Mercy Springs
Mercy Springs is a one-street town in the high desert, seven years past its silver. The mine that once drew two thousand souls pinched out in '79; the company boarded up inside a month, and two thousand became a handful. Now the desert reclaims a whole street of empty, sun-silvered storefronts north of the few still lit. The town survives on one thing: the spring — a cold seam of water in dry country, and this summer it's dropping for the first time anyone remembers. There's almost no hard cash; the real currency is Rourke's ledger of debts, and no circuit judge has ridden through in six years, so the marshal keeps order on habit alone. Life runs on a fixed rhythm — dawn at the forge and the cookstove, midday heat, and every night the whole town at Della's long table for supper. Twice a month the freight wagon brings goods, mail, news, and strangers; each season the stage stops grow fewer, the town shrinking a little more. And under all of it runs the thing nobody says: one night in the last weeks of the boom, a robbery, two men dead, and a fortune still hidden somewhere in town. Every soul left is tied to that night, whether they know it or not.
- 12 places
- 6 characters
Sign in, then choose who you’ll be.
Introduction
The freight wagon drops you at the edge of Mercy Springs with your bag and the last of the mail. Seven years after the silver pinched out, the high-desert town is mostly bleached boards and blown sand. A handful of souls still cling to the spring that’s never run this low before, trading on Rourke’s ledger of debts because there’s no cash and no judge left to care. You’re the stranger this run. Every night the same faces gather at Della’s table. Every one of them was here the night two men died and a fortune in bullion vanished. Nobody speaks of it. The desert hears anyway.
Places
Where the story unfolds
The Mercy Springs House
Inside of a wild west bar.
Rourke's General Store
Inside of a Wild West General Store: Goods, the post office. The economic power structure made physical.
Doc Salter's Surgery
Inside of a wild west surgery clinic, built in the former assay office. A false wall panel looks slightly out of place.
Kettle's Workshop
Inside a wild west workshop and maintenance shed. Tools, lumber, spare parts for pumps and buildings, and repair supplies line the walls. This is where the town fixer keeps everything running.
Marshal's Office
Inside of a wild west marshal's office. A heavy oak desk with locked drawers stands against one wall.
The Spring
Wild West Spring with a pump. The livery stable is adjacent.
The Graveyard
Wild West Graveyard. Several weathered tombstones dot the plot;
Town Center
A wild west town center.
Room 1
A modest upstairs boarding room in the Mercy Springs House with a narrow bed, washstand, and a window overlooking the dusty street.
Room 2
A modest upstairs boarding room in the Mercy Springs House with a narrow bed, washstand, and a window overlooking the dusty street.
Kettle's Livery Stable
A dusty livery stable with several horse stalls, a corral, and space for the stagecoach team. The windmill and pump for the town spring are maintained from here.
Hidden Vault
A secret chamber concealed behind a false wall in what was the assay office. It has remained sealed and unknown even after Dr. Hattie Salter converted the building into her surgery in 1881. Stacks of silver bullion bars from the 1879 shipment fill the space alongside a discarded note. The air smells of dust, metal, and old secrets.
Characters
Who you’ll meet
Amos Kettle
Big, broad-shouldered 31, with callused hands and a tool belt heavy with hammers, nails, and repair gear. Dark hair, sunburnt neck, an open plain face that's easier over a task than conversation. Wild West themed Rough shirt, worn overalls, and sturdy boots scuffed from constant maintenance work around town.
Della Voss
Broad, handsome woman gone solid at 54; iron-grey hair pinned back hard, flour on her forearms, a face that's warm until it isn't. Sleeves shoved up, apron over a faded good dress that used to be finer.
Dr. Hattie Salter
hirty-eight, lean, in a plain dark bodice and skirt with the cuffs turned back for work. Dark hair drawn into a tight knot, a face weathered past its prettiness by sun and worry. Sturdy laced boots, a doctor's leather bag never far. Wild west style.
Junie Voss
Eighteen and coltish, browned by the sun, dark hair escaping a loose braid. A faded hand-me-down dress with the hem let down and a shawl gone thin, stout little boots meant for chores and slipping off.
Marshal Eli Crews
Tall and gaunt, dried to sinew by sixty-three hard years. Long white moustache, a shapeless felt hat, a dusty frock coat over a collarless shirt. A tarnished star, a gunbelt worn low, boots cracked but blacked
Silas Rourke
Sallow and spare at forty-six, thin hair oiled flat. Steel-rimmed spectacles, a black storekeeper's waistcoat and sleeve-garters, a watch-chain across the front. Pale, unhurried hands stained with ledger ink.
