High Noon (The Gunslinger)

{Extra, Extra!}

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Nightrail was one of many towns spawned by those fleeing the haunted remains of Old Daisite as the dead quickly outpaced the living. Nightrail was formed specifically around the mining of aetherite, the only weapon that could prevent and dispel the lingering dead. Sareng and the Aetherite Saloon put the town on the map, and soon Nightrail had more people coming for the thrills and the shops than looking for the magic-laced ore. The result was a town built on drinking, dancing, gambling, and all the other -ings that Bearidge had cast out as sins. As Bearidge grew, the so-called lawless fled to Nightrail. While never matching the population of Bearidge or its smaller rival Sandbluff, everyone knew Nightrail, and Nightrail knew most everybody.

As the night to Bearidge's day, Nightrail was renowned for its noise and rumors. Any talk of conspiracy under the Judges would find itself shut up right quick, but here you were free to shout your distaste from the rooftops. Inquiries and insults of Bearidge weren't just gossip, but nearly a greeting. There were numerous rumors and whispers about how the eight Judges turned Bearidge from nothing more than a rocky hill into what was growing into the next seat of civilization. While growth was expected, from Wolfsnare to Graygulch, their opponents had a way of turning coat or turning up dead. Dismissal was easy at first, after all, some folk just weren't ready for the wild frontier, wanted to go back to Old Daisite, to what the world was before the endless ghosts had driven out the living. But the mass disregard for the Judges and how they sought to run their strip of the world quickly made the expansion suspicious to the wilder towns. Still, the average citizen didn't care what the Judges did, so long as they kept to themselves. Those other towns must have made their peace, allowing Bearidge and the Judges to grow. Now the lone mud road running through the heart of Nightrail must have seemed like a mere gutter to the two Judges riding down it.


Today there were no whispers about the Judges. The sun seemed to hide behind them in the sky to announce their arrival sooner. The bustle of the city fell as their shadows drifted across the main road, the merchants at every door and makeshift stall falling silent. With every stomp of their horses, the skittering of the knee-high goblins receded and disappeared, fleeing to the tunnels just below the tilting buildings. Even the drunks and horses seemed to be dumbstruck as the two finally plodded across the town. Only one man was willing to challenge the silence.

Sareng stepped out of the biggest and brightest building on the strip, wearing his nicest pants and second cleanest shirt. "Gentlemen," he forced out, "I should have the service to introduce ya to Nightrail. If ya think we're busy now, well ya should see what the night does to the place." Yellowed teeth flashed but the eyes betrayed the smile. "But now, what would right an' proper folk like yourselves be doing this far south? If you’re looking for poor ol' Graygulch, I'm afraid you missed a turn an' a few weeks." All through his words, the Judges continued forward, hats and glasses hiding everything but the demand for silence that surrounded them. Sareng refused the silence that seemed to hypnotize the others. "Ah, but since you’re in town, why not stop in the Aetherite for a spell? Been free of the furred and the scaled since her first plank, just as you prefer it." He swept his arm and then himself into the saloon that had built the city, not bothering to wait for more silence.

The atmosphere of the bar was nearly as subdued as the street, even with Sareng's preparations, leaving men to their thoughts until the drinks took them away. It stood starkly against the night that they learned of Graygulch, tables quiet as patron stared into their drinks, the girls done up in their dresses and whispering among themselves instead of their customers, and even the sheriff playing cards in the corner had dropped his endless calls of cheating. At a few movements from Sareng, the muscle at the bar and women at their rooms finally went to moving, pretending everything was normal. The seconds dragged on before the two Judges finally walked in behind him.

"Now I don't know what kinda fancy joints ya got cleaned up back on the ridge, but I can say for a fact, for-a-fact, that the Aetherite is the liveliest one on the frontier." While the dumbstruck spell seemed to have been left at the door, silence was still a fixture in the bar. What little he could see of the Judges' faces remain unmoving and uncaring. "Well come now, I'm known for hospitality but I can't tell ya what ya came here for. Aetherite's got beds, jobs and gems, and of course, we're best known for our vices." An actual grin crossed his face as he nodded to the rack of metal clamps, many browned with blood, under the "Lowlife Payment" sign. He waved in one of the women, a red haired newcomer with the most convincing fake smile. "Though maybe you've come for one of our specials? A pair of Gray Hauntings on the Rox? Or on the house, if you prefer." Roxite kept her eyes and smile on them as she slid the two mugs of gray liquid forward, but the Judges turned their attention to the bar that was slowly forgetting their presence.


"You know why we are here, Sareng." one finally whispered in a voice that treated truth as an emotion. "You are the idol of this hole, and of the last one the elves cleared out. You've had your hands in nearly every lowlife hive they've tried to chase us from." Their voices remained low even as the saloon finally started to drown out everything more than a foot away. Threats and secrets made great companions.

Sareng was never one to let another's threats sit, but for once he didn't know if they had the strength to back it. They had somehow made it all the way into the Aetherite without a scratch after all. "Ya come into my business to accuse me of pushin' ya? Maybe it’s simply a case of the elves, or even those your lordin' over, wanting to be rid of ya. How many of yours would agree with them?" The moment of hospitality had vanished. They weren't here for dealing, they had unraveled something from Contact. A few uneasy glances shot across the bar, but the party was still swelling.

"We do not accuse. We judge. And whoever is behind this must learn we will not stand for these savage attacks. Normally we would have joined the fight for Graygulch, but now we’ve been pushed further. For your safety, Nightrail will join us. But will you, Sareng?"

"Ya know as well as I do ya can’t let me on the ridge. None of us in Nightrail. None of us will bow to your royal judginess." Sareng’s voice had gone feral, like an animal realizing it was cornered. He wasn’t the only one feeling it. The shot echoed through the Aetherite, turning every eye towards the Judges, who had been enveloped in a blue sphere before the slug had left the chamber. The pistol popped open as the other Judge drained the aether from the weapon.


"Sheriff, arrest that man!" They demanded in unison, turning to the dumbstruck shooter. For a moment, he was frozen in place, only able to drop his gun and hold an expression still changing from anger to surprise.

"Ye ferget yer power." The sheriff slurred. "Yer less’n a trog round ‘ere mate. Poor chap’s an ‘ero. Ferget to finis’ the job though." His gun swung up, being held remarkably still given the number of drinks in him. The rest of him was held down just as still by the Judges’ magic, their redirected attention causing the previous attacker collapse to the floor.

"Sareng, if you want even the faintest hope for this mudhole town, you will stop that man." One stared him down as the other watched the shooter climb back to his feet. The barkeeper merely stared into the black glasses demanding him to move. He’d probably have to break out his cleanest shirt and the coffin, but Sareng stood for one thing above all others.

"Followin’ your orders would kill every hope this town ever had. You will stand down, or you will find why I’m running the show." The shooter was now scrambling for the door. The Judges turned, their spells stunning the shooter and twisting the sheriff. When the lawman finally pulled his trigger, his shot caught a backfull of outlaw.

"The sheriff of Nightrail is a drunk and a murderer, unfit for duty." The Judge declared. "He shall be hanged for his crimes and replaced by—" A crystal bottle at the back of his skull cut him off. Three of Sareng’s thugs tackled the other Judge before the shield could return, with the sheriff and others joining in before the spells could throw them off.
"The secret," Sareng grunted as he punched the Judge into the ground, "is not relyin’ on aether." The second Judge had the misfortune of being conscious and screaming for a few moments of his dogpile beating. "At least, not until you’re ready to kill," he said as he stood from the battered man, then grumbled about the blood all over his good living shirt. "Sheriff gets his pick," he added as he walked behind the bar for the aetherite knife. "Other’s mine. Everyone else, get ready. We jus’ declared war on Bearidge, and they ain’t gonna take that laying down. Get your weapons, and get your death beds in order, cause we ain’t gonna take it laying down either."

{The Gunslinger}The Bearidge Bank was a ruined mess, the walls of the vault and the building blown open by the person or persons who managed to clean it out without a single witness. Or at least, not a witness that remembered anything. Azun Ilbano, recently promoted Sheriff of Daisite, had grilled all but one already, each time getting the same non-answer.

"I remember hearin' the crackin' of the walls all right. Made me right happy for some reason, can't say I could tell you why."

There'd been a few heists across the frontier lately, but the usual suspects were accounted for, and breaking into a vault proper had only been tried by a handful of goblins. Stranger still, the rubble led outside the vault—whoever had done it had blown their way out rather than in. It all smelled of a setup, but there wasn't anything new to work with yet. He watched his deputy and card goblin scramble around the rubble, knowing he was looking more for lost loot than clues. Some of the rocks were bigger than Deputy Gibem, but he still shoved each aside for a potential coin.

"What about you, deputy?" Azun asked. The goblin snapped to attention, the search for evidence over, for now. "Heard anything I haven't?"

"Boom!" the goblin jumped as he yelled. "And, aauugh! Goblin!" he continued, pointing at himself. Azun couldn't tell how something so stupid could cheat so well at cards.

Thankfully, the noise brought forward the last person, the head banker himself. But it seemed he had the same questions as Azun. "The... goblin, is right." he stammered as Gibem smirked. "There was an explosion out of the vault, and when we went to look, everything and anyone was already gone."

"Specially the gold," Gibem whined.

"And no one let anyone in? Cause it looks like you've cooked an inside job here," Azun growled.

"You would accuse me of robbing my own bank!" the manager seemed to have a rant prepared, but it died down at a look from the sheriff. No one questioned the law in Bearidge, and even if he was new in town, Azun was the law's aetherlock and bullwhip.

"Just judging the situation, sir." In a golden flash, his crafted metal arm had plucked an aetherlock off his hip. "As it happens, this is the second hit," the metal glowed at his touch as he enchanted the aether. "First was Ironeyes, that little gutter up the road. Absolutely ruined the smith there, but child's play compared to this vault. So I'll entertain you may have pulled such a minor job to throw off how you robbed yourself in broad daylight without a witness. It's the only lead this place is giving me. Deputy!"

The goblin managed to stuff a coin into his hat before instinct snapped back up. "I need you in Newpost. If I know our crook, that's where they're headed, assuming they ain't standing right here," he finished with a nod at the banker. The goblin's hands held down his hat as he ran off, earning a few screams as he tore out of town. Azun left without another word. An inside job didn't add up either. If the bankers fled anywhere in Bearidge they'd be hunted down like wolves, and if they left, the money was as useful as boots on a centaur. And the firepower needed to break the bank open might have been worth more than the vault, and was certainly worth more time with the warden. It would have taken superhuman effort or otherworldly material to sneak it past the Judges.

Azun stopped in his tracks. Otherwordly. The elves told legends of gods behind the stars but he'd actually tangled with them. He had hoped he could retire to the relative quiet of Daisite, but it seemed old foes had come knocking. He had to prepare.

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