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.
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.
The [Scout] scowled, but he gently nudged his horse into a walk again. He knew he was being irritable—well, moreso than usual, but they’d been travelling day and night to get here before the others. The [Message] spell Revi had received from Liscor had told them of the dungeon and its possible riches, and that was enough to motivate them to make the thousand-mile journey.
The [Scout] turned to the other adventurers, feeling the terrible terror gripping him dissipated as quickly as it had come. Ulrien fingered the protective stone at his chest, and Revi and Typhenous collected themselves as best they could.
The adventurers left. Revi was in no mood to talk, Typhenous was saddle-sore, Ulrien was bored, and Halrac had to keep looking for potential dangers as they continued exploring for the entrance to the dungeon below Liscor. But the [Scout] kept looking back at the skeleton. It hadn’t been that strong, but it had been cunning. And what had that terror been? Some feature of the undead, or a magical item?
The [Scout] could never tell the furry people apart, but it didn’t really matter. Either gender was dangerous, so Halrac loosed three more arrows at Gnolls, striking them in their midsections and legs to hobble them.
The [Scout] ducked, and the tendril-thin beam of magic just missed his head. He saw the half-Elf pointing at him, and suddenly realized the other mage’s arc of fire had just expanded towards him, Revi and Typhenous.
Another adventurer leaned forwards. He was…Halrac? The [Scout] guy. He looked angry and annoyed, but Erin hadn’t seen his expression change the entire time he’d been here.
“Ilvriss caught us off guard when we were mustering our forces. If we’d gotten our army together we would have been fine, but none of our [Scouts] caught him and our [Strategists] didn’t think a Lord of the Wall would come out of one of the Walled Cities. Well, recriminations aside, he did and he’s here. And he’s just taken away our last chance at evening the odds. They outnumber us two-to-one, and we lost several good officers in that ambush.”
Zel Shivertail paused as his soldiers crouched at the base of the ridge that led directly to the enemy camp. He was confident—fairly confident his soldiers had managed to take down all of the [Scouts] that Ilvriss had posted, but they had only minutes before their disappearance was noted.
He raised an arm, and hesitated as a [Scout] charged towards him, waving a furry paw as he abandoned the cover of the treeline. Zel raced towards him and spoke when they were close.
“This is it! The Ancestors are smiling on us today. Our [Scouts] report that something’s just happened in the camp! Headquarters is in disarray, and they’re off guard! Follow me!”
Halrac was in a foul mood, and he didn’t bother trying to hide it. Not that that was particularly surprising to his teammates—the [Scout] was usually grumpy at the best times.
Halrac walked through the streets, avoiding the crowds and trying to find his way through the unfamiliar territory. That was another thing. He was a [Scout]; he could fight in cities, but it didn’t mean he enjoyed trying to find his way through streets where everything was written in the Drake’s language and incomprehensible to him.
The [Scout]’s gaze darkened as he saw one of the Workers scuttling down the street. He could never trust one of them. They were all heartless monsters.
