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The road curved, and before long, he crossed a large wooden bridge spanning a slow moving river. The water shimmered under the sun, reflecting the surrounding trees like liquid glass. As he rode across, the faint rumble of a train horn echoed in the distance, a sound that grew louder as he neared the edge of the city.
The dirt beneath Morgan's hooves slowly turned to cobblestone. The smell changed too, less of earth and swamp, more of oil, smoke, and civilization. The skyline of Saint Denis loomed ahead, a mixture of tall buildings, smokestacks, and ornate rooftops.
Caleb slowed his horse as the city's life enveloped him. The streets were bustling with carriages, trams, and pedestrians. Merchants shouted from stalls, and a brass band played somewhere down the block. To his left, he spotted the Saint Denis Stables, remembering the layout vividly from his time playing the game.
Then, without warning, a faint flicker shimmered across his vision, the faint glow of blue text appearing before his eyes.
[Treasure Hunter Skill Envelope Saint Denis]
Hidden Treasures Detected: Saint Denis Region
Primary Locations Highlighted: Cemetery District, Back Alley Courtyards, Riverfront Warehouse
Caleb smirked faintly. "Well now," he muttered. "Guess this trip might pay off in more ways than one."
He mentally marked the cemetery in particular. In the game, it had held more than one secret, gold bars, trinkets, and even side leads. Here, though, in this living world, who knew what else might be hidden?
He also reminded himself of the unclaimed gold bar still waiting beneath the floorboards of the smoldering Braithwaite manor. