A Town Called Eclipse

"I am staying at the hotel. Did you supply them with their furniture?" I asked, and Henry nodded. "You are quite gifted."

"Thanks," he said lifting his head from his drawing. "What brings a Duskwalker to our little town?"

"I am a writer. I am here to get inspiration for a series of fictional stories about the frontier."

"Ooh, I could see a heroic gnome gunslinger that saves the day and gets the girl."

He forgot about the drawing before him and began to ramble about the backstory of said gunslinger. I jotted down a few notes and that seemed to please him well enough. Had I made a new friend? He went on for a half hour before faltering and falling into silence. The bell above the door rang and I turned to see a well-dressed orc. I noticed that he wore a long-sleeved shirt despite the heat. He was tall, wide shouldered and powerfully built. He was impressive and took great care in his meticulous appearance.

"Mayor, I have a working sketch for your headboard." Henry said in greeting.

"So, the rumor is true. There is a Duskwalker in my town." The mayor said ignoring the carpenter.

"Your town," I repeated, and he nodded his gleaming canines catching the sunlight. "I thought we lived in a republic."

"Technically," he admitted reluctantly. "Why are you here?"

"He is an author. He is doing research for stories about the Wild West." Henry eagerly responded.

"I was talking to him Henry." The orc growled and returned to me. "So?"

"I was sent by my publishing house to gather stories for a series of books."

"Hmm..." The mayor mumbled, and I sensed his distrust.

"You make two," I said, and his head snapped up in alarm. "Lady Crimson told me to stay out of her way. Are you threatening me too mayor?"

"No, I was worried that's all. I fought in the war. One of the opposing generals was a Duskwalker. He was brutal. He killed many of my friends."

"He was my cousin." I said, and the orc's eyes narrowed. "I wounded him at Antietam. He never did forgive me for besting him. Listen, I am not here to stir up trouble. I would prefer a low profile, but I know that is unlikely. I hope we can keep things civil."

"You are 'that' Duskwalker," he said and smiled. "I will suggest to the town to give you leeway."

He left without another word. I left soon after. I had a mad scientist to warn about angry goblins. Her little digging machine was going to cause this town no end of trouble. I took the path out of town that led to her reclusive laboratory. While the town sat on land that had been clear cut the wooded trail to the mad scientist was positively primal. The only sign of civilization was a series of paving stones that formed the path to the main building. I followed the shadow laden way to the house and knocked on the stout oaken door. The echo beyond hinted at a large unburdened chamber beyond. I knocked a second time when no one came to the door. A long string of curses blended into one hell of a tirade. The door was yanked open and a petite chestnut headed gnome revealed herself. I noted the way she was dressed. She wore dark jeans, a man's white cotton shirt, and soft leather boots. Her slight build gave her a boyish cast to her appearance.

"What the fuck do you want?" She said even before she saw who it was. "Ooh... six digits... those infernal cat eyes... you must be a Duskwalker. Why are you here fiend?"

"Is that any way to greet a guest?"

"Guest, did I somehow forget inviting you into my home? What do you want?"

"I have information that might just save your life." I said, and she laughed.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've received death threats? Who is it this time? Let me guess, the mayor's girlfriend again... or maybe the sheriff." She said and with a rude sound she relented and invited me in. "Carlos! Carlos, you lazy asshole we have a guest. Bring out something to drink..." she said, and her stomach rumbled. "Ooh and some food too would be nice."

Carlos made an appearance. He was a human of Mexican heritage and dressed in the fineries of an English butler. He was carrying a large silver tray. The tray had food and drink aplenty. Professor Tara Cogsworth told me all about her infernal digging machine. Of course, her professorship was self-appointed. While she had attended college in Europe they had seen fit to deny her the certificate she had rightly earned. I had asked her if she had ever read any Jules Verne and she giggled. It was in fact his novel, Journey to the Center of the Earth, that had inspired the digging machine. I told her about the goblins and she dismissed me instantly.

"There is no way they would dare attack me! Besides, no one speaks goblin but goblins."

"Let me tell you a little story about the brave and audacious goblin sappers that served under me a few wars back. I was tasked by the powers that be to breech the walls of Castle Voldenuit." Tara's eyes widened in surprise. "So, you've heard of it."

