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.
Because she was Dragonspeaker of Manus. And beneath her armor of state, her clothing was black. The six Drakes and two Gnolls who filed into the room dared not speak at first, as Dragonspeaker Luciva Skybreath settled herself in her seat. She looked around heavily, meeting each eye. Then she began without preamble.
He broke off, grimacing. His eyes flicked to Luciva’s and away. The table held its collective breath. Not a minute into the conversation and it had already been brought up, tactlessly. The Gnoll Wall Lord spoke in a pained voice.
The history books as they were being written would record Tyrion Veltras’ battle at the Bloodfields after being unable to take Liscor as an act of spite—or perhaps calculated gains. The Humans in the North did take the lead in the battle, but the losses were hardly substantial on either side in the grand scheme of things. But it had cost Dragonspeaker Luciva everything. The reinforcements from Manus had taken part in the battle. And that had resulted in…
Her daughter’s death. Luciva closed her eyes. Just for a moment. And she breathed out slowly. Heavily. In the dark room, illuminated mainly by the magic table’s glow, the Wall Lords and Ladies could see bright flashes from the small opening in Luciva’s mouth as she sighed. And they smelled something acrid.
Her daughter’s death. Luciva closed her eyes. Just for a moment. And she breathed out slowly. Heavily. In the dark room, illuminated mainly by the magic table’s glow, the Wall Lords and Ladies could see bright flashes from the small opening in Luciva’s mouth as she sighed. And they smelled something acrid.
Oxidization in the air, much like the sparks that the Fang of Manus sometimes gave off. It was one of the reasons why the inner war room was bare of carpets and why all of the other guests, save the youngest, touched the ground or the wall before touching anything metallic. Especially the Gnolls; you could get a damn good shock and scorch marks in fur were hard to get rid of. On Luciva’s back her furled wings stirred, but that was the only nod to her emotions she let slip.
And speaking of old blood…another Drake leaned forwards, filling the silence Makhir’s comments had caused. Her scales were teal, but that was such a poor word to describe the color. The scales shone and flowed, more like water than solids. And her wings, the yellow spines along her neck, all were sculpted. If Luciva was a shining example of the full extent of her heritage, this young Drake was the radiant sun itself. She was beautiful. And when she spoke, it was crisply, loudly, without a hint of awkwardness.
The sole female Gnoll leaned in, her paws gripping the table. Her blonde fur was rising due to the static charge as she sat next to Luciva. Lulv frowned.
She looked around the suddenly quiet table. A few of her peers grudgingly nodded, but Luciva didn’t. The Dragonspeaker looked to her left, at the youngest Drake, the only one not to make her feelings plain at this point. She nodded to her.
Without hesitation. Manus’ Protectors of the Wall glanced at each other. And one by one, they nodded. All except Lulv and the female Wall Lady. The rest had been swayed though, and they turned to Luciva. They didn’t need to voice their opinions; she had eyes.
