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(A/N: Also everyone I have a new novel a Dragon Age Inquisition novel named "From Couch To The Inquisitor", be sure to check it out and give some power stone)
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"Revenge is a fire, Eagle Flies," Caleb countered softly, his eyes boring into the young man's soul. "And fire does not care who it burns. It is warm for a moment, and then it leaves nothing but ash. If you ride down this mountain with your rifles, you will kill twenty soldiers. Maybe thirty. And then the United States Army will send two thousand men with Gatling guns and artillery. They will slaughter you. They will slaughter your braves. And then they will march up this mountain and butcher the women and children you left behind. Is that your honor? To die a glorious death while your people are erased from the earth?"
Eagle Flies flinched, the brutal picture of the reality made from Caleb's words hitting him like a physical blow.
"There is no honor in a suicide charge when the survival of your bloodline is at stake," Caleb continued relentlessly, refusing to let the young man look away. "You think I am asking you to be a tame dog? You think managing the largest livestock in New Hanover or possibly around the states of New Hanover is the work of slaves? It is the work of honest men and women."
Caleb reached out, pointing a single finger at the ground between them.
"I am not asking you to trade your weapons and way of life for pitchforks," Caleb declared, his voice ringing with persuading but uncompromising authority. "I am asking you to bring your weapons and way of life with you. I am buying thousands of acres of land, and that land must be protected from rustlers, outlaws, and rival syndicates. I do not want you to be a farmhand, Eagle Flies. I want you to be the Head of Security for the Heartlands Division of the Thorne Holding Company. I want you to take your young braves, put them on the finest horses money can buy, arm them with the most advanced repeating rifles my foundries can produce, and I want you to patrol my borders. I want you to be the wolves that guard the flock."
Eagle Flies stared at Caleb, his breath catching in his throat.
The proposition completely shattered his eyes that are blocked with hatred. Caleb wasn't trying to strip him of his warrior identity, he was offering to weaponize it, to legitimize it, and to fund it. He was offering Eagle Flies a way to protect his people, to ride with a rifle in his hands, and to wield genuine, terrifying power, all under the impenetrable legal shield of a corporate monopoly.
"You... you would arm us?" Eagle Flies asked, his voice losing its venom, replaced by a stunned, profound disbelief. "The government would never allow Indians to ride as an armed security force."
"The government will not know, because you will not be Indians on a reservation. You will be fully contracted, legally bonded corporate enforcers working for my syndicate," Caleb smiled a cold, calculating smile. "If a federal marshal tries to disarm you on my land, my lawyers will bury him before noon."
Caleb let the silence settle again, watching the fiery, self destructive rage in Eagle Flies slowly transform into a calculating, focused ambition.
"Do not die for your pride on a frozen rock, Eagle Flies," Caleb finalized softly. "Come south. Eat my beef. Guard my land. Let your numbers multiply. Let your children grow strong. Surviving and thriving in the face of the men who tried to destroy you... that is how you win this kind of war."
Eagle Flies looked at his father. Rains Fall nodded slowly, his eyes shining with unshed tears, silently urging his son to take the lifeline.
Eagle Flies turned back to Caleb. The young warrior took a slow, deep breath, the tension finally leaving his shoulders. He reached out, mirroring his father's gesture from outside the tent, and firmly grasped Caleb's forearm in a warrior's grip.
"We will guard your borders, Caleb Thorne," Eagle Flies vowed, his voice thick with a newly found, fiercely loyal purpose. "No man will touch your herds while the Wapiti ride the Heartlands."
The pact was sealed. The civil war within the tribe was averted. The Wapiti were united, and they were going home.
The rest of the afternoon and the long, freezing night were a blur of organized, frantic activity. The meal had restored a desperate, kinetic energy to the camp.
Caleb did not retreat to the warmth of his carriage while the tribe worked. He stepped out of the central tent, shrugging his heavy coat back on, and joined the labor. He utilized his high stamina stats and his max level Crafting understanding to coordinate the dismantling of the camp.
