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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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He was a man who appreciated the finer things in life, and seeing the massive crates of top shelf alcohol being hauled down into his underground cellars brought a very satisfied smirk to his face. It was the perfect scenario, it could massively increase his private drinks collection, and he didn't need to spare a single dime of his own money to do it. The city was actively paying for the privilege of being intimidated by him.
Meanwhile, behind the scenes of the opulent mansion, the sprawling, chaotic preparations for the upcoming celebratory banquet were, of course, being done under Antonio's flawless, highly disciplined supervision.
The logistical nightmare of feeding and entertaining an entire private army was staggering. Since Caleb wanted to invite absolutely all of the mafia to celebrate their newfound legal freedom, Antonio had to coordinate far beyond the borders of Saint Denis.
He had to send heavily armed riders and express letters to the capos and made men stationed outside of the city, especially the massive garrison that was currently holding down the newly conquered territories at Rhodes and the Caliga Hall plantation.
However, reality dictated that not everyone could abandon their posts to drink champagne in the city.
Vincenzo, the scarred Underboss, was currently running a tight, brutal occupation in the West. Not many of the mobsters could leave from there, because if they abandoned their guard posts, they would instantly lose their ironclad control of Rhodes.
Furthermore, the surviving members of the Grays family, who were currently imprisoned and forced to work the fields in Caliga Hall, would undoubtedly seize the opportunity to escape into the swamps if the guard presence dropped.
So, in the end, not all of the capos stationed in the countryside could attend the grand banquet at the Garden District estate. It was a harsh reality of running an empire. But Antonio, being the professional butler filled with empathy for his men's morale, made absolutely sure to send them the celebration directly.
He organized a specialized, armored supply train to head west, loaded with massive crates of the finest roasted meats, decadent pastries, and dozens of cases of the premium, expensive drinks that had just been gifted to the Don. If the boys holding the line in Rhodes couldn't come to the party, the party would be delivered to their trenches.
As for Caleb, in the days leading up to the banquet, he was genuinely enjoying his life in a profound, incredibly peaceful sense.
For the first time since he had awakened in this violent, chaotic era, he felt a true sense of stability. After all, he didn't need to do all the grueling, day to day work anymore. He had successfully built a well oiled machine. He had highly trusted, incredibly competent men to do the heavy lifting for him.
Arthur managed the street level muscle, Vincenzo commanded the tactical occupations, Antonio ran the household and the finances, and Pierre handled the legal warfare.
This newfound freedom allowed Caleb to spend his afternoons sitting on the grand marble terrace, smoking premium cigars and enjoying the winter sun alongside Mary-Beth, while his mind was constantly whirring on the side, thinking of more massive, industry defining businesses he could get his hands involved in.
He knew the future. He possessed the knowledge of the entire 20th century, and he fully intended to leverage that knowledge to build a fortune that would make Leviticus Cornwall look like a beggar.
As he sat in his study, looking at the topographical maps of his new lands, Caleb began to deeply consider the transportation sector.
Cars, for example.
In 1899, the automobile was still in its absolute infancy. The streets of Saint Denis were dominated by horse drawn carriages and electric trolley cars. The few automobiles that did exist were loud, incredibly unreliable, steam powered or rudimentary combustion novelties driven only by eccentric inventors and the ultra rich.
But Caleb knew exactly what was coming. He knew that within the next decade, the world was going to fundamentally change. The internal combustion engine was going to revolutionize human travel, logistics, and warfare.
He could invest in it right now, at the absolute ground floor. But to do it properly, to truly monopolize the industry before it even began, he needed to find the right visionary. He needed to track down the early, struggling inventors here in America, men like Henry Ford, or Ransom Olds, and offer them the limitless, bottomless capital of the Thorne syndicate. If he funded their research, built their assembly lines, and secured the patents through Pierre, Caleb could own the entire American automotive industry before the first Model T ever rolled off a production line.
But cars were a long term investment. They required massive infrastructure, paved roads, and reliable oil refineries, which he planned to aggressively take from Cornwall in the near future anyway.
In the meantime, his mind shifted to a more immediate, highly profitable venture. He could invent, or rather, aggressively mass produce, modern bicycles.
While rudimentary bicycles existed, they were often heavy, dangerous contraptions like the penny farthing. But Caleb understood the mechanics of the modern safety bicycle, equal sized wheels, a chain driven rear wheel, and pneumatic rubber tires. It was a brilliantly simple, highly efficient machine.
If he utilized a wing of his new Thorne-Marlin firearms factory, or simply bought a new warehouse entirely, he could begin stamping out cheap, reliable, and lightweight steel frames.
