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.
He was a [Veteran] of the army. Selys thought he’d said his name was—Menolit? The Drake was missing half his tail, but not from this battle. Grimly, the Drake reloaded his crossbow, sighting for stronger undead.
A Gnoll, the Drake [Veteran] with the missing tail, and the Hobgoblin all looked up from their respective tables. Fleaears, who did not currently have fleas, grinned at Erin.
Her patrons looked up. A Drake—the [Veteran] with half a tail, Menolit, grabbed for him, but the [Thief] dodged around him. He scrambled for the door, setting it to Liscor. Erin was charging towards him with Ishkr and Lyonette had grabbed Mrsha as she ran out of the kitchen, but it was too late. The Gnoll disappeared through the door.
It would have been easier for the two to relax with the [Actors] taking the attention of the theatre-loving crowd, which was the usual crowd at this time of day. A Drake [Veteran] with a severed tail, some apprentices on their days off, some hopeful [Actors] or just people who wanted to enjoy and not partake…
Dierr, an affable [Hunter] who really liked getting his food within a minute of ordering, Menolit, the Drake [Veteran] with half a tail who’d fought in Liscor’s army until being honorably discharged, Ulevissia, a Drake [Mage] who made her entire living making door locks, Fleaears, whose unfortunate name didn’t relate at all to his [Tanner] profession, at least, one hoped—
One of the other regulars quipped as Lyonette went around the inn, doling out a few of the chocolate squares as an apology. Erin saw Menolit, the Drake [Veteran], grinning as he took a square of chocolate. She frowned at him.
Erin turned in her seat. She stared at Menolit and with a sinking feeling in her heart, realized he was drunk. And it wasn’t even evening. The Drake [Veteran] glared at the three young women.
The Drake [Veteran] paused. He looked past Selys. Erin pushed gently, and the alcohol in his system, some of the fury, turned maudlin. He lowered his gaze.
The young woman led him back to his seat. The angry drunk [Veteran] gone. And he had been a good fighter. People relaxed. Erin sat Menolit down, gave him some goat’s milk. The Drake lowered his head.
He’d kept tabs, as he did with the guest speakers or visitors to his academy. He liked to bring in any number of people, from [Veterans] who could share their experiences on the front lines to active-duty [Commanders] to [Mages], and so on. After all, his students would become the best in the world and Niers Astoragon intended them to learn from a variety of sources, including himself.
So she understood the inn as fire. A collection of souls, each one with a different level of fire. Passion. Some were burnt embers, like the Drake [Veteran]; a wounded soul. She ached for him. But Maviola had seen many of his kind. Her concern was with the brightest glows.
