Aliases are alternative forms of a reference. They can include actual aliases for characters, nicknames, gendered variations of the some [Classes], plural variations, and even typos.
A [Lord] drew his sword and watched the light bend. The [Soldiers] moved uneasily, because they had no idea what was happening. The congregation, the ritual itself, all focused on a point in the air. A split in…
It was one voice at first—then the others took it up. [Mages], [Soldiers], onlookers cheering in relief as the group of Humans drew together in fear. Some of those watching simply collapsed in…hope?
A second. As two pale green eyes fixed on them. Before a man in faded, noble clothing burst into the throne room, spear leveled, ready to run them through, and dozens of [Soldiers] came screaming to the defense of that slumbering ruler and the throne.
“Indeed not. Two individuals taking the [Soldier] class, for instance, may learn different Skills at the same level. It is a matter of need and inclination which allows individuals to learn skills. For instance, while Relc is a higher-level warrior than I, he is not of a higher level in the actual [Guardsman] class and thus does not possess the [Detect Guilt] skill.”
Now, they were allowed to live and stumbled through their days here despite their many enemies across the world. Because—no one dared march an army through the crumbling gates. Despite the few [Soldiers] left, the impoverished streets and folk—
Except that yesterday, something had happened. Something so unique that it had sent servants running through the palace and [Soldiers] dashing to defend the man in this room.
…But it was not assassins after all. It had been a mistake. What, exactly, the servants did not say, nor did the [Soldiers] understand. So the city murmured then fell silent. Waiting and waiting…but what they did not know was that the intruders were still there.
In that very throne room, in fact. They were alone, and the [Soldiers] at the doors occasionally glanced in to make sure they had no weapons—not that they were old or canny enough to bear them. Even the great servant, the steward, was not allowed within the throne room, to his anger. He had stormed off, but he had obeyed because it was a rare order.
Boy and girl. The [Soldiers] and the steward might have objected—but the man with red-gold hair was not so weak as to be done in by two child-assassins, even if they came from Germina. Nor did these two have the look.
And he? He laughed. The King threw back his head, and the [Soldiers] started from their posts. The laughter ran down the hallways, and a servant looked up at a sound she thought was a dream. The man backed up, stumbling up the steps of the dais, and he leaned on a golden armrest of his throne for support.
The [Soldiers] and [Servants] had known—but like Orthenon, they hadn’t believed. They had begun to gather outside of the throne room, hoping, praying—if only they had known what prayers were.
“Erin, you really couldn’t. I had to take [Soldier] training—every Liscorian citizen has to be at least Level 1 for the army. Plus, my grandmother and my uncle gave me lessons. You’re good in a fight, but no soldier.”
So dangerous that armies sometimes lost more [Soldiers] to the Bloodfields than their engagements. But they came, to clear the Bloodfields of growths as well to kill each other. Sometimes, Ysara wondered which was more important. Because the Bloodfields spread. Slowly…but someday, future [Merchants] might have to dare the foothills to get north to Liscor. Or not go at all.
Selys Shivertail was a Level 1 [Soldier]. She had been trained, once, as an adventurer. She knew how to fight with her claws, and she had been mentored by great warriors. Heroes of her species, even.