Bicycles would be an absolute sensation. They would quickly become the staple method of personal transportation for the working class inside the cramped, bustling city of Saint Denis, and they would be equally vital on the dirt roads of the outskirts. They required no feed, they didn't leave manure in the streets, and they were significantly cheaper to maintain than a horse.
Caleb sat back in his leather chair, a visionary smile spreading across his face as he imagined the logistical shift. By mass producing bicycles, he would corner the market on personal, affordable transit, replacing horses slowly for the common man, working directly alongside the luxury cars that he would eventually manufacture to replace horses for the wealthy elites.
He would literally own the streets. He would own the weapons that guarded the streets, the hotels that housed the travelers, the farms that grew the tobacco they smoked, and the very vehicles they drove.
The sheer, limitless potential of the Gilded Age stretched out before him, ripe for the taking. He had saved the Van der Linde gang, erased their federal bounties, and secured their lives. The era of the outlaw was officially dead, buried in the ashes of Caliga Hall and the mud of the eastern docks.
Now, it was the era of the industrialist. The era of the billionaire Don.
Caleb stood up from his desk as the distant, melodic chime of the grandfather clock echoed through the halls of the mansion. The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the Garden District. Tonight was the banquet. Tonight, he would stand before an army of heavily armed killers, outlaws, and mafia capos, and he would finally look them in the eye and tell them the absolute truth.
He would raise a glass of the finest champagne, look at Arthur, John, Sadie, Mary-Beth, and many others, he would tell the world that Caleb Thorne had officially arrived. And God help any man, politician, or tycoon who tried to stand in his way.
Caleb pulled his gaze away from the darkening, gas-lit streets of Saint Denis and stepped away from the massive window of his private study. The heavy, rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock in the corridor served as a steady metronome, marking the final seconds of an era defined by shadows and survival.
He left the quiet sanctuary of the study, the heavy oak doors clicking softly behind him, and began the walk down the sprawling, silk wallpapered hallway toward the master suite.
His mind was a storm of calculated ambition and profound reflection. The journey from a desperate, hunted outlaw surviving in the freezing mud to a billionaire industrialist commanding a private army was a transition so monumental it felt almost surreal. But the blood on his hands was real. The gold in his vaults was real. And the empire he had carved out of the American South was entirely, undeniably real.
He opened the double doors to his expansive master bedroom, expecting quiet solitude to prepare for the night's historic events. The room was bathed in the warm, flickering amber light of the grand stone fireplace.
Laid out impeccably upon the massive, four poster bed was the attire Antonio's staff had prepared for him, a pristine, bespoke, midnight black tuxedo, tailored to an absolute, razor sharp perfection, complete with a silk lapel and a crisp, blindingly white shirt.
Caleb began to unbutton his waistcoat, stepping out of the clothes that still carried the faint, lingering scent of cigar smoke and legal parchment, when the ornate, frosted glass door of the en suite bathroom suddenly clicked open.
A cloud of warm, fragrant steam billowed out into the cooler air of the bedroom, carrying the delicate scent of expensive jasmine and rosewater. And stepping out from the mist, already fully dressed for the night's grand celebration, was Mary-Beth.
Caleb froze, his hands stalling on his collar. The breath was completely stolen from his lungs.
She looked absolutely, terrifyingly stunning. She was wearing a breathtaking, floor length gown of deep, rich crimson velvet that caught the flickering firelight and seemed to glow from within. The cut of the dress was a masterpiece of Gilded Age fashion, elegantly hugging her waist before sweeping out into a graceful train.
Her beautiful hair was swept up into an intricate, sophisticated style, leaving a few soft curls to frame her face and highlight the delicate, glittering diamond earrings that Caleb had gifted her weeks ago.
She looked like a queen. Not the frightened girl reading penny dreadfuls by a muddy campfire, nor a woman on the run from the law, but the undisputed, radiant madam of a sprawling empire.
Mary-Beth caught him staring, completely paralyzed by her beauty, and a soft, deeply affectionate blush rose to her cheeks. She smoothed her hands down the velvet of her skirt, suddenly looking a bit shy under his intense, unwavering gaze.
"Is it... is it too much?" she asked softly, her dark eyes searching his face for approval. "Antonio said the men would be dressed in their best, so I thought..."
"Mary-Beth," Caleb breathed, finally finding his voice. He closed the distance between them in three long strides, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached out, his strong hands gently resting on her waist. "You look absolutely breathtaking. You look like the woman who owns the world."
