19th of January, 1867
I arrived in Demomire in the morning via stage coach, it was an odd place, the architecture was an odd mix of Victorian grandeur and Wild West roughness. There were odd, old, worn-down buildings next to newly built mansions, their pristine white paint gleaming in the sunlight, yet even those gleaming mansions seemed odd to me. The streets were a cacophony of activity, with horses, carriages, and people moving everywhere.
I sniffed the air, picking up the scent of pine and something else, something strange and electric, like the tang of ozone. I’d heard rumors of this energy production before leaving. Demomire was supposedly at the forefront of some scientific breakthrough. My orders from General Sheridan were clear: keep an eye on it, see if there was anything of interest to the Union.
His words were terse, leaving no room for question or hesitation. “McPherson,” he had said, his eyes sharp as flint, “we need a man of your caliber in Demomire. Your mission is two-fold: maintain order and report on their advancements. We cannot afford to be left in the dark. You will need to report to the sentinels first and then to the self proclaimed, ‘Baron Blackwood'”
The notion of being selected for such a task by Sheridan himself should’ve filled me with pride. Instead, it weighted my chest like a slab of lead. Not for fear—I had long since become a stranger to that—but for the weight of responsibility now resting squarely on my shoulders.
Demomire was not just any frontier town. Its veins pumped with the lifeblood of innovation, particularly in energy production. Rumors had been milling around for some time about their work with some kind of energy source—a source of power that could potentially change the face of industry and warfare alike.
If what I’d heard held true, Demomire had somehow harnessed something to fuel their entire town apparently. In a nation still licking its wounds from civil strife, such an advancement could mean a great deal. It could spell prosperity, influence, perhaps even a decisive edge should conflicts arise anew.
It was no secret that Sheridan had his eyes set on expansion and fortification—of territory, resources, and the Union’s standing itself. If Demomire’s technology could be understood and replicated… Well, I knew better than to let my mind wander too far down that path just yet.
The town was larger than I had anticipated, sprawling across a series of hills and valleys. I stopped in front of a saloon called The Lusty Corral and peered inside. It was dimly lit, yet I could see that it did have somewhat of a crowd inside. I pushed the door open and stepped in.
Inside, it’s a riot of life and color. Tables are scattered haphazardly across a floor blanketed with sawdust, and the long bar boasts a gleaming array of bottles, catching the light and winking at patrons like old friends. There’s an energy here that feels almost palpable, a thrumming undercurrent of stories unfolding with each clink of glass and shuffle of boots.
The patrons themselves are a curious lot. Miners with hands as rough as the land they plunder, gamblers with eyes sharp and calculating, ladies of various repute mingling with travelers drawn in by the promise of rest or perhaps something more.
There’s also a corner dedicated to games of chance and a small stage is tucked away in one corner where musicians strum their guitars and coax melodies from fiddles.
“Whiskey,” I said, slapping a gold coin on the bar.
The bartender, a portly man with a thick mustache, poured me a drink.
He eyed me suspiciously. “Ain’t seen you around here before.”
“I’m the new Sheriff, I’ve been sent by the union, Silas McPherson,” I introduced myself. “Just arrived in town.” Extending my arm, I grasped the bartender’s hand in a firm handshake.
“Sheriff?”
I turned to see a woman standing there. She was tall and slender, with long red hair and green eyes. She wore a simple dress, but there was an air of authority about her.
“Yes, ma’am,” I said.
“I’m Lizzy Thornton,” she said. “I own this saloon.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Thornton,” I said. “I’m new in town.”
“So I just heard,” she said. “You don’t look like the kind of man who belongs in Demomire.”
“Why do you say that?” I asked.
“This town is a magnet for the weird and the wonderful,” she said. “And you don’t look like either of those.” She laughed heartly.
“Its a right shame I can’t be wonderful,” I replied jokingly, “But I’m not here to wonderful or weird. I’m here to do a job.”
“And what job is that?” she asked.
I hesitated for a moment. “Well, I am the new lawman in town,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow. “The new lawman,” she said. “Well that will be interesting. I’m sure the sentinels will be thrilled.” she smiled her sarcastic tone audible.
I smiled back. “I’m just a Union appointed lawman, Miss Thornton,” I said. “Nothing more.”
