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.
The adventuring group currently occupying the ruins is known as the Horns of Hammerad. A Silver-rank team notable for their relatively high average level—most members are above level 20—and their leader, a Minotaur [Fighter]* who wields an enormous battleaxe in combat.
*I still don’t get classes. Apparently, [Fighter] is a general class, although some call it [Warrior] depending on the culture. Does that mean they have the same Skills? Either way, it’s the first class most warriors take, but if this Minotaur guy were higher-level, he’d be an [Axemaster] or [Knight]. But we call him a [Fighter] or [Warrior] because we don’t know his exact class. Because that’s private. Huh.
*I still don’t get classes. Apparently, [Fighter] is a general class, although some call it [Warrior] depending on the culture. Does that mean they have the same Skills? Either way, it’s the first class most warriors take, but if this Minotaur guy were higher-level, he’d be an [Axemaster] or [Knight]. But we call him a [Fighter] or [Warrior] because we don’t know his exact class. Because that’s private. Huh.
Forced to fight with their tails to the wall against impossible odds, the defenders of Geir leveled up almost daily and gained unusual classes such as [Stalwart], [Defender], and [Lineholder] among the warriors, and [Survivor], [Fighter], and [Protector] among the civilians. A few even gained rare classes like [Slaughterer], [Blood Berserker], and so on.
One of the adventurers, a [Fighter] holding a sword in his hands—whispered to his two companions. They just shrugged, staring at that thrashing skeleton in confusion.
Toren arced out of the snow like an angry bone-fish, slashing wildly as the adventurers screamed and tried to defend themselves. He cut at the mage as she screamed, managing to slice her deeply on one arm and down her shoulder across the chest before the [Fighter] thrust her out of the way. He slashed at Toren while his companion struck at the skeleton from the other side.
But the adventurers, for all their poor choice of weaponry, were a team. While the [Fighter] blocked and dodged Toren’s attacks, his friend struck Toren from the side and behind, hitting the skeleton with heavy strikes of her spear.
It was annoying. Toren stepped back as the [Fighter] counterattacked, bringing his sword down in a two-handed cut intended to smash Toren’s skull. He leapt backwards, but a spear struck his spine and made him stumble forwards instead.
The man’s words cut off as Toren’s own sword slashed at his arm, impossibly quick. The blade cut down to the bone and even into it—Toren wrenched away the sword as the [Fighter] screamed and his comrade shouted in confusion.
A tall man, blonde, wearing plate armor and holding a shield and sword that gleamed, charged down the snowy, dirty street. He was followed by three other adventurers, a man and two women Toren recognized. The [Fighter], the spear wielder, and the annoying mage! But these three were clearly different from the man in silver armor. Their equipment was cheap, if effective. But this man’s armor gleamed.
It wasn’t a bad haul, all told. He’d gotten the Centaurs—all of them. It turned out the one who’d spoken was a Level 11 [Fighter], and his friends had a few levels between them, which was good. Quallet had a handful of Dullahans, and a sizeable number of Lizardfolk. One of them had a magic class, which was an unexpected little gift.
Numbtongue cast aside the ruined iron blade. The edge was deformed from the last sword strike. A final Human charged him, not realizing her friends were running. She had blood in her eyes—literally. But his memories, both his and Pyrite’s, told him she was a high-level [Fighter]. Her brass knuckles had spikes on them—she’d gotten the [Enforcer]. The Hobgoblin looked down at his torn left arm, exposing sinew. And him.
