If you want to read 20 Chapters ahead, be sure to check out my P-Tang12!!!
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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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The four shots roared out of the Navy Revolver in such rapid succession that they sounded almost like a single, elongated explosion of thunder. Fire and grey smoke erupted from the barrel. Caleb executed all of the outlaws except for the leader in the span of a single heartbeat.
The effect was utterly devastating. The scrawny man's head snapped back, a mist of crimson spraying into the air before he crumpled to the moss like a puppet with cut strings. The man hit in the throat gurgled, dropping his rifle and falling to his knees, clutching his neck as blood poured through his fingers. The other two were dead before they even hit the ground, their lifeless bodies hitting the dirt with heavy, simultaneous thuds.
The silence that followed the deafening gunshots was profound, broken only by the ringing in the air and the wet, terrible sounds of bodies settling into the grass.
The leader, who had been laughing a fraction of a second ago, stood completely frozen. His face was splattered with the warm blood of the man who had been standing next to him. His eyes were wide, bulging with a mixture of absolute terror and complete incomprehension. He looked at his four dead friends, then at the "rich boy," who hadn't even broken a sweat, his revolver still smoking.
The leader was shocked, of course. His brain finally caught up with the reality that he had just taunted a god of death. Panic overriding his frozen muscles, the leader let out a terrified scream and frantically clawed at his holster, wanting to shoot, wanting to do anything to defend himself.
He managed to wrap his hand around the grip of his cattleman revolver and began to draw it up.
Caleb didn't even need Dead Eye for this. He simply aimed down the iron sights and squeezed the trigger a fifth time.
BANG.
He shot him in the hand, precisely and brutally. The heavy .36 caliber lead ball shattered the leader's knuckles, tearing through flesh and bone, effectively destroying his right hand.
The outlaw let out an agonizing, ear piercing shriek, caused by the immense pain. He immediately dropped his revolver into the dirt, clutching his ruined, bleeding appendage against his chest, dropping to his knees on the moss. He blubbered, crying like a child, the arrogant swagger completely beaten out of him.
"Oh God! My hand! You shot my hand!" he wailed, rocking back and forth.
Caleb slowly lowered his revolver, thumbing the hammer back into the resting position. He turned his head slightly. "You okay, Mary-Beth?"
Mary-Beth stepped out from behind him. She was pale, her eyes wide as she took in the carnage, the four dead bodies bleeding out onto the beautiful clearing. But as she looked at the blubbering leader kneeling in the dirt, the man who had just threatened to violate her, her fear was rapidly replaced by a surge of furious adrenaline.
She remembered the disgusting things he had said, the filthy way his eyes had looked at her. She wasn't just a damsel, she was a woman who rode with the Van der Linde gang.
She marched purposefully past Caleb, her skirts swishing angrily around her ankles. She walked right up to the kneeling, sobbing outlaw leader.
"You filthy, disgusting animal," Mary-Beth hissed.
And then, with all the strength she could muster in her sturdy leather riding boots, Mary-Beth kicked him squarely and violently in the nuts.
The impact was solid. The outlaw leader's cries of pain regarding his hand were instantly cut off. His eyes practically bulged out of his skull. He let out a high pitched, strangled wheeze, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.
He collapsed entirely, curling into a tight, trembling fetal position in the dirt, dry heaving violently, incapable of making another sound, let alone a threat.
Mary-Beth stepped back, breathing heavily, adjusting her blouse. She looked at Caleb, a fiery spark in her eyes. "He ruined our date," she stated, perfectly justifying the assault.
Caleb looked from the writhing outlaw to his beautiful, formidable partner, and he couldn't help but let out a rich, genuine laugh. The tension broke entirely.
"Remind me never to make you angry, Miss Gaskill," Caleb chuckled, walking over to Morgan. He pulled a length of sturdy hemp rope from his saddlebags.
"He deserved worse," Mary-Beth muttered, though a small, satisfied smile touched the corner of her lips.
Caleb walked back over to the groaning outlaw. He holstered his revolver and roughly grabbed the man by the collar of his filthy duster, hauling him up to his knees.
The man whimpered, offering absolutely no resistance as Caleb expertly bound his arms behind his back, wrapping the rope tight enough to ensure he wouldn't try anything stupid, taking care to wrap it painfully over the shattered hand.
"Get up," Caleb ordered, hauling the man to his feet with a violent jerk.
