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.
Far away, and in a large tent on the middle of a hot and humid day, Niers Astoragon, second in command of one of the Four Great Companies of Baleros, and highest-leveled [Strategist] on the continent, gently pushed over the king and stared at the chess board.
Niers did not rage. He was not, in fact, angry. Instead, he smiled, in much the same way Erin had. He put one hand on his chin and stroked it, feeling stubble rasp under his fingers. He had forgotten to shave, or sleep for that matter. He had been waiting to play the puzzle-maker and after an initial disappointment, his patience had been rewarded tenfold.
For a second, Niers debated hunting for his razor. He would have borrowed one of his lieutenant’s blades, but he hated how they fussed over him. A dagger as large as he was was still a dagger, and he was more than strong enough to lift it. It was just awkward, that was all.
Appearance trumped desire. Niers was a Level 63 [Strategist], and on his shoulders the fate of his company rested. He could not let his soldiers down. But—perhaps after he had played another game?
Niers reached down for a chess piece, and then he paused. A sound was coming from outside—a dissonance in the sounds of battle. Niers listened, and sighed. Some fool had just deployed the other army’s elite vanguard against his soldiers, turning this skirmish into a far bloodier battle.
Niers reached down for a chess piece, and then he paused. A sound was coming from outside—a dissonance in the sounds of battle. Niers listened, and sighed. Some fool had just deployed the other army’s elite vanguard against his soldiers, turning this skirmish into a far bloodier battle.
The air on the battlefield changed. Satisfied, Niers turned back to the board, ignoring the roar that came from his soldiers as the tide shifted once more.
The chess pieces didn’t answer out loud. But as Niers saw the white side reset itself, he knew he would find part of the answer in the game. He sat down, concentrated harder than he had for what seemed like years—
Niers Astoragon, the Titan and [Strategist] leading this army, sighed as he looked up from the map and waved the Courier into his tent. He already knew—or suspected—who the letter was from.
The young female Courier who handed Niers three letters wasn’t even sweating. It had to be a Skill, or a magical item of some sort. Niers eyed her belt idly as he accepted the first letter and pulled the envelope open. He was quite tempted to buy an artifact like that for himself on days like this, but it would be needlessly expensive to order, given how many other enchanted items he carried. If only the magics didn’t clash so—
The young female Courier who handed Niers three letters wasn’t even sweating. It had to be a Skill, or a magical item of some sort. Niers eyed her belt idly as he accepted the first letter and pulled the envelope open. He was quite tempted to buy an artifact like that for himself on days like this, but it would be needlessly expensive to order, given how many other enchanted items he carried. If only the magics didn’t clash so—
Niers grunted as he kicked the sealed envelope’s lid off and noticed the delicate, gold-edged card. Of course. It had to be from her. What a waste of time.
Any message sent by a Courier was almost always opened within seconds of receiving it. That was because no one would send pointless letters at such expense. That damned Magnolia Reinhart knew that, and so she sent Niers letters constantly, forcing him to open them on the off chance he was receiving vital information.
How he hated and admired that woman’s twisted mind. But Niers knew what he would see the instant he pulled the delicately scented card out of the envelope, and he tossed it on the table after only a few second’s cursory study.
