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.
It was tough…love. Or just toughness and a good deal of instructorly concern. Because Grimalkin did remind Yvlon of the [Trainer] her father had hired to teach both her and her brother how to fight. He didn’t mince words and upstairs, in Yvlon’s room, he addressed Ceria again, pacing back and forth restlessly, tail swishing on the floorboards behind him.
“Well, we shall make do. I need to consult with the [Weapon Master] and [Trainer] who are coming in today. I will be out of the office, Alrric. I leave it in your paws.”
What he found was Wall Lord Ilvriss consulting with the Watch Commander, a [Weapon Master]—a half-Elf with several bruises—Shriekblade, Captain Shieldscale, four Wall Lords and Ladies, and a [Trainer]. To be precise, a [Field Trainer], who knew how to whip recruits into shape.
The Wall Lord looked up. The previous recruits were already being drilled by the [Weapon Master] and [Trainer]. Alrric motioned the [Miners] towards the lines and walked over.
“Too many, your Majesty. They were at the fore of every battle, defending King Raelt. And when they came to your aid…but I intend to replenish, no, double their numbers! They will be the fastest, most elite forces Jecrass has to offer! If the crown can spare the gold, I will have our [Trainers], veteran [Trick Riders], and so on get to work training a new generation at once.”
He pointed around the suite the three had been given. Spare bedrooms, bathing rooms, a stocked larder, even a kitchen and quick access to anything the [Gladiators] wanted, from a massage to training and personal [Trainers] and so on. Yvlon Byres looked past the table set with treats like caviar from the sea and a fat, roasted duck, to a single stoppered bottle. As the [Arena Master] stepped out, she walked over to it and read the note left there.
This was not because the Goblin understood how potions limited the growth of a body. Nor was it any masterful plan worked up by a master [Trainer] or [Instructor]. He was fumbling, if not in the way he carefully showed them how to exchange hand-to-hand blows in the Redfang style or took on both in a fistfight—then mentally. Spiritually.
Colth could be considered to be a kind of talent scout on par with the best [Generals] and [Trainers], even if that wasn’t his exact class. A lot of the adventurers present were the real deal in his mind. Character and natural ability made up a successful adventurer, and they’d survived a lot.
A [Masseuse] was working the muscles in his legs as Maximillian lay down, and ameliorating the damage that would have kept the young man hobbling around like an invalid tomorrow. He squirmed, but one of the [Trainers] had a fruit beverage after a bitter draught of refreshing medicinal liquid. They were calculating how much water he needed.
Yvlon began punching harder as a [Trainer] held up padded gloves, absorbing the punches in a series of blows. Every time she wasted a movement or hit weak, they’d correct her. Sweating, she watched as a [Martial Artist] showed her another way to, well…brutally hit someone in close-quarters combat.
Her arms had always been fast, but they were still silver-steel constructions; raising one to punch took effort since they weighed probably twice as much as real arms. Right now, Yvlon was throwing punches so fast they flickered, and the [Trainer] had to swap out after one combo to let his arms rest.
Teres finally got up. She looked ready to die, and indeed, one of the [Trainers] following Yvlon produced what looked suspiciously like a healing potion. Yvlon wiped at her brow, and sweat had eluded her.
Exhausted [Trainers], [Runners], experts in their own right fell behind, cursing, shouting, celebrating, and whooping—Delitandra ran. She ran with the same feeling they had, the gift only the best members of Hraace’s own had learned, the Pedagogia’s first lesson to the boy who became the King of Destruction.
Ceria Springwalker was archly eating some ice cream as she stood on her conquered skating course, feeling rather proud of herself. Her legs hurt like hell, but she’d done the trickiest obstacles that Hraace could throw at her, and she was smirking at the [Trainers] who couldn’t even do the final course.
Pisces poured mana into the bone circle, a bit more than he needed, actually, and frowned. Nothing happened. He coughed, cheeks turning red, as the magically inclined [Trainers] glanced at each other.
Delitandra was shouting and trying to dispel the magic; another [Trainer] hacked at the circle, and their blade bounced off, turned black where it had struck the magic, and then snapped in half. Pisces tried to dispel the magic as well, but he realized, to his horror, it wasn’t his magic any longer.