“Well, Sheriff McPherson,” she said. “If you need anything while you’re in town, don’t be a stranger.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said.
“It was a pleasure meeting you, Sheriff,” she said.
“The pleasure was all mine, Miss Thornton,” I said.
I tipped my hat, turned and walked out of the saloon. As I walked down the street, I could feel Lizzy’s eyes on my back. I knew that she was a dangerous woman, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued by her. I had a feeling that my time in Demomire was going to be anything but dull.
A visit to the Sentinels of the Veiled Star headquarters awaited, The Sentinels were an enigmatic entity within Demomire, veiled in mystery like a whisper carried by the wind. Their origins traced back to the late 1600s, their founder being none other than Étienne Leclair, who also happened to be one of Demomire’s earliest architects.
Their role had always been that of a private police force, maintaining order within the town. A responsibility carried out diligently through the ages, enabling Demomire to avoid the chaos and lawlessness prevalent in many other frontier towns.
Little was known about their inner workings. They were a secretive bunch, their methods shrouded in a cloak of discretion, which only added to their mystique and effectiveness.
Their headquarters occupied an imposing structure overlooking the downtown area of Demomire. I found myself standing before a grand set of iron gates, their intricate designs hinting at the rich history held within.
A weathered sign hung above the entrance, bearing the Sentinels’ insignia – a stylized star with seven points, each point representing one of the founding members of The Order. Below the star, the words “Per Umbram, Ad Astra Custodimus”, “Through Shadow, We Guard the Stars.” If my old latin lessons were correct.
I reached out and grasped the old iron ring, rapped it against the cold metal, and waited. The sound echoed around the courtyard, the only sound breaking the eerie silence. A few moments passed before the gates slowly creaked open, revealing a shadowed courtyard beyond, its secrets hidden from prying eyes.
I stepped inside and the gates swung shut behind me, the heavy thud reverberating through the courtyard. My boots echoed on the cobblestones as I made my way towards the main building. A sense of foreboding washed over me, like a chill seeping into my bones. The building loomed large, its dark stone facade seemingly absorbing the surrounding light, giving it an almost sinister appearance.
I reached the entrance and paused, taking a moment to steady myself, drawing upon my years of experience to quell the unease stirring within me. With a deep breath, I pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.
The interior was dark and shadowy, the only illumination provided by a few flickering candles. The air was thick with the smell of old wood and dust, and the silence was broken only by the faint crackling of the flames.
I moved cautiously through the building, my boots whispering against the wooden floorboards. The rooms were mostly empty, their furnishings sparse and utilitarian. I passed a library, its shelves lined with ancient-looking tomes, each one promising forgotten knowledge and hidden secrets.
Further down the corridor, I came to a large room. A long table dominated the center, surrounded by high-backed chairs. At the far end of the room, a man was sitting behind a desk, his face obscured by the shadows.
I approached the desk and cleared my throat. “Sheriff McPherson,” I announced, my voice echoing in the silence. “I’m here to see the Prime Sentinel.”
The man didn’t move. He remained seated, his head bowed, his hands clasped together on the desk.
“Sheriff McPherson,” I repeated, louder this time. “I’m here on official business.”
Slowly, the man raised his head. His eyes were dark and piercing, and his face was lean and weathered. He wore a black uniform, similar to the one I wore, but with a silver star pinned to his chest.
“I am the Sentinel Prime,” he said. His voice was deep and gravelly, like the sound of thunder rolling across the plains. The Sentinel Prime leaned back in his chair and studied me for a long moment. His gaze bore into me like a cold, hard drill. “Sheriff McPherson,” he finally said, breaking the silence that hung between us like a heavy shroud. “I am sure that you are unaware, however you stand on ground steeped in history and blood. Demomire is unique, we have our own ways, and those roots are deep and tangled in ways outsiders struggle to comprehend.”
I met his stare without flinching, my own eyes reflecting back the determination that had seen me through many a scrape. “I understand that,” I replied, my voice steady. “But times are changing. Demomire is part of the Union now.”
A ghost of a smile flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it had appeared. “The Union,” he echoed with a note of something akin to disdain—or maybe it was resignation. “Yes, we are aware of the… arrangements.”
