Aliases are alternative forms of a reference. They can include actual aliases for characters, nicknames, gendered variations of the some [Classes], plural variations, and even typos.
“Yes, master. Zel Shivertail has retreated from Wall Lord Ilvriss and is attempting to reform his shattered forces. The other army is actively hunting the scattered bands of warriors. Neither side has noticed the presence of the castle or made their way through the second web.”
Zel walked around the table, looking at his highest-ranking officers. In the privacy of his head, Zel Shivertail winced. They weren’t much. These were all low-level [Tacticians] and [Lieutenants] and even a few [Leaders] the allied cites had sent, not the high-ranking [Strategists] and [Captains] in Ilvriss’s army. No wonder the Verdam soldiers had been destroyed so quickly.
He wished he’d been at that battle, to even the odds. If he’d been there with his army, it would have been a fair fight—more than one. His abilities would have been a counter for Ilvriss, but that was war, wasn’t it? Fairness was a dream.
“Ilvriss caught us off guard when we were mustering our forces. If we’d gotten our army together we would have been fine, but none of our [Scouts] caught him and our [Strategists] didn’t think a Lord of the Wall would come out of one of the Walled Cities. Well, recriminations aside, he did and he’s here. And he’s just taken away our last chance at evening the odds. They outnumber us two-to-one, and we lost several good officers in that ambush.”
No one spoke, although Zel heard a muffled groan. He agreed, privately, but the soldiers had faith in him, despite the difference in levels, equipment, and soldiers between them and Ilvriss. He was a [General], and his abilities could turn the tide of this battle. But if he fell or couldn’t use them—
“Wall Lord Ilvriss’s forces don’t have to move; they know they’re guarding the only viable pass. Either we try to get out somewhere else and they fall on our backs, or we assault them head-on and try to rout them.”
“An offensive battle isn’t one Ilvriss expects us to take. He’s hoping we’ll try to sneak around and catch us up against a cliff or in a tight spot so he can hammer us flat. It might work.”
Zel fit action to word as he strode out of the tent. All or nothing. The cold air was harsh on his scales. Was today the day he died? He hoped it wasn’t. But if it was, he’d go down with a claw on Ilvriss’s damned throat.
Good soldiers were going to die for politics. He hated that. But as his soldiers rallied and he prepared to launch an attack on Ilvriss, Zel had one consolation:
I’m standing in a tent, facing Lord of the Wall Ilvriss, the [Lord] in charge of the army that just slaughtered all those soldiers not an hour ago. Unlike his soldiers, he’s not in muck, snow, and blood. Rather, he’s wearing pristine red-and-gold armor in a luxurious, warm tent in the center of the camp that was going up as we speak.
That earns me a glare from one of the Drakes in the room, the one who captured me. Her name is Periss, and she’s a [Commander] who seems to worship the ground Ilvriss stands on. I think she’s his second-in-command, but honestly, I don’t care.
Ilvriss stares hard at me and I stare right back. At first, I tried to be polite and humble, but when it became clear there’s a rule about killing Runners and after I got to know him* I sort of lost the humility bit.
