Brimstone County

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. The prospectors arrived from the east with only a promise that there was gold in those hills and lord did they find it. Those little yellow stones turned those vagabonds, vagrants and beggars into wealthy and well respected men. The natives, spiritual types, warned them of the coming storm, of the tempest men’s avarice would bring. Of course they didn’t listen, who needs superstition when you're filthy rich and lady luck is on your side. They awoke something unspeakable deep in those mines, abominations of a vengeful god in a vengeful form. Beasts of blackened flame with wings of starless skies, avatars of men's greed and covetous nature. To this day they remain the true governors of Brimstone County regardless of manifest destiny pushing the wide eyed ignorant to try to reclaim it.

Four sinners and a dead man, burnt and bloodied, ride west towards the raging sunset. Their destination is a quiet little town on the edge of the county. The kind of quiet little town people go to get lost in. They arrive in twilight, the silver of their repeaters catching the light of a half waning moon. They tie up their mounts, five fine black stallions trained to show no fear in the face of the beast’s flames, loyal and stoic creatures. As they enter the saloon the heat of the lamp light and smell of whiskey warm their lost souls and the familiar swing of the piano raises their spirits.

One of the five dressed as a man of the law, a marshal, stepped forward. His aged uniform and graying hair gave off a seasoned authority and the hardened expression on his face and the manner in which he spoke demanded it.

“We’re looking for a half breed. Goes by the name of William LeWolfe.”

The chatter quieted as those who had not yet noticed the presence of the unfamiliar company.

“Looks like you found him”

A voice from a smoke filled corner of the saloon spoke up. A shuffling of punter’s feet cleared a line of sight between the men and LeWolfe, a scruffy man who took his time to look up to see who had mentioned his name.

“The hell? I must have been drinking too much of Pixie’s moonshine ‘cos it can't be THE Marshal Morgan Kane standing in front of me. I saw it with my own two eyes, you were lynched, shot, burnt, chewed on by coyotes, dead and buried by the Jade Mountain boys.”

He looked the marshal up and down.

“They made an example out of you.”

The marshal took off his hat, well aware the entirety of the establishment were listening in. His spurs cut the silence in the room as he made his way towards LeWolfe. His four accomplices followed him as he spoke intently.

“I been let out of hell at the bequest of the Earth-Maker. I woke up 7 feet under cured of my ailments and my cadaverous condition. Ain’t no grave that can hold me down now my purpose has been revealed.”

LeWolfe thought carefully about his next move, the patrons of the saloon stood by as the strangers surrounded him.

“You better call your boys off I can take the whole lot of yas and it can get very messy”

“Billy. You and I both know there ain't a full moon for another 3 weeks. I just wanna talk”

Billy’s eyes darted around the room scanning for an exit strategy. He looked to the marshal’s associates anticipating a more unprejudiced voice of reason. The man to his right, a preacher, was the closest he could have hoped for; the oldest of the group, a small book of scripture clenched in hands.

“You follow this freak around?” he asked him.

The preacher stared at Billy blankly, breaking eye contact to launch a gob of sputum into the spittoon by his feet.

“Oh, the padre don’t speak no more. On account of the horrors he has witnessed”

“Yeah? And what about these other guys.”

He nodded towards the other three members of this rag tag group; the buffalo soldier, the one eyed bandito and the woman they call ‘The Coyote’.

The marshal flashed a gold tooth with a crooked, charming smile and looked round at his compatriots and back to Billy.

“Now they’re just being polite.”

Billy’s shoulders dropped, resigned to deal with the problem for now.

“You here to lock me up?” he asked quietly. The Marshal pulled up a chair now speaking and spoke one to one with him. His words now hushed and calm, the situation de-escalated and those in the saloon who were hoping for a violent altercation had now lost interest.

“Now William I don’t serve the law of this County anymore. I have a higher calling now, the only laws I champion are that of the natural order of things and regarding fucking giant serpents with wings I would say that his pretty goddam unnatural and top of my agenda. I am no longer the marshal, I am judge, jury and executioner, retributer and adjudicator.“

He placed his hat on the table in front of him.

“And what do you need me for?” Billy asked.

“You still got a penchant for breaking banks?”

Billy didn’t have much of a poker face, a mischievous grin forming on the young bandits face.

“Course.”

“There’s a Skinwalker artifact in a vault in San Layoux said to hold the key to revocating the curse on these lands. I’ve tried to obtain this in a more….official capacity but it seems dark, dark forces work against us.”

Billy tried, poorly, to hide his interest.

“Rosie know you’re back in the land of the living?”

“No. She aint a part of this and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Billy relaxed a little, sighed and took a shot of fire whiskey.

“I’ll come with ya. But I don’t believe for one second that this is some kind of divine crusade to save your soul…..you want that gold just as much as the next man. ‘Lord of Cinder, Lord of Gold pray for the fools who covet the dragon’s hold’.”

The marshal smiled once more.

“I am but a humble servant of the Earth-Maker. Ain’t that right padre?”

The preacher nodded assuredly.

“Now let’s go find ourselves some dynamite.”