"Heard of it, I visited its ruins. I examined your handiwork, if that was indeed you. I spent an entire summer walking that tunnel."

I described that very tunnel to the last detail. Her expression went from contempt to acceptance. She knew I was telling the truth. I let her digest everything I had told her as I sipped some coffee and nibbled one of the sweet rolls on the platter. The parade of emotions was fascinating to watch. In the end it was resolve that was there in her eyes. Just as males had denied her the professorship now mere goblins would take away her steam powered behemoth. I saw her jaw clench and her eyes narrow as she made up her mind. It was only then that I asked for a tour of her laboratory. I was sure she'd turn me down flat, but she was a surprising woman in many ways. After she finished her late breakfast she offered to show me not just her lab but her house as well.

"You mentioned the mayor's girlfriend before. Why would she be angry with you?"

"Oh that," Tara said breaking out in laughter. "I'll show you once we reach my laboratory."

We went directly to the back of the house. There was a cobble stone path that led to an out building, that must be her laboratory. The path was framed on either side with strange looking metal trees. Their leaves appeared to be made of glass and when I mentioned them Tara stopped, placed her hands on her curvy hips and pronounced her great discovery and invention artificial light. I leaned close and looked at the glass leaves and saw tiny wires within. When I asked her where the electricity came from she pointed to the roof of her laboratory. There were strange black shingles on the roof. She explained that those tiles collected the heat from sunlight and turned it into raw power. We continued to her lab and she unlocked the heavy steel door with an intricate key. The entirety of the interior was reserved for her many experiments. There must have been a dozen separate projects in various stages of completion scattered through her laboratory. At the heart of the building was a large metallic cylinder that stood twenty feet tall of radiated an aura of heat about it. She called it her dragon furnace. It could resolve mithril ore into molten metal in short order. Tara had her own miniature foundry in her laboratory. I spotted the ingot of dark nonreflective alloy and moved directly towards it.

"You know what that is," Tara whispered behind me as I held a king's ransom in my hand.

"I do indeed. Did this come from the Magnus mine?"

"Yes. You are holding the only black mithril to come from that mine. There is more if you want to see something that has never been mentioned in any text or arcane tome."

I reluctantly set the ingot down and followed her to the wall safe. She produced a second key and opened it. She withdrew something wrapped in silk and handed it to me. I unwrapped it and stared at something I hadn't seen since the fall of my homeland. I almost pitched backward when I saw the block of pure red mithril. She watched me intently and I felt a tear slide down my cheek. Tara asked me about it and I told her that in other times only nobility could carry red mithril. The secrets of where it could be found, processed and worked had been lost in the natural disaster that had set my people upon a nomadic lifestyle.

"It took me five years to discover how to change it from ore to that block there. It was a fit of rage that allowed me to uncover that secret. Do you know it?" She asked, and I shook my head. "Do you want to know? It isn't like you'll ever see it's like anytime soon."

"Does Magnus know that you have this?" I asked, and she flinched. "I guess not. My people called this blood steel. It was primarily used as ceremonial daggers but there were legends that the Master of the House of Whispers carried a red mithril sword. You would call him an assassin. What are you going to do with them?"

"You mean the black and the red. I have no idea. I suppose you have suggestions? I could sell them to one of the noble houses or hell even the government. I could name my own price."

I handed her the red mithril back and she returned it to the safe. Why had she shown me that? Did she know the connection between rare mithril and Duskwalkers? Maybe she thought I knew more than I did. The safe closed with a dull thud and she locked it. She walked me around to her ongoing projects and had me guess what she was attempting. I saw a pattern emerging and I didn't like it. I kept the anger from my voice and face. I maintained a neutral demeanor and let her do all the talking. She was brilliant that was obvious, but I felt there was something else inspiring her. Tara began giggling when she approached the only project that was covered with a tarp. She started three separate times and stopped trying to explain what was beneath the heavy cloth.

"Oh hell, look and you tell me what you think it is." She said as she tugged the tarp free.

"Is that a... no fucking way," I said laughing. "I heard they were using something like this as an anti-hysteria machine."