He showed the young braves how to efficiently fold and stack the heavy hide tipis so they would fit securely into the undercarriages of the Thorne wagons. He worked side by side with Arthur and Javier, hauling heavy wooden poles and loading the remaining meager possessions of the tribe into the transport vehicles.
Seeing the rich tycoon industrialist hauling canvas in the freezing mud alongside them broke the final barrier of suspicion the tribe held. They realized Caleb was not a man who commanded from a distant position of power, he was a man who pulled the rope alongside you.
When the sun finally dipped below the peaks, casting the camp in the absolute, pitch black darkness of the Ambarino night, the fires were stoked higher with the surplus coal and dry wood Caleb's capos had brought in the carriages.
The tribe rested for the final time on their ancestral reservation.
Caleb stood near the edge of the camp, a cup of hot coffee in his hands, watching the flames dance against the snow. Arthur walked up beside him, lighting a cigarette, the flare of the match illuminating the deep, exhausted lines on the older outlaw's face.
"You pulled off a miracle today, Caleb," Arthur murmured, exhaling a long plume of blue smoke into the freezing air. "I ain't ever seen a man talk an entire tribe out of a suicide charge. You gave that boy, Eagle Flies, a reason to live."
"I gave him a job, Arthur," Caleb replied quietly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Men like Eagle Flies... men like us... we don't know how to exist without a war to fight. If you take the war away, we burn ourselves down. I just gave him a war he can actually win."
Arthur chuckled softly, a low, gravelly sound. "Ain't that the truth. From outlaws robbing trains to corporate enforcers saving Indians. The world is spinning too fast for me to keep up, Caleb."
"You are keeping up just fine, old friend," Caleb smiled, clapping a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Get some rest. Tomorrow, we move."
The dawn broke over the Grizzlies with a piercing, blinding clarity. The sky was a brilliant, unclouded blue, reflecting off the pristine, untouched snowbanks of the mountain peaks.
The Wapiti camp was entirely struck down. Where dozens of tipis had stood the day before, only the scarred, blackened earth of the fire pits remained.
The logistics of the exodus were executed with absolute precision. Caleb coordinated directly with Rains Fall and Eagle Flies. The elderly, the sick, the women, and the youngest children were loaded into the three massive, enclosed, and heavily reinforced carriages Caleb had brought from Strawberry. Heavy wool blankets were distributed, and the capos took the driver's benches, ensuring the most vulnerable members of the tribe were shielded from the biting wind of the descent.
The men of the tribe, the young braves, and the older hunters, numbering nearly eighty in total, mounted their own horses. They were thin, hardy mustangs, accustomed to the brutal terrain, but they looked entirely rejuvenated by the bags of high grade oats the capos had distributed that morning.
Eagle Flies rode at the head of the tribal cavalry, sitting tall in his saddle, his repeating rifle resting across his lap, looking every bit the fierce commander of the new Heartlands security force.
Before the massive convoy began its descent, Rains Fall raised his hand, calling for silence.
The wind seemed to die down, honoring the Chief's command.
Rains Fall rode his paint horse to the center of the scarred clearing. He looked up at the towering, snow capped peaks that had been their prison, and their sanctuary, for so long. He did not speak in English. He began to chant, a low, mournful, deeply resonant song in his native tongue.
It was a song of farewell, a song of sorrow for the dead buried in the frozen earth, and a prayer to the spirits of the mountain, asking for safe passage and forgiveness for leaving the high country.
The entire tribe fell silent, bowing their heads.
Caleb, Arthur, Javier, and Charles sat on their horses on the perimeter, removing their hats, holding them over their chests in deep respect. The sheer spiritual weight of the moment pressed down on the clearing, a heavy, beautiful acknowledgment of a culture shifting its entire life in order to survive.
When the chant ended, Rains Fall took a handful of tobacco from a pouch at his belt and scattered it into the snow.
He turned his horse, facing south. He looked at Caleb, and offered a single, definitive nod.
"Lead the way, Caleb Thorne," Rains Fall commanded softly.
"Move out," Caleb ordered.
The massive convoy began its slow, treacherous descent down the mountain.
