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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The gang used the new guns during their daily line of work, enforcing the Don's iron clad rule over the city's underworld. When Sean and Lenny were sent to the eastern docks to 'negotiate' a dispute with a stubborn foreman who had tried to skim from the family's shipping crates, they didn't bring baseball bats or old revolvers. They walked into the warehouse holding the sleek, blued steel Model 1 handguns.
When the foreman's hired thugs foolishly drew their old Cattleman revolvers, Sean simply smiled, racked the slide of his M1911, and fired three warning shots into the wooden beams above the foreman's head. The shots rang out in less than half a second, a cyclic rate of fire that was physically impossible for a single action revolver.
The thugs froze, staring at the empty brass casings hitting the floor before Sean could even lower his arm. The dispute was settled instantly, without a single drop of blood being spilled, simply because the sheer, overwhelming technological terror of the weapon completely broke the thugs' will to fight.
When Arthur and John had to break up a massive, illegal gambling ring operating outside of Caleb's licensed casino parameters, Arthur walked through the front doors holding the gold inlaid Auto 5 shotgun. He didn't say a word.
He just leveled the barrel and blew a massive, heavy oak gambling table completely in half with five rapid, concussive blasts of 12 gauge buckshot. The fact that he didn't have to pump the weapon or manually cycle a lever sent the illegal gamblers fleeing into the streets in absolute, unadulterated panic.
Because of these highly public, terrifyingly effective displays of absolute dominance, the rumors immediately spread to the entire city at a blinding speed.
It was a phenomenon unlike anything Saint Denis had ever witnessed. No one had ever seen the guns they used. The local law enforcement, the rival street thugs, and the dockworkers whispered frantically about the 'magic weapons' the McLaughlin syndicate was carrying.
"I saw it with my own eyes," a terrified dockworker swore to his friends in a dingy saloon. "The Irishman, MacGuire. He didn't even pull the hammer back! The gun just spat fire on its own! He emptied it in a heartbeat!"
"They got shotguns that shoot like Gatling guns," another whispered fearfully. "That man called Arthur tore a room apart in three seconds flat. You can't fight that. It ain't natural."
And so, it began to be talked about incessantly. The whispers didn't just stay in the slums and the saloons, they rapidly bled upwards into the high society parlors, the velvet lined private clubs, and the mayoral offices. It became the absolute obsession of the city's rich and elites, especially.
The wealthy tycoons of Saint Denis were men driven by greed and the desperate need to possess whatever gave them an advantage. When they heard that McLaughlin's private enforcers were wielding revolutionary, gold inlaid firearms that completely defied the current limits of engineering, their curiosity turned into a ravenous, desperate hunger.
They didn't want to fight Caleb, they wanted to buy what he was holding. They cornered Vincenzo at the legitimate taverns, subtly asking if the Don would be willing to part with these mysterious weapons for astronomical sums of cash. Vincenzo, following Caleb's strict marketing orders, simply smiled a dark, knowing smile and told them to wait for the New Year's Eve party.
The artificial scarcity and the organic, terrifying street marketing worked flawlessly.
Where the time for the highly anticipated New Year party finally, inevitably arrived.
It was December 31st, 1899. The final hours of the century.
The sprawling Garden District mansion had been completely transformed. Caleb had prepared everything with his max level Business and Leadership skills, orchestrating a display of wealth that would make the King of England jealous.
The sprawling front lawns were illuminated by hundreds of imported, glowing gas lamps that cast a warm, golden light across the pristine white gravel. Ice sculptures carved into the shapes of roaring lions and soaring eagles rested on long, velvet draped tables on the terraces.
A massive, forty piece professional orchestra, imported directly from Vienna, was currently tuning their instruments inside the grand ballroom, ready to play the absolute finest waltzes of the era.
But beneath the breathtaking, extravagant luxury, the mansion was an absolute, impenetrable fortress.
Caleb had Arthur and Silvio strictly managing the perimeter to make absolutely sure the safety of the event was tight. There were millions of dollars in prototype weaponry resting in the vaults, and the most powerful men in the state were about to walk through the front doors.
Arthur, dressed in a surprisingly sharp, tailored black tuxedo that barely contained his massive, heavily muscled frame, stood near the wrought iron gates. Beneath his expensive coat rested the heavy, reassuring weight of his gold inlaid M1911.
"Check the carriage manifests against Antonio's list!" Arthur barked to a line of sharply dressed mafia capos guarding the entrance. "If their name ain't stamped in gold ink, they don't get past the gate! I don't care if they claim to be the Pope himself. Nobody uninvited steps foot on this gravel tonight."
Silvio, looking like a towering, immaculately dressed mountain, was patrolling the stone walls, communicating in rapid Italian to the snipers positioned discreetly on the mansion's roof. The security was flawless. Not a single rat could sneak onto the property without Caleb's explicit permission.
When the time progressed to the deep, freezing evening, the incredibly exclusive guests began to arrive.
A seemingly endless procession of the absolute finest, most expensive luxury carriages lined up along the cobblestone avenues of the Garden District.
The doors were opened by Caleb's white gloved valets, and the absolute highest echelon of Southern society stepped out into the crisp winter air. There were men in silk top hats and bespoke tails, accompanied by women draped in heavy mink coats and glittering, priceless diamond necklaces.
Caleb welcomed them all, one by one, standing proudly on the grand marble terrace.
He was dressed to absolute perfection. Caleb wore a masterfully tailored, midnight blue tuxedo with crisp black satin lapels, a pristine white silk shirt, and a perfectly tied bowtie. He looked like the absolute epitome of Gilded Age royalty, handsome, terrifyingly powerful, and completely in control of the world around him.