"Got it in one," she said holding up the gleaming metal phallus. "I plug in the power supply here and it mimics a male's part. It worked so well many females have given up their husbands and boyfriends. The mayor apparently has some issues with intimacy. Speaking of rocking a major piece of male meat..."

"You've talked to the whore." I said, and she shook her head.

"I got it directly from Lady Crimson herself." Tara continued holding up the faux cock and turned it this way and that. "I need to build a bigger model. I don't suppose you'd be willing to pose for me and maybe let me get hands on your um... measurements."

"You want to give me a hand job?"

"Well for a start yes," she said smiling. "I'd like to be as accurate as possible. This is for the advancement of medical science. Think of all the women with hysteria that you would be helping."

"I see," I said failing to hide my smile. "Well it sounds like it is for a good cause. When would you like to start?"

"I think immed..." she began just as tall leggy raven-haired elf stumbled into the laboratory. "Ebony what are you doing here and why the hell are you drunk?"

"You see it is like this," Ebony began and then fell silent. "Who is this handsome piece of male flesh? Did you grow him, or did you seduce him into coming in here? Either way I am fine..." she began and then saw my hands. "Jesus Christ! What the hell is a Duskwalker doing in our laboratory? Has he come for the..."

"Silence Ebony," Tara shouted her down. "He is a writer. He is looking for characters and stories. Besides, he came here to warn me about some unhappy goblins."

"Oh... sorry," Ebony replied. "My humblest apologies kind sir. Thank you for coming to warn us. I guess they got wind of the digging machine. How do you know they discovered our little project?"

"I speak goblin." I said, and she made a face. "What are you two hiding? You mentioned me coming for something."

"He knows all about the black and red mithril." Tara said but I caught a look between them.

"You showed him?" Ebony asked, and Tara nodded. "I see. Did he teach you anything about them?"

"A little history lesson but nothing technical." Tara replied and then she turned to me. "Do you know anything you could share?"

"Let me show you something interesting," I said as I walked over and took a ten-pound sphere from one of her shelves. "Observe and tell me what you notice." I held the ball of steel above the ingot of black mithril and dropped it. The sphere hit the ingot and it bounced off harmlessly. "Well?"

"I will be damned," Tara gasped in surprise. "It didn't make a sound. Are you telling me processed black mithril absorbs sound waves?"

"Yes. It also absorbs certain kinds of light. I'll let you work it out for yourself. Maybe afterwards you will be more forthright with me. I will let myself out. I have other people to interview. You know where I am staying."

I left the pair stammering and returned to town. I learned early on that people needed time to make important decisions. Tara obviously had something in her possession that Ebony thought I might find of great interest. Again, there was that nagging feeling that nameless familiarity which haunted me. It tickled memories of my youth and yet was damned elusive. I would remember and when I did I would confront her. I went to the next person on my list to interview, the town's doctor. The walk back was pleasant and helped me push away those nasty emotions. The moment I reached main street I saw a group of the townsfolk gathered outside the doctor's office. I rushed over to see if I could offer some assistance. I had a general knowledge of first aid techniques. The smell of blood and alcohol was heavy in the air. Whatever had happened it hadn't been too long ago. I pushed my way through the crowd and saw the trail of blood leading from the street to the interior. The scent was much stronger now and I heard the grunts and cries of pain from within.

"Clear off, I have some medical training! Doctor... do you need a hand?" I cried out.

"Thank the divines, come in quickly... make room..."

Doctor Ursa Forester was a tall muscular orc and despite this he was struggling with his patient. The gunshot wound was in the left leg. Ursa had a meaty hand clamped over the wound and was attempting with the help of his nurse to apply a tourniquet. Spurts of blood leapt from the wound as the dark elf continued to struggle. I rushed to the side of the patient and placed one hand on his chest and the other on his left hip and pushed hard. The gunman, as he was clearly dressed for combat, tried and failed to rise now. I think it was more to the massive loss of blood than to my strength. The doctor and his nurse worked feverishly fast to stop the bleeding but after two more minutes the patient let out his last breath. I let go and I shared a glance with the surgeon. He cursed and stepped away.

"You couldn't have saved him." I said peering at the wound. "His thigh is broken and the artery appears to be severed."

"It doesn't make it any easier." The orc said bitterly. "Here, come over here and wash up."