Her shy smile blossomed into a radiant, confident beam. "I only want to look like the woman who stands beside you, Caleb."
He couldn't help himself. He leaned down, his heart swelling with a fierce, protective devotion that dwarfed any corporate ambition he harbored, and pressed a long, incredibly tender kiss to her forehead. She closed her eyes, leaning into his strength, drawing from the absolute security he provided.
When he pulled back, she looked up at him, her expression turning incredibly soft, yet anchored with the quiet strength that had kept him grounded through all the slaughter and the plotting. She reached up, gently adjusting the collar of his half-unbuttoned shirt.
"Are you ready for this?" Mary-Beth asked, her voice a quiet, intimate whisper amidst the crackling of the fire. "Tonight changes everything. There is no going back into the shadows after you step out onto that porch."
Caleb looked into her deep, beautiful eyes. He thought of the heavy velvet box currently resting inside his discarded coat, the box he had personally retrieved from Henri Rousseau at L'Étoile d'Or in the early, freezing hours of that very morning. He thought of the flawless Colombian emerald and the platinum band that represented his ultimate, irreversible commitment to the future.
A quiet, supremely confident smile touched his lips.
"I have to be ready, sweetheart," Caleb answered, his voice a low, vibrating hum of absolute certainty. "I have built the stage. Now, it is time to raise the curtain."
He turned away just long enough to change into the pristine suit prepared for him. The garments fit like a second skin, transforming the rugged gunslinger into a terrifyingly elegant corporate monarch. He slipped his customized, gold inlaid M-1911 into a concealed shoulder holster beneath the jacket, a habit of survival he would never truly discard, before returning to her side.
He offered her his arm. She looped her silk-gloved hand through it, resting her weight against him, and together, the two of them walked out of the master suite and began their descent down the grand, sweeping marble staircase of the mansion.
Even from inside the fortified walls of the estate, the sheer magnitude of the gathering outside was undeniable. A low, rolling thunder of hundreds of voices, the clinking of glass, and the distant, lively strains of a professional brass band seeped through the heavy stone architecture. It sounded less like a private banquet and more like a conquering army celebrating a historic siege.
Waiting for them at the base of the staircase, standing as rigid and immaculate as a marble statue, was Antonio. The head butler wore a flawless tailcoat, his silver-headed cane resting lightly in his grip. As Caleb and Mary-Beth reached the foyer, Antonio bowed deeply, profound respect radiating from his disciplined posture.
"Don McLaughlin. Madam," Antonio greeted them, his eyes gleaming with the quiet pride of a man who had successfully orchestrated a logistical miracle. "The invited members of the syndicate have already gathered in the back courtyard. The perimeters are entirely secured. The capos, the made men, and your personal associates are all present and awaiting your arrival."
"Excellent work, Antonio," Caleb praised him with a nod. "Lead the way."
The three of them walked down the wide, dimly lit corridor that led toward the rear of the massive estate. The heavy, rhythmic thud of Caleb's polished leather shoes and the soft rustle of Mary-Beth's velvet gown echoed off the silk lined walls. As they approached the towering, double glass doors that separated the quiet interior from the sprawling stone porch, the noise of the crowd swelled into a deafening, euphoric roar.
Antonio stepped forward, grasping the heavy brass handles. He looked back at Caleb, receiving a single, sharp nod of confirmation.
With a smooth, practiced motion, Antonio threw the massive double doors wide open. The crisp, biting winter air rushed in, carrying the mouth watering scent of whole roasted pigs, spiced tobacco, and spilled liquor. Caleb and Mary-Beth stepped out onto the elevated, wrap around marble porch, completely exposed to the sprawling back courtyard of the estate.
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Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 8/10
- Agility: 8/10
- Perception: 9/10
- Stamina: 8/10
- Charm: 8/10
- Luck: 9/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl MAX)
- Rifle (Lvl MAX)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl MAX)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl MAX)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl MAX)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Dead Eye (Lvl MAX)
- Bow (Lvl MAX)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl MAX)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl MAX)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl MAX)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 100x100x100)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl MAX)
- Leadership (Lvl MAX)
Money: 2,772 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 283,392 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 74 gold bars, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 Colm's Schofields, 1 land deed (Parcel), 1 Mauser, 1 Semi Auto Pistol, 1 Lancaster Repeater, 1 Old Wood Jewelry Box, 1 F.F Mausoleum small brass key, 1 Ruby, 1 Broken Pirate Sword, 1 Milton's Safety Deposit Key, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern, 3 Diamonds, & Important Documents & Deeds Of Cornwall
Bank: -