Mary-Beth stood beside him, looking breathtakingly beautiful in a sweeping, dark emerald evening gown that perfectly accentuated her figure, acting as the flawless, elegant hostess of the empire.
As the guests walked up the marble steps, they practically tripped over themselves to shake the Don's hand. Bank managers, railroad tycoons, and wealthy plantation owners bowed their heads, their eyes darting nervously around the heavily armed, perfectly disciplined guards, absolutely intoxicated by the sheer power Caleb wielded.
And then came the politicians.
The heavy, gold trimmed carriage of the city's political elite pulled up to the terrace. Out stepped the incredibly corrupt, slightly portly Mayor Nicholas Lemieux, followed closely by the stern, heavily decorated Chief of Police, Lecler.
Both men, representing the absolute highest legal and political authority in the city, walked up the stairs and greeted him very, very respectfully. In fact, it was bordering on sheer subservience.
"Don McLaughlin! What a magnificent, truly spectacular evening!" Mayor Lemieux exclaimed, removing his silk top hat and reaching out with both hands to shake Caleb's hand enthusiastically. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. "The city council sends its absolute highest regards, sir. The zoning permits for your new riverbank facilities were, of course, expedited completely under the table."
"I appreciate your continued cooperation, Nicholas," Caleb smiled smoothly, his iron clad grip silently reminding the Mayor exactly who held the leash. "Your permanent table is waiting for you in the ballroom. Please, enjoy the vintage champagne."
Chief Lambert, a man who had once sworn to hang every outlaw in Lemoyne, simply removed his hat and bowed his head deeply to Caleb. "The streets are quiet tonight, Mr. McLaughlin. My officers are ensuring that absolutely no common rabble approaches the Garden District. The perimeter is secure."
"Good work, Chief Lambert. There is a heavy bonus waiting for your precinct in the morning," Caleb replied, buying the absolute loyalty of the police force with a single sentence.
After all of the two hundred highly exclusive guests had successfully arrived and been ushered into the breathtaking, sprawling warmth of the grand ballroom, the real business of the evening finally commenced.
The ballroom was a masterpiece of architectural wealth. Massive crystal chandeliers hung from the vaulted, frescoed ceilings, casting a brilliant light over the swirling crowds.
Waiters in crisp uniforms moved flawlessly through the room, carrying silver trays loaded with crystal flutes of imported French champagne and delicate spoonfuls of Beluga caviar. The orchestra played a sweeping, beautiful waltz, filling the air with elegant music.
But suddenly, the music slowly faded to a halt.
Caleb stepped up onto the elevated, velvet draped grand staircase that overlooked the entire ballroom. He didn't shout. He didn't need to. He simply picked up a crystal flute of champagne from a passing waiter and tapped it gently with a silver spoon.
Clink, clink, clink.
The sharp, clear sound cut through the murmuring crowd. Within five seconds, the entire room fell completely, deathly silent. Two hundred of the most powerful, wealthy, and arrogant men and women in the state turned their heads and looked up at Caleb, giving him their absolute, undivided attention.
Caleb looked out over the sea of silk, diamonds, and tailored suits. He possessed the room completely.
He opened the party with a small, incredibly charismatic speech.
"Ladies and gentlemen. Esteemed friends, honored guests, and vital partners," Caleb's rich, resonant baritone voice echoed flawlessly across the acoustics of the grand ballroom. "I want to personally welcome every single one of you to my home. Tonight, we do not merely celebrate the passing of a year. We stand on the precipice of a brand new century. The year 1900 is mere hours away. And with this new century comes a new era of unprecedented prosperity, industry, and absolute security for the great state of Lemoyne."
The crowd broke into a polite, highly appreciative round of applause, entirely captivated by his max level Persuasion and Leadership skills.
Caleb raised a hand, letting the silence fall again before he smoothly transitioned into the true purpose of the evening. He was about to set the hook.
"Many of you have noticed the massive, sprawling construction taking place on the western riverbanks of our beautiful city," Caleb continued, his eyes locking onto the wealthy tycoons standing in the front row. "I am incredibly proud to finally, officially introduce the newly opened Thorne-Marlin Firearms factory, which is currently operating under my direct, exclusive rule."
A murmur of intense excitement rippled through the crowd. They all knew about the factory, but to hear the Don formally acknowledge it sent a thrill of capitalistic anticipation through the room.
Caleb smiled, a dark, incredibly cunning expression crossing his handsome face as he addressed the massive, swirling rumors that had been consuming the city.
"Now, I know exactly what you all have been whispering about in your private clubs and your boardrooms," Caleb said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, highly exclusive tone. "I know that the weapons my private security men have been carrying on the streets recently have become the absolute talk of the town."
Mayor Lemieux practically leaned forward on his toes, his eyes wide with greed. Chief Lambert held his breath.
"You have heard the rumors because of their incredibly unique design, their devastating, unprecedented rate of fire, and the simple fact that absolutely no one has ever seen them in the public market before," Caleb stated, letting the artificial scarcity completely whip the crowd into a frenzy.
Caleb raised his glass of champagne, his blue eyes flashing with absolute, terrifying supremacy.
"The rumors are completely true," Caleb declared, his voice ringing with power. "They are the most advanced, flawlessly engineered firearms on the face of the earth. And later this evening, before the clock strikes midnight... I am going to bring the crates out. I am going to hand some of these beautiful, priceless new guns made from my factory directly to you. You will hold them. You will feel the future of warfare in your own hands. And for those of you with the capital to afford it... you will be given the exclusive, once in a lifetime opportunity to buy them."
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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: 284,392 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 Braithwaites Land Deed, 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: -