And so, both of them brought this outlaw back to the town. Caleb led the way, holding the end of the rope like a leash, dragging the stumbling, groaning leader down the winding dirt path, while Mary-Beth walked alongside Morgan, leading the horse.
The romantic ambiance of the afternoon had been thoroughly shattered by the violence, but Caleb felt a protective pride in the woman walking beside him.
The walk down the steep hill took about fifteen minutes. As they broke through the tree line and approached the outskirts of Strawberry, it was clear that the sudden eruption of gunfire had not gone unnoticed.
The sound of five rapid gunshots echoing off the canyon walls had, of course, alerted the law of the town. As Caleb dragged his prisoner across the wooden bridge leading onto the main street, the town was in an uproar. Shopkeepers had shuttered their windows, and citizens were peeking nervously from behind barrels and alleyways.
Standing in the center of the muddy street, clutching a double barreled shotgun, was the town Sheriff. He was a thick set man with a walrus mustache, looking incredibly tense, flanked by two deputies with their rifles drawn.
When the Sheriff saw Caleb, a man dressed like a wealthy easterner, dragging a bleeding, bound outlaw behind him, he lowered his shotgun slightly in sheer confusion.
"Hold it right there, mister!" the Sheriff barked, finding his voice. "What in the hell is the meaning of this? We heard a war breaking out up on the ridge!"
Caleb didn't stop until he was standing five feet from the Sheriff. With a hard shove, he threw the outlaw leader forward. The man tripped over his own boots and crashed face first into the dirt at the Sheriff's feet, groaning in agony.
Caleb gave the man to the Sheriff with a look of utter disgust. He stood tall, brushing a speck of dust from his vest, completely projecting the aura of a furious, deeply offended aristocrat.
"The meaning of this, Sheriff," Caleb said, his voice carrying clearly down the silent street, "is that your town's perimeter is infested with rabid animals. My associate and I were enjoying a peaceful afternoon picnic on the ridge, only to be accosted by five armed thugs intending to rob and assault us."
The Sheriff looked down at the bleeding man, recognizing the filthy coat. "That's... that's O'Driscoll trash, or what's left of 'em. You took on five of 'em? Where are the other four?"
"The other four," Caleb stated coldly, "are currently providing fertilizer for a very nice patch of moss up on the hill. I suggest you send the undertaker with a wagon. I brought this one back alive to make a point."
The Sheriff's eyes widened. This well dressed man had just slaughtered four armed outlaws and dragged the survivor down the mountain like a misbehaving dog. The deputies exchanged nervous glances.
"Now listen here, mister," the Sheriff bristled, trying to regain his authority. "You can't just go around shooting people in my jurisdiction, even if they are outlaws. We have laws here—"
"Do not lecture me about laws when you clearly cannot enforce them," Caleb interrupted, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. He tapped his foor, but he make his posture like he was holding a cane, against the boardwalk.
"I am Caleb Thorne," Caleb announced loudly, ensuring the listening townspeople heard the name. "I am the sole proprietor and chief investor of the Majestic Hotel and Spa currently under construction on your northern hill. I am pouring thousands of dollars into this local economy, providing jobs for half your town, with the intention of turning Strawberry into a beacon of civilized tourism."
He stepped closer to the Sheriff, towering over the man. "And as an investor to this town, I am very disappointed in the security of this town. If my wealthy guests from Saint Denis cannot take a simple afternoon stroll without being accosted by filthy, unwashed murderers, then my hotel will fail. And if my hotel fails, Sheriff, the funding dries up. And this town goes back to being a mud pit for loggers."
The Sheriff paled, the reality of Caleb's identity and economic leverage hitting him hard. The hotel was the biggest thing to ever happen to Strawberry. If Caleb Thorne pulled out, the Mayor would have the Sheriff's badge before sundown.
"Now, Mr. Thorne, I... I apologize," the Sheriff stammered, his aggressive posture collapsing entirely. "We try to keep the trails clear, but it's hard country up here. We'll send a posse up to clear the bodies and double the patrols. Deputy, get this piece of trash into a cell and fetch the doc for his hand."
The deputies quickly hauled the whimpering outlaw to his feet and dragged him toward the jailhouse.
And right at this time, Mayor Nicholas Timmins arrived to see what's going on. The Mayor, a pompous, rotund man wearing a fine suit that was slightly too tight for him and a perfectly manicured mustache, came bustling down the boardwalk, out of breath.