The journey took the entire day. Navigating three heavy carriages and nearly a hundred horses down the winding, ice choked switchbacks of the Grizzlies required absolute focus. Javier rode point, utilizing his unparalleled tracking skills to identify the safest, most stable paths through the deep snowdrifts, while Eagle Flies and his braves flanked the carriages, their innate horsemanship keeping the convoy tightly packed and moving efficiently.
As they dropped in elevation, the biting, freezing wind slowly gave way to the crisp, clear chill of the lower valleys. The snow thinned, replaced by the towering, green pines of West Elizabeth. The mood of the tribe began to visibly lift. The children in the carriages peered out the windows, pointing at the deer moving through the trees, while the braves sat a little looser in their saddles, the oppressive shadow of the reservation finally falling away behind them.
By the time the convoy rolled out of the tree line and approached Riggs Station, the sun was beginning to set, casting the wooden platform and the gleaming steel tracks in a warm, golden light.
The arrival of the Wapiti tribe at a public train station was an event that instantly stopped all local activity.
The station master, a handful of wealthy tourists waiting for the eastbound express, and a dozen local laborers froze in their tracks. Their eyes widened in absolute shock and deeply ingrained fear as nearly a hundred Native American warriors, armed with rifles, rode out of the forest.
Murmurs of panic began to ripple through the civilians. A local rancher reached nervously for the revolver at his hip.
"Hold the perimeter," Caleb commanded instantly, his voice cracking like a whip.
Vincenzo, Silvio, and the fifteen capos immediately fanned out, forming a hard wall of tailored suits and drawn repeating shotguns between the civilians and the tribe.
"Nobody moves! Nobody speaks!" Vincenzo roared, his dark eyes scanning the terrified locals, his shotgun leveled at the chest of the rancher who had touched his gun. "The Thorne Holding Company has secured this station! You will mind your own business, or you will answer to us!"
The sheer, terrifying reputation of the Thorne syndicate, combined with the lethal readiness of the capos, instantly quelled any civilian panic. The locals backed away slowly, their hands raised, too intimidated by the mafia enforcers to utter a single word of protest about the arriving tribe.
Waiting on the primary track, hissing with immense, pressurized power, was the Leviathan.
Caleb had not just brought a standard locomotive, he had requisitioned a massive, multi car industrial train. Behind the luxurious parlor car were four pristine, heated passenger cars, originally designed for wealthy cross country travelers, and five massive, reinforced livestock freight cars, outfitted with fresh hay and water troughs.
"Load the people into the passenger cars," Caleb directed Rains Fall, pointing to the gleaming train. "Load the horses into the rear freight cars. My men will assist you with the saddles and the cargo."
The tribe moved with practiced efficiency. The elders, the women, and the children were guided out of the carriages and onto the train. As they stepped into the plush, velvet lined passenger cars, feeling the immediate, radiant heat of the brass radiators, expressions of sheer awe and profound relief washed over their faces. They had traded a freezing tent in the mud for the absolute pinnacle of modern, industrialized luxury.
Eagle Flies and his braves worked alongside the capos, loading their hardy mustangs into the spacious freight cars, securing them safely for the long journey east to the Heartlands. The young warriors ran their hands over the heavy steel walls of the train cars, murmuring to each other in their native tongue, recognizing the sheer, unstoppable power of the machine they were boarding.
As the loading process neared completion, Caleb stood on the wooden platform, watching the massive logistical operation unfold flawlessly.
Charles walked up beside him, carrying his heavy saddlebags. The scout looked at the train, then looked at Caleb, a quiet, profound awe in his expression.
"You did it, Caleb," Charles breathed, shaking his head. "I didn't think it was actually possible. You moved a mountain today."
"I just provided the train, Charles. They moved themselves," Caleb replied modestly. He turned to face his friend, his expression turning serious. "Which brings me to my next point. I need you to get on this train."
Charles blinked, surprised. "Me? But the Grand Hotel in Strawberry... the hunting quotas... I need to return to the town to manage the operations. The eastern tourists are arriving in droves next week."
