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.
“If you mean a tumbling routine—I always catch those every time a festival happens. And of course I like to listen to stories in taverns if there’s a [Storyteller] travelling by.”
“We all know recent stories, like that of our greatest of Chieftains, Kerash, who died a century ago. But older stories? Each time an old [Shaman] or [Storyteller] dies in an accident or before passing on their memories to their apprentices, we lose more of the past. Our history should be written down now, not passed from mouth to mouth.”
Durene’s eyes widened as the [Healer] turned a page. The woman’s voice was soft, and she was no natural reader, but the words and language were unlike any story Durene had ever heard told. It had form, structure—it wasn’t a fireside tale, but something as good as the travelling [Storyteller] had told. No, better. The [Healer] smiled as Durene sat up. She began the second page.
That alone was enough to brook a lot of interest, not least because these actors weren’t like the usual travelling [Bard] or band of [Tumblers], [Storytellers], or other entertainers that Sovvex was used to. This was a group. They were known as the Players of Celum. And they had come a long way. In fact, a few people had heard of them from relatives or friends living further south, and so more than a few people lined up to buy tickets to see this play tonight.
“I, am a [Storyteller] for House Byres. It is my role, honored adventurers, to put the deeds of Lord Ylawes and Lady Yvlon to verse! And such stories will go to every village and town under the aegis of House Byres—even further! They’ve reached even Invrisil. And I have no doubt that your victory as Silver-rank adventurers over an Adult Creler will be my greatest work yet!”
The [Storyteller] beamed at the three Gold-rank adventurers and Yvlon. Ceria blinked. There was something—almost scary about how enthusiastically Lenisa said that. Not even a hint of the irony Pisces would have injected into every syllable.
She, in turn, had told them of her world. Their [Shaman] and [Chieftain] had listened intently to stories of planes and a world connected by internet and harnessed lightning. Most of the tribe put it up to tall tales, or magic—hence her [Storyteller] class. But they had begun to believe—at least in part—when she started giving them things from her world.
People congregated, as they did, [Emirs] and [Slave Owners] and citizens alike, [Slaves] as well. They talked—and the only people who really did business were the [Storytellers].
Iert wanted to point out a salient fact. Which was that his name was Iertalinam, and Iert was the Emir Yazdil’s nickname. But he was content to let the [Storyteller] earn her fee. She knew how to make money; people were already tossing coins for her to embellish Yazdil’s reputation some more and tell other tales of his exploits.
“In hubris, all the tales I have been able to verify recollect some great incident of Mershi’s downfall. Hubris, arrogance—the classic faults of our kind. What this event was I do not know; the legends hint that it is too terrible to recount, which suggests ignorance on the [Storytellers] and [Historians] before me. What I can tell you is that Mershi disappeared overnight. Every person within was said to be lost, and the city vanished, because the skies themselves turned dark and the entire region was lost for a century’s time, as if some great spell had swallowed everything. When it finally was lifted—no one could find a trace of the City of Stars.”
“However, that is a short amount of time. Gaarh Marsh does the same, by the way. We did not always keep written notes, although we do now—but we have great [Storytellers] and [Shamans] who remember. We took pains to do so. Why do you think we lost it, despite knowing the value of the past? Hm…little Gnoll?”
“Every record, Honored Guest. Every record. Every [Shaman]. Every [Storyteller]. Sometimes, almost every Gnoll. We remember that we forget. And the reason we lost our history, despite our attempts to preserve it was because of calamity. I am sure you know of what I speak.”
