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(A/N: Don't forget to give those power stones to Skyrim everyone!)
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"By the power vested in me, and by the grace of God," Reverend Thomas smiled brilliantly, "I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride." Caleb didn't hesitate. He pulled Mary-Beth flush against his chest, dipping her slightly in a sweeping, cinematic motion, and kissed her deeply, passionately, pouring every ounce of his love into the embrace.
The entire hall instantly erupted.
The silence was shattered by a deafening, thunderous roar of cheers, whistling, and applause. Arthur Morgan let out a booming laugh, clapping his massive hands together. John and Sean whooped loudly, while the tycoons and politicians rose to their feet, offering a standing ovation to the pair king and queen of the South. The concert band immediately struck up a joyous, incredibly upbeat, and triumphant march.
When they finally broke the kiss, Mary-Beth was laughing, her face flushed and radiant. Caleb wrapped his arm securely around her waist, raising his free hand to acknowledge the cheering crowd as they turned to walk back up the aisle together, officially Mr. and Mrs. Thorne.
As they reached the grand foyer at the back of the hall, the atmosphere shifted into a state of sheer, unadulterated celebration. Before transitioning to the dining tables, Mary-Beth stopped at the base of the grand staircase for the traditional throwing of the bouquet.
"Alright, ladies! Gather round!" Karen shouted excitedly, clapping her hands.
Abigail, Tilly, Molly, Karen, and Sadie all crowded together at the bottom of the stairs, laughing and shoving each other playfully. Even a few of the younger, unmarried socialites from Saint Denis joined the fray, eager to catch the bride's luck.
Mary-Beth stood on the third step, turning her back to the group. She giggled, closed her eyes, and tossed the bouquet of white mountain roses high over her shoulder.
The flowers sailed through the air in a graceful arc. Sadie made a half-hearted grab for it, laughing as it sailed past her, and the bouquet landed squarely and perfectly into the outstretched hands of Tilly Jackson.
The hall erupted with fresh excitement and laughter as Tilly held the flowers up, a bright, beautiful blush coloring her cheeks.
"Looks like you're next, Tilly!" Abigail cheered, hugging the younger woman.
From the edge of the crowd, Pierre, the brilliant and usually highly composed corporate attorney, adjusted his wire rimmed spectacles. He stepped forward, a slightly nervous, incredibly charmed smile on his face.
"Well, Miss Jackson," Pierre said smoothly, offering her a slight, playful bow that perfectly matched the lighthearted atmosphere. "It seems the fates have spoken. May I have the honor of the first dance later this evening?"
Tilly laughed, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the handsome lawyer. "I suppose you may, Mr. Pierre. But try not to step on my toes."
The natural, charming interaction added a wonderful, playful touch to the celebration, perfectly bridging the gap between the rough and tumble Van der Linde gang and the polished corporate world of the Thorne Holding Company.
With the ceremony concluded, Caleb directed the guests back into the grand hallroom for the reception party. The space had been masterfully reorganized by Strauss's staff, the center aisle removed to make way for the massive dining tables.
It was time to unveil the buffet.
As the tycoons, politicians, and gang members took their seats, the massive silver chafing dishes were uncovered, sending billowing clouds of incredible, savory steam into the air.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Caleb announced from the head table, raising a crystal glass of champagne. "Tonight, we dispense with the rigid formalities of the city. Tonight, we feast. I invite you to serve yourselves from the stations before you. Eat as much as you desire, and celebrate the abundance of this mountain."
The guests were initially confused. The idea of serving themselves was entirely foreign to the ultra wealthy elite, who were accustomed to armies of waiters placing tiny portions before them. But as they approached the U shaped tables, their confusion instantly transformed into a big awe.
"My word," Mayor Lemieux gasped, staring at a towering mountain of butter poached lobster tails and a carving station where a chef was slicing thick, juicy cuts of prime rib. "I have never seen such a magnificent display in all my years in Paris!"
The buffet concept was an absolute, immediate triumph. The guests reacted with immense enthusiasm to the unusual style of serving. Instead of waiting politely for the next course, the hall was filled with lively, dynamic energy as people moved around, mingling, filling their plates with exotic cheeses, roasted venison, and delicate pastries.
The sheer variety and the staggering abundance of the food felt incredibly innovative and deeply impressive.