"The hotel is a well oiled machine, Charles," Caleb countered firmly, placing a hand on the scout's shoulder. "Your manager is highly competent, and your hunting crew knows exactly how to supply the kitchens. Strawberry can survive without you for a few months. The Wapiti cannot."
Charles looked toward the passenger cars, where Rains Fall was currently helping an elderly woman up the steel steps.
"They are stepping into an alien world, Charles," Caleb explained, his tactical mind seeing the long term challenges of the assimilation. "They are moving to the Heartlands to manage a corporate monopoly. Eagle Flies is going to be running a private security force. They need a bridge. They need a man who understands the old ways, but who also knows how to navigate our kind of world. They need you to help them transition into this new life without losing their souls in the process."
Charles stared at the train, the profound weight of Caleb's words settling over him. He had spent his entire life wandering, caught between two worlds, never fully belonging to either. Now, Caleb was offering him a chance to be the anchor for his own people, to guide them into a future where they were not just surviving, but thriving.
"You're right," Charles nodded slowly, a deep, resonant conviction filling his chest. He tightened his grip on his saddlebags. "The hotel can wait. I'm going with them to the Heartlands."
"Good man," Caleb smiled broadly, clapping him on the shoulder.
A sharp, shrill blast from the train's steam whistle echoed across the valley, signaling the imminent departure.
"All aboard!" Vincenzo shouted from the platform, waving the final capos onto the train.
Caleb walked up the steel steps into the parlor car, Charles right behind him. As the heavy doors slid shut, sealing out the cold mountain air, the massive steel wheels of the locomotive ground against the tracks.
With a powerful, rhythmic chugging that shook the wooden platform, the train pulled out of Riggs Station. It left the freezing, tragic history of Ambarino behind, carrying the Wapiti tribe eastward, directly into the sanctuary of the Thorne Holding Company.
The interior of the the train primary parlor car was a masterclass in this time, a rolling fortress of polished mahogany, gleaming brass fixtures, and thick, sound dampening velvet curtains.
The heavy iron wheels clacked rhythmically over the steel tracks, but inside the reinforced cabin, the violent, freezing world of the Ambarino mountains had been entirely banished. The air was thick with the radiant warmth of the steam fed radiators and the rich, complex aroma of roasted coffee and warm, buttered pastries.
Caleb sat at the head of the long, polished conference table, his heavy winter coat discarded, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled up to his forearms. Sitting directly to his right was Rains Fall, and beside the Chief sat his son, Eagle Flies. Across from them, Charles and Arthur occupied the plush leather seats, their massive frames sinking into the unaccustomed comfort of a tycoon's private carriage.
It was a profoundly surreal tableau. The two Wapiti leaders were still dressed in their traditional, weather beaten buckskins and heavy buffalo robes, their faces carrying the deep, wind burned lines of men who had spent the last decade fighting a losing war against the elements and the federal government. Yet here they sat, perfectly safe, surrounded by the absolute pinnacle of modern American industrial wealth.
A steward in a pristine white uniform moved silently through the car, carrying a massive silver tray. He set delicate porcelain cups of steaming dark roast coffee in front of the Native American leaders, followed by crystal plates piled high with sharp cheddar cheese, thick slices of salted ham, warm biscuits, and imported sweet jams.
Eagle Flies stared at the silver tray, his dark eyes wide, his hands resting hesitantly on the edge of the mahogany table. He had never seen such an abundance of rich, untainted food presented so casually.
For a young man who had spent the last six months calculating how to stretch a single sack of rotting federal flour to feed twenty starving children, the sight was almost violently jarring.
Rains Fall, however, did not hesitate. The old Chief possessed a deep, grounding wisdom that allowed him to adapt to the shifting currents of his reality.
He reached out with a weathered, calloused hand, taking a warm biscuit and a slice of ham. He ate slowly, deliberately, savoring the rich, heavy fat and the sharp salt of the meat. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, a quiet, shuddering sigh of absolute relief escaping his chest as the genuine warmth of the food finally began to banish the deep, bone chilling cold that had haunted his people for years.
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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
Bank: -