He rose from his seat with the grace of a man accustomed to command, and I couldn’t help but notice the slight creak of leather as he moved—a man ready for anything. His height surprised me; he towered over me by a good few inches, and I’m no short man myself.
“The Sentinels have kept order in Demomire for nearly two centuries,” he continued, his voice carrying the weight of those years. “We have faced down chaos, kept the darkness at bay, and ensured that this town survived when it should have crumbled to dust.”
I nodded once, acknowledging his words. Respect was earned in my book, and it seemed The Sentinel Prime had more than earned his share.
He paced slowly before the desk now standing between us like some kind of secular altar. “We have done so without outside interference,” he said pointedly. “And we shall continue to do so.”
I folded my arms across my chest. “I don’t doubt your abilities or your dedication to Demomire,” I said honestly. “But like it or not, I’m here now. And I aim to do my job.”
The Sentinel Prime stopped pacing and fixed me with a look that could’ve pinned a lesser man to the wall. “We will not hinder you,” he said at last. “But neither will we assist you.”
His words settled around us like dust after a gunfight—final and all-encompassing.
“We operate independently,” he continued. “Our methods differ from yours, Sheriff McPherson. We serve Demomire’s interests first and foremost—interests that may not always align with those of your… Union.”
A muscle twitched in my jaw as I absorbed his words—a warning. It wasn’t unexpected but hearing it laid out so plainly put things into sharp perspective.
“Understood,” I said curtly.
“Good.” He nodded once, an abrupt dip of his head that somehow managed to convey both dismissal and reluctant respect.
As I turned to leave, a thought struck me—a needling doubt that refused to be ignored.
“Sir,” I called out without looking back.
He didn’t respond verbally, but I felt his attention on me like a shadow over my shoulder.
“Demomire……is it worth protecting?” I asked.
Silence stretched out behind me until finally he spoke, his voice low but clear.
“Is the sky worth the blue?” he said cryptically.
I considered that for a moment before nodding once more and walking out of the room without another word.
Stepping back into the light of day outside The Sentinels’ headquarters felt like emerging from another world entirely—one where every shadow held a secret and every silence spoke volumes.
The air outside was crisp with the coming evening chill, but it was the undercurrent of energy pulsing through Demomire that raised goosebumps on my arms—not the cold.
The Sentinel Prime’s words lingered in my mind as I made my way down towards Main Street and a massive building, that I assumed was the library—the heart of this enigmatic town where I was now tasked with upholding law and order.
The townsfolk went about their business with an air of purpose that spoke volumes about their resilience and independence. Children ran laughing between stalls selling everything from fresh produce to strange contraptions the like of which I have never seen.
Overhead, the sky stretched wide and blue—a canopy of freedom that seemed at odds with the sense of confinement The Sentinel Prime’s words had woven around me.
My boots kicked up little puffs of dust as I walked, marking my passage through Demomire like breadcrumbs left by some lost traveler hoping to find his way home again someday.
The Sentinel Prime’s declaration hadn’t been unexpected; men like him didn’t relinquish control easily—if at all—but it set clear boundaries for what lay ahead.
Demomire might be part of the Union now in name if not yet fully in spirit or practice—and as such it fell under my jurisdiction—but The Sentinels were making it clear they would not bend nor break for anyone or anything outside their own creed and purpose.
My path took me past The Lusty Corral once again; laughter and music spilled out onto the street as night began its slow descent upon Demomire.
Lizzy Thornton stood framed in the doorway, her fiery hair catching the last rays of sunlight as she surveyed her domain with an air of ownership no less potent than The Sentinel Prime’s had been within his own walls.
Our eyes met across the distance; hers held a spark—a recognition that though we might both be playing different games here in Demomire—we were both very much players on this chessboard nonetheless.
I continued down the street, General Sheridan’s provisions included a temporary residence at the Ortiz, the town’s most esteemed establishment, until I get a lay of the land. I’m to stay there for a fortnight, give or take, depending on how quickly I acclimate to Demomire’s peculiar rhythm. Tomorrow I will meet Baron Blackwood, and then I’ll begin my duties as a Union lawman in a town the Union doesn’t even know.
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