"Thanks, he must have been drunk as hell," I said as I washed the blood from my hands. "I smelled the booze as I approached."

"Someone said he'd been drinking since last night. I believe he was working up his nerve to challenge the sheriff. He did his job too well. I saw him stagger out and somehow, he managed to stand there swaying as the good sheriff shot him in cold blood. He had no choice but still."

"No, I didn't have a choice. He was a threat to anyone on the street. He was so drunk he didn't know who was who." The tall Sidhe said from the doorway. "How go the interviews?"

"Slow," I said as I dried my hands. "I came over to speak with the surgeon here. If you have time later, does not have to be today, I'd like to interview you for inspiration sake."

"I saw that coming. Fine, I have paperwork to fill out thanks to this asshole. Stop by tomorrow and we can talk. Doc."

"Caesar." The weary orc replied with a nod. "So, I'm on your list."

"I was on my way to see you when this all happened. Do you know who he is?"

"His name was Nathaniel 'the Kid' O'Brien." An orc said from the doorway. "Hi, I am Horace Middlestone, but everyone calls me Digger. I bury the dead, well after I clean them up and photograph them of course. The Kid's friends left money for a clean suit and a coffin. Awful generous of them really. Most lose their nerve and run off too yellow to face the sheriff or pay for their friend's funeral. I saw one of your kind once. It was at the battle of Shiloh. Gods what a day! I thought it was the end of the world. He rode a pale horse that one. His name was Death that day. His face was so fierce that many battle-hardened veterans fled his continence and quit the field of battle. He smote his enemies down with a black sword in one hand and a gleaming pistol in the other."

"You should be a poet." I said and fell silent.

"Digger plays the piano at the saloon when he isn't planting corpses." Doc added as he gestured for Digger to remove the body. "Take him away."

Digger whistled, and two young orcs slipped into the room and gathered up the corpse and carried it away. Two humans followed up and began washing the surgery. The older of the two focused on the operating table while the younger attacked the floor with hot water and a wire brush. The doctor and I walked over to the saloon for a drink. He began sharing his life story with me as we crossed the street. It took little prodding to learn what I wanted from him. He had been a mere nurse during the war but since then he went to school and became a full-fledged physician.

"How long has Digger been photographing the dead?" I asked.

"Only about a year now. He sells them to people back east and the more gruesome subjects have an audience as well, not everyone gets shot in the leg."

"Morbid."

"He may dress poorly and act the fool but do not be taken in. He is cunning that one and ruthless as any outlaw. Watch your step."

I bought the good doctor a few beers before he wandered back to his practice. I jotted down my notes, and felt sorry for him. He had been barely old enough to enlist when the war erupted and like so many others he was tossed into the emotional grinder and spat out again. I was sipping my drink and watching a handful of goblins huddled together when a loud booming voice called from the street. It was going to be one of those days. I got up and went outside. A wide shouldered well-dressed dwarf stood in the middle of main street. His beard was long, neatly trimmed and showed long streaks of silvery white. He was cursing loudly but this time he was neither drunk nor addressing the sheriff. The dwarf's ire was directed squarely at the mayor.

"God damn it Erick, you promised me double the men to guard this last shipment. You recalled half of them the moment they were half a day's ride out, you lying sack of horse dung!"

"Oh hell," the bartender cursed. "That is Magnus D, he owns the mine. Looks like the mayor did it again, promising one thing and doing another."

"Calm yourself Magnus," the mayor said making an appearance. "I am sure we can talk about this inside."

"Fuck you Erick," Magnus said and spat on the ground between them. "I am done trusting your promises of security. I am hiring my own men from now on."

"We have a contract..."

"We have nothing," the dwarf growled. "You broke that contract after the last three shipments were stolen. You and your people are worthless, less than worthless."

I walked out to get a better look. The dwarf noticed me and was distracted long enough for the mayor to set a hand on the other's shoulder. Magnus grabbed the mayor by the wrist and gripped it tightly. With a sudden movement of his other hand he tore the cuff of his shirt and yanked the material away revealing the tattooed skin beneath. I recognized the tattoos as those given to certain prisoners. So, the mayor had a jaded past. Did the good folks of Eclipse know this? The orc yanked his arm free and stormed off covering his wrist as he went.