric Pisces had no ability to label on one hand; the skin it became seemed permanently slicked, almost sweaty? Yet it seemed strong enough as he rode one-handed towards Pisces.
“You see how I do such things for you. This is a sign of admiration, Pisces. I wish you to take note, no matter where your fate takes you after Roshal. I, Igheriz, give such tokens of respect to no [Slaves] other than the most beautiful of women or the greatest I have ever dealt with—and you are no beautiful woman!”
“I am not that kind of a fool, Pisces. The manacles—well, adventurers like you get such thoughts. I know you are smarter than most, but Gold-ranks always think they can escape, collar or no. But that is not what displeases me. You keep calling me [Slavemaster]. It is to annoy me, I think? You would not like me to lose my good humor so I forgive you, Pisces! Remember: it is Caravan Leader Igheriz. I will not warn you a third time.”
He gave Pisces another knowing look. The [Necromancer] didn’t reply, and he was happy to be called that so long as there were no other pejorative added because that was what he was. Igheriz?
The man was a pompous, ruthless lowlife, and Pisces would have happily called him a [Bandit] wearing a [Merchant]’s skin if he were freed. He detested Igheriz, but unlike Yvlon—or Ceria come to that—Pisces could lie and be polite. So he smiled.
Igheriz slapped his forehead, again pretending to be astonished. He seemed to tire of the charade now and then, but his spirits were high. After all—he was going to be rich from selling Pisces.
He suspected it could get worse, yet so far he was only marched at a steady pace all day. He rode in a second line of slaves now and then, to rest, and if he had wanted, he could have rode as well in the wagons. Food was not terrible, and he was not whipped. Igheriz had even stopped their progress for Pisces.
The worst thing in the world was knowing what might have been, and knowing how stupid you were. Unfortunately, Igheriz had recognized Pisces because he had a scrying orb, because he was rich.
