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.
He wore black, almost like a servant of another time, but he too wore armor beneath cloth. What separated the two was that if the [King] was a man of passion, Orthenon’s own passions and personality were like a swinging blade. Precise—but the years had left rust on him as well.
That feeling was filling the air, but Orthenon’s own grief and wait were too long. All he saw was the chair, not the throne. So when he bowed, it was low, but with a cold, tired anger of an exhausted man waiting with arm raised, clinging to a cliff’s edge. Waiting, hoping, for the day that might never come.
The [King] nodded. His eyes seemed to burn in the half-light. If Orthenon would look up—but he didn’t. The [Steward] continued talking, his voice slowly rising with passion as he listed the frustrations of years.
Orthenon looked up. His look of rage changed to uncertainty, and his balled, gloved hand, almost curled as if to strike—suddenly became limp with disbelief.
In that moment—Orthenon knew. The [King] stepped forwards and placed a hand on his shoulder. Just that. It trembled as his most loyal vassal looked into his eyes, and the king’s own shone with tears. And the fire spread from one man to the other.
The [King] patted Orthenon gently as the man choked on his words. But in seconds, he had mastered his weeping and bowed low to the ground, one leg extended forwards as the other swept back. One hand on his chest as the other extended outwards. It was a different gesture than the stiff bow he had given earlier. The bow one gave to a ruler.
Orthenon spread his hands out as he faced his king. His expression was conflicted as he spoke. Starvation and the pain of years weighed him down, and yet a fire was stirring in his eyes. He did not look as he had a few moments ago—a broken, exhausted man.
Orthenon stared at his king. The twins stared at the red-haired man too. They gaped at him as if he’d gone mad. But that too was being part of a [King], and he was used to their incomprehension. Slowly, the ruler tapped his palm with his other hand.
“We have never fallen so far before. My kingdom and I have sunk to our lowest. How wonderful. It shall make the coming days, weeks, and years all the greater. I repent it. I repent all I have done—but if there is one thing to take, Orthenon—let it be that when we amend these wrongs, let the first sip of water be sweeter, the first horn call the most passionate that all those who have waited have ever heard. I regret it—but rejoice in that, I beg you.”
