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.
There was a crowd. But the King of Destruction would not have been welcome in it. They were gathering as Venith had noticed, in a plaza too small to hold all of them. But they had chosen it precisely because it was out of sight of the palace. The people of Ger waited as a group of men, all former [Councilors], [First Warriors] or [Highborn]—Ger had no [Lords] or [Ladies]—fussed at the center of the gathering.
The [Councilor] scream-whispered at the [First Warrior]. The younger man was far more fit than he, but both were practically white in the face. The [First Warrior] shook his head.
Belatedly, the [Councilor] realized he’d forgotten to provide for that simple amenity. The…person sitting in the circle of men, who’d closed ranks to avoid her being seen by the crowd, had been sitting for hours in the sun. The [Councilor] cursed.
Belatedly, the [Councilor] realized he’d forgotten to provide for that simple amenity. The…person sitting in the circle of men, who’d closed ranks to avoid her being seen by the crowd, had been sitting for hours in the sun. The [Councilor] cursed.
Silence. And then several people offered theirs. The warrior hurried around, grabbing two nearest and disappeared into the circle. Standing at the edge of the circle, the [Councilor] heard a muffled voice, a quiet, female one. A child’s voice. And then the [First Warrior] hurried out. The circle made room for him and he nodded at the [Councilor].
Silence. And then several people offered theirs. The warrior hurried around, grabbing two nearest and disappeared into the circle. Standing at the edge of the circle, the [Councilor] heard a muffled voice, a quiet, female one. A child’s voice. And then the [First Warrior] hurried out. The circle made room for him and he nodded at the [Councilor].
If he had been capable, he would have prayed. But the thought of prayer didn’t even cross the [Councilor]’s mind. So he was just afraid. But the sun was overhead. And so he began.
The crowd shifted. All eyes were on the [Councilor] now, on his red robes. He felt his voice crack on the last sentence. Oh, dead gods, he’d said it wrong. It wasn’t ‘people of Germina’, was it? It was ‘children of Germina’ or was it—‘chosen of Ger?’ And was it sons or daughters or—what had the old woman he’d consulted say it should be? She’d told him to shout this without the crowd, but he hadn’t dared. It was all going to go wrong. It wasn’t going to work! And then what?
The murmur came from the crowd, thousands of voices speaking as one. They hadn’t practiced it; it was spontaneous and it dried the [Councilor]’s throat even more. He coughed.
But he was in too far. He’d never had a choice, really. He was the only one who knew the words, or so the others had been convinced. But the [Councilor] didn’t know the words. What he was shouting was a mix of what he could remember and what the old woman thought was supposed to be said. He was sure that ‘bear witness’ wasn’t supposed to be said so many times!
This time the crowd moved as one. Those sitting surged to their feet. And those standing crowded closer. The [Councilor] had to shout as the men in the circle locked arms, afraid they’d be rushed.