"What is all this commotion?!" Mayor Timmins demanded, fanning himself with his bowler hat. "Sheriff, I demand to know why there was gunfire disturbing the peace of our fair—"
The Mayor stopped dead in his tracks as he laid eyes on Caleb. His blustering demeanor instantly transformed into a mask of obsequious panic. He recognized the man who had bought the lodge and injected a fortune into the local bank.
"Mr. Thorne!" Mayor Timmins gasped, hurrying down into the street, completely ignoring the mud on his expensive shoes. "My word, Mr. Thorne! I heard the shots! Are you alright? Is the young lady unharmed?"
"We are physically unharmed, Mayor Timmins," Caleb said, his tone icy and unforgiving. "But we are deeply traumatized by the utter lack of safety in your 'fair' town. We were just assaulted by five armed men less than a mile from your main street."
"Assaulted?! By the heavens!" the Mayor cried, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his sweating forehead. He turned a furious, bulging gaze upon the Sheriff. "Sheriff! This is an outrage! How could you allow the esteemed Mr. Thorne to be threatened in our vicinity? This town is supposed to be a bastion of culture and safety!"
"I was just tellin' him, Mayor," the Sheriff defended himself weakly, "we're gonna double the patrols—"
"You will triple them!" the Mayor shrieked, spittle flying from his lips. He turned back to Caleb, practically bowing. "Mr. Thorne, please, accept my most profound, groveling apologies on behalf of the town of Strawberry. This is a horrific aberration. I assure you, it will never happen again."
Caleb looked at the Mayor, letting the silence stretch, watching the politician squirm under his cold gaze. He was establishing absolute dominance over the town's leadership, ensuring that the law here would work for him, not against him.
"I accept your apology, Mayor," Caleb finally said, his tone softening just a fraction, playing the gracious but stern benefactor perfectly. "But apologies do not stop bullets. If I am to continue pouring my fortune into the Strawberry Lodge, I need guarantees. If the local law cannot handle the criminal element in the surrounding woods, I will be forced to bring in my own private security forces from Saint Denis to police the area."
The threat was clear. Caleb was threatening to bring armed mob enforcers into the town, effectively establishing a private army that would completely usurp the Mayor's authority.
"That... that will absolutely not be necessary, Mr. Thorne!" Mayor Timmins panicked, the color draining from his face. "I swear to you, we will clean up the ridges. We will hire more deputies. I will personally oversee the security of the hotel grounds. Just please, do not lose faith in our beautiful town!"
"See that you do, Mayor," Caleb said smoothly, extending a hand. "I am building a paradise here. I will not let it be ruined by vermin."
The Mayor shook Caleb's hand enthusiastically with both of his own, practically weeping with relief that the funding wasn't being pulled. "Of course, Mr. Thorne! Thank you, thank you!"
Caleb turned back to Mary-Beth, offering her his arm. She took it, a small, incredibly amused smile playing on her lips as she watched Caleb expertly manipulate the most powerful men in town with nothing but words and sheer presence.
"Come, my dear," Caleb said loudly, ensuring the Mayor and the Sheriff heard him. "I believe Herr Strauss has some tea waiting for us back at the hotel. We need to wash the stench of the woods off us."
As they walked back up the hill toward the massive construction site, leaving the flustered Mayor and the cowed Sheriff to deal with the mess, Mary-Beth leaned her head against Caleb's shoulder.
"You're a very dangerous man, Caleb Thorne," she whispered, a hint of genuine awe in her voice. "You didn't just beat those outlaws. You just bought the police force."
"I told you, Mary-Beth," Caleb smiled, his eyes glinting as he looked up at the skeletal frame of his future empire. "I'm building a shield. And today, we just ensured that the law will be the ones holding it up for us."
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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 2)
- Sneaking (Lvl MAX)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl MAX)
- Poker (Lvl MAX)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl MAX)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 2)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 4)
- Bow (Lvl 3)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 4)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 3)
- Crafting (Lvl MAX)
- Persuasion (Lvl MAX)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl MAX)
- Teaching (Lvl 3)
- Trilingual Language Proficiency - G, I, & C (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 50x50x50)
- Acting (Lvl MAX)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
- Drugs Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Business (Lvl 2)
- Leadership (Lvl 2)
Money: 3,322 dollars and 60 cents
Inventory: 250,992 dollars and 61 cents, 11 gold nuggets, 70 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, 1 Senator Pendleton Sealed Envelope, Proof Of Marlin-Thorne Firearms Co., 10 Dynamites, 1 LeMat, 1 M1899, 1 Carcano, & 1 Ownership deed of Doyle's Tavern
Bank: -