The tycoons whispered to each other, realizing just how much thought, logistical power, and raw wealth Caleb had put into both the hotel and the wedding alike. It was exactly as Caleb had predicted, the guests were entirely captivated by the luxury, unwittingly absorbing the greatest marketing campaign in the history of the state. Strauss stood near the kitchen doors, practically vibrating with pride as he watched the wealthy patrons absolutely revel in the all you can eat concept.
As the guests enjoyed the feast, the concert band transitioned into a lively, upbeat repertoire of waltzes and modern jazz. The music filled the hall, creating a festive, profoundly joyful atmosphere that echoed into the rafters.
During the reception, the clinking of a silver spoon against a crystal glass rang out.
Arthur stood up from his seat near the head table. The massive enforcer, looking incredibly sharp in his suit, cleared his throat. The room quieted down, the tycoons watching the famously dangerous right hand man with cautious respect.
"I ain't much of a public speaker," Arthur began, his deep voice carrying a rough, authentic warmth. He looked at Caleb, and then at Mary-Beth. "And to be honest, if you had told me a year ago that we would all be sitting in a palace on top of a mountain, wearing silk ties and eating lobster... I would have told you that you were out of your damn mind."
A wave of warm laughter rippled through the hall.
"But then, Caleb came along," Arthur continued, his expression turning serious, reflecting a deep, brotherly loyalty. "He built a future when all we saw was an ending. He is a formidable man. A dangerous man to his enemies. But looking at him today... he is just a man hopelessly in love."
Arthur raised his glass high. "To Caleb and Mary-Beth. You saved this family. May you have a hundred years of peace, and a thousand years of happiness. To the Thornes!"
"TO THE THORNES!" the entire hall roared in unison, raising their glasses high.
The toasts continued throughout the evening. Mayor Lemieux offered a polished, highly respectful speech about the incredible partnership between the city of Saint Denis and the Thorne Holding Company, solidifying Caleb's untouchable political status. Hosea gave a quiet, tear jerking toast about the enduring power of finding light in the darkest of places.
Through it all, the moments felt deeply heartfelt and genuinely celebratory. The kind words from the guests reinforced exactly how respected Caleb was, and how much this union meant to the people who had fought alongside him.
The entire scene was rich with raw emotion, warmth, and vibrant social energy. Yet, despite the presence of billionaires and mayors, despite the revolutionary business concepts and the staggering wealth on display, the true focus of the celebration never wavered.
Caleb sat at the head table, the undisputed king of his empire. But he wasn't looking at the tycoons, or the buffet, or the sprawling hotel. He was looking entirely at Mary-Beth. She caught his gaze, a beautiful, knowing smile touching her lips, her eyes reflecting the amber lantern light.
He leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her temple as the band struck up a slow, romantic waltz, the perfect, cinematic culmination of their journey.
Caleb pulled Mary-Beth flush against him, his hand resting warmly on the small of her back as they swayed to the sweeping strings and soft brass.
The tycoons, the politicians, and the hardened outlaws all watched in quiet, profound respect as the rich Don and his beautiful bride shared their first dance. The heavy weight of the world they had conquered completely dissolved, leaving only the two of them spinning beneath the warm, amber glow of the glass lanterns.
When the waltz finally drew to a graceful close, the room erupted into another round of enthusiastic applause. Caleb smiled, pressing one last, lingering kiss to Mary-Beth's hand before he turned to face the sprawling hall. He reached out, picking up his crystal glass of champagne from the head table. He tapped the edge of the glass with a silver spoon, the sharp, clear ringing instantly commanding the absolute attention of every single person in the room.
The music faded into silence. The tycoons lowered their cigars, and the politicians turned in their seats.
"My friends, my family, and our esteemed guests," Caleb began, his rich, charismatic baritone carrying effortlessly to the very back of the hallroom. "Before this magnificent evening begins to wind down, I want to offer my most sincere, profound gratitude to every single one of you. You have traveled across the state, up winding mountain passes and through the winter cold, to stand with Mary-Beth and myself on the most important day of our lives. Your presence here tonight is a gift that we will never forget."
A murmur of warm appreciation rippled through the seated crowd.
Caleb paused, a charming, slightly apologetic smile crossing his face. He looked toward a cluster of wealthy shipping merchants and minor state officials seated near the back.
"I must also offer a sincere apology," Caleb continued smoothly, his tone blending genuine humility with the undeniable swagger of a man whose success had simply outpaced his own massive infrastructure. "Despite the sheer scale of this estate, the response to our invitations was so overwhelmingly absolute that we simply ran out of suites. To those of you who were forced to secure accommodations in the boarding houses and cabins down in the town of Strawberry tonight, I ask for your forgiveness. It seems we underestimated just how many friends we truly have."
The crowd chuckled, completely disarmed by the graceful acknowledgment. It was a subtle, brilliant flex of power, an admission that his wedding was so highly desired that even millionaires had to sleep in a logging town just to attend the reception.
"But do not let that discourage you," Caleb declared, raising his glass higher, his blue eyes flashing with visionary fire. "Because this estate is not just a monument to our union. It is a monument to the future of the South. I invite every single one of you to return. Bring your families, bring your colleagues, and experience the absolute pinnacle of luxury, comfort, and hospitality for yourselves, whenever you desire."
Caleb looked around the room, taking in the awe-struck faces of the elite.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Caleb announced, his voice ringing with absolute, triumphant authority. "I am very proud to declare that the Grand Thorne Hotel is now officially open for business."
The response was instantaneous. The hall exploded into a massive, deafening cheer. The tycoons stamped their feet, the politicians raised their glasses, and Arthur Morgan let out a booming whistle of approval. They drank to the Thornes, to the hotel, and to the golden era that Caleb had just ushered in.
As the formal reception finally began to wind down and the hour grew late, the guests did not immediately scatter to their rooms or their carriages. The social energy was far too high, the liquor was far too good, and the men of stature were eager to mingle with the man of the hour.
Sensing the opportunity to lock in his absolute dominance over the sporting and leisure markets, Caleb quietly gathered Mayor Lemieux, a handful of prominent railroad barons, and several wealthy judges.
"Gentlemen," Caleb murmured, gesturing toward a set of heavy, reinforced mahogany doors tucked away in the eastern wing of the hotel. "If you would indulge me for a moment, I have something entirely exclusive I would like to show you."
Intrigued, the powerful men followed Caleb away from the music and the dancing.
He led them into the specialized Thorne-Marlin Firearm's Co. display room. The atmosphere in the room was intensely masculine and undeniably rich, smelling of polished walnut, expensive cigars, and premium gun oil. The walls were lined with velvet backed display cases, proudly showcasing the weapons that had already revolutionized the statez the Vanguard boltcaction rifles, the terrifying Sweeper submachine guns, and the sleek M-1911 pistols.
"We already own your Vanguard, Don Thorne," a wealthy steel magnate chuckled, taking a puff of his cigar. "I bought three for my private security detail in Saint Denis. Brilliant piece of engineering. Are you trying to sell us more?"
"I am not trying to sell you anything you have already seen," Caleb smiled, walking toward the center of the room.
Resting on a long oak table, draped under a heavy piece of dark velvet, was something new. During the intense weeks leading up to the wedding, Caleb had tapped into the deepest reserves of his past life memories and his maximum level firearms knowledge. He hadn't just been planning floral arrangements, he had been drafting the schematics for a masterpiece of practical, lethal engineering.
Caleb grabbed the edge of the velvet and pulled it away in one smooth motion.
The men gathered around the table stepped forward, their eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated appreciation.
Resting on the table was a rifle unlike anything currently cluttering the gunsmith racks of America. It was sleek, lightweight, and aggressively modern.
"Gentlemen," Caleb introduced the weapon, his voice dropping into the quiet, passionate cadence of a master inventor. "I present to you the Thorne-Marlin 'Apex' Scout. It is not a military trench rifle, and it is not a heavy, cumbersome buffalo gun. It is an all purpose hunting rifle, designed specifically for the modern sportsman."
Mayor Lemieux leaned over, adjusting his spectacles to get a better look at the dark, flawlessly polished American walnut stock and the blued steel of the barrel.
"What makes it so different, Don Caleb?" the Mayor asked, entirely captivated.
Caleb picked the rifle up, demonstrating its incredibly light, perfectly balanced weight.
"Versatility," Caleb explained, working the buttery-smooth bolt action with a satisfying, metallic clack. "It features a five round internal box magazine, allowing for rapid follow up shots without the bulky, exposed magazines of our military models. But the true genius lies in the ballistics and the optics."
Caleb pointed to the chamber. "It is chambered in a brand new, proprietary medium cartridge, the 30-40 Thorne. It is heavily based on the ballistic profiles of the finest European Mauser rounds. It fires a high velocity, flat trajectory bullet that carries enough kinetic energy to drop a massive grizzly bear dead in its tracks at two hundred yards, yet it is precise and clean enough to hunt small game without completely destroying the pelt."
The hunting enthusiasts in the room were practically salivating. To have a single, lightweight rifle that could hunt absolutely everything in the North American wilderness was the holy grail of sporting arms.
"Furthermore," Caleb added, pointing to the sights. "It comes standard with highly visible, adjustable iron sights. But for those who demand absolute precision, the receiver is pre machined to accept a forward mounted telescopic sight. It allows the hunter to keep both eyes open, maintaining total situational awareness of the wilderness while putting a crosshair directly on the target."
The reveal was an absolute sensation. The men recognized immediately that this was not just a rifle; it was a status symbol, a leap forward in technology that rendered their expensive, custom engraved rolling block rifles entirely obsolete.
"I will take two," a railroad baron demanded instantly, reaching for his checkbook. "Name your price, Don Thorne."
Caleb smiled, gently setting the Apex Scout back onto the velvet.
"I am afraid they are not for sale, gentlemen," Caleb revealed, relishing the collective groan of profound disappointment that echoed through the room. "The Apex is currently a highly exclusive, limited production prototype."
Before they could protest, Caleb expertly set the hook.
"However," Caleb continued, his eyes gleaming with corporate brilliance. "I have manufactured exactly twenty of these rifles specifically for the Grand Thorne Hotel. They are available exclusively to rent for our premium, guided hunting excursions here in the Strawberry valley."
The tycoons stared at him, realizing they had been masterfully outplayed. If they wanted to shoot the finest hunting rifle on the planet, they had to stay at his hotel, eat his food, and pay for his guides.
"Well played, Caleb. Incredibly well played," Mayor Lemieux laughed, shaking his head in admiration.
The disappointment vanished, instantly replaced by a frantic, competitive eagerness. The wealthy men crowded around the small mahogany desk in the corner of the room, eagerly demanding to register their names in the hotel's hunting ledgers so they could secure an excursion with Charles and try the Apex rifle for themselves the very next morning. The marketing trap had snapped shut flawlessly.
Leaving the tycoons to argue over the hunting schedules, Caleb quietly slipped out of the display room. The great public event, with all its grand speeches, corporate maneuvering, and endless handshakes, was finally over. He had given the world its spectacle. Now, he just wanted his wife.
He made his way up the grand, sweeping staircase, moving silently down the plush, carpeted hallway until he reached the heavy oak doors of the Presidential suite. He turned the brass key and stepped inside.
The atmosphere in the room was a breathtaking contrast to the loud, vibrant energy of the reception hall. It was quiet, soft, and profoundly private. A fire was burning low and steady in the massive stone hearth, casting a warm, flickering amber glow across the dark mahogany walls and the thick Persian rugs.
Mary-Beth was standing near the edge of the massive four poster bed. The heavy, intricate ivory silk wedding gown and the delicate French lace had already been carefully removed and draped over a velvet dressmaker's dummy in the corner. She had drawn a hot bath while he was downstairs, and her dark, damp hair fell in soft, loose waves over her shoulders.
She was dressed in a simple, incredibly delicate white silk nightgown that clung softly to her curves, the fabric catching the warm firelight.
When she heard the door click shut, she turned, a soft, incredibly beautiful smile spreading across her face.
Caleb felt the breath leave his lungs all over again. He took off his suit jacket, tossing it carelessly over a chair, and unbuttoned his waistcoat. He crossed the room, the heavy exhaustion of the day completely vanishing, replaced by a deep, overwhelming sense of peace.
He stopped just inches from her, reaching out to gently brush a damp strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles grazed her warm cheek, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a fraction of a second. "You survived the tycoons I see," Mary-Beth whispered playfully, her hands coming up to rest flat against the crisp white cotton of his dress shirt.
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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: -