Cormac Quarrik

Cormac loiters by the iron heart of Duskmoor’s station, grease on his hands and whiskey on his breath. A ceaseless talker, he spins tales of distant passengers and the creak of wheels that carry secrets through the night. When not recounting half-true stories, Quarrik drowns his hours in elaborate explanations of pistons and gears, speaking to ears long since deafened by disinterest. Still, his skill with the machines is undeniable, and the town’s lifeline of steel would falter without his restless vigilance.