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.
Something caught his eye as Niers absently paged through the report. This was about a new company that had declared itself. That wasn’t in itself noteworthy; new companies could come and go in the drop of a hat. Three drunken idiots could call themselves a company, so his [Spies] and [Informants] had to sift carefully through all the rumors and declarations to pick out companies that might actually be noteworthy.
“Mm. I wonder who pays most for this sort of information? Ah, well, I suppose any worthwhile [Informant] would sell to multiple sides at once. Hurry up now Ressa; I want to be the first to sell the information about Zel!”
“Immensely. I enjoy watching all the [Spies] and [Informants] scurry about and reveal themselves. And spreading gossip. I have a mind to send one of the Go boards to the King of Destruction. Although that might be too politically dangerous.”
Everyone knew that. [Spies], [Informants], and [Scouts] were all watching the movement of the army, relaying each move Tyrion Veltras made to interested parties. Hundreds of thousands of Drakes were marching north, some flying or riding at breakneck speed to get to Liscor in time. The Antinium were digging. Magnolia Reinhart was kicking over tables and swearing. The Necromancer was meditating. Again, everyone knew.
The [Maid] nodded. She wrote down the name and location for one of the many [Informants] or [Spies] to look into. By the end of the week, Ressa would know the particulars of this team, and how reputable they were, what crimes they’d committed, if any, and how they were all regarded. She might even have transcripts of conversations they’d had, if she really wanted it.
The Antinium did not get [Criers], or written [Messages] from overseas. They did not have [Informants], although they did have ways of obtaining information. Nevertheless, it was sometimes difficult to get the most public of information.
And who were sick. Fierre coughed into one sleeve as she paced the small room she operated as one of Reizmelt’s few Openers. One of three, in fact. The class [Opener] was a specific, stylistic one; it was more common to have an [Informant], [Fence], [Broker], or some other class fulfill the same role. Fierre would have liked any class, though. Because she knew what Skills such people got.
That was the power of a Skill. True, a Level 30 Skill or maybe even Level 40, but a Skill nonetheless. Fierre was willing to lay down twenty gold pieces that the [Informant] who had that Skill could probably use it once per day. Imagine that! How could a Vampire compete?
Part of that might be genuine embarrassment, though. An [Emperor], appearing out of nowhere that not even the best [Informants] and [Brokers] had heard of? It made them all look like fools. It couldn’t be true. And yet, Tyrion Veltras had summoned this [Emperor] himself. And he had trebuchets.
“If the [Broker] in Filk is dead, the information must be confirmed. Find me a list of [Informants] across Izril. Prepare a [Message] requesting confirmation of the Stitch Witch. One that can be verified by truth spell.”
“We must hope that one of the [Informants] has the means to communicate her whereabouts or confirm her presence despite the curse. But every effort must be taken or else she will slip through the Order’s fingers again. We prepare but do not act unless we are certain.”
She didn’t hear from Ryoka. But something was happening. Of that, Fierre was certain. She’d reached out to an [Informant] in Filk, and then one in the smaller town of Mafalt that had one [Mage] capable of slinging a [Message] spell. Both reported the same thing.
Fierre completed the sentence. She’d heard the exact same thing. But like the other [Informants], she’d decided staying alive was more important than any number of gold coins. But who was sending the [Messages]?
