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.
Ceria knew over fifty spells she could use, but her wand had contained the [Ice Spike] spell and thus she could cast it faster than anything else. And she had trained with the spell until she had a [Marksman]’s precision. She hammered a shard of ice into the chest of one zombie, making it sit down hard, and then fled from the other one’s hands.
“It’s possible. You just need the right equipment—the right magic if you’ve got the talent. Not all Couriers are fast. Some run a bit slower than you, but can’t be stopped. There’s a [Marksman] among us who rides a horse. She snipes anyone getting in her way from two hundred feet away.”
Halrac, their lead [Scout] and [Marksman] complained as they rode on horses through the snow. He peered at the magical compass in his hands and stared at the snowy landscape ahead before motioning the group forwards.
Twice more the Goblin did this, pointing out targets to the monster girl and downing them. Each time he grinned at her, and tapped his own chest. His self-satisfaction was obvious, and he was unashamed of it. He was a master at his craft, an expert showing his skills off to her, like the [Hunters] or [Marksmen] who’d do the same with targets at fairs.
“You were right. General Shivertail was right. That Goblin Lord…isn’t ordinary. I see him out there, occasionally. In the trees, leading his forces. Never close enough that our [Marksmen] or [Snipers] could get a clear shot at him. And he blocked every spell my battle mages sent towards him.”
“Those are Drevish’s experimental Skytowers! He swore they’d be the best thing for [Marksmen]! Orthenon and I told him they’d be knocked over in an instant!”
The little boy toddled back towards his mother. But not without another look at the silent [Marksman]. He looked concerned, but he didn’t cry. He was his mother’s son, and Briganda had taught Cade when he needed to be quiet.
Beniar rode over to Halrac. The [Marksman] was checking his bow; he had an arrow nocked. Typhenous was leaning on his staff as Briganda flanked him. Four of Revi’s glowing Stitch-Warriors were waiting.
The Wind Runner looked back one last time. Ferin fired the crossbow. The first bolt went wide; he was no [Marksman]. It hit the dirt a dozen feet to her left. He reloaded as he ran after her. The quarry was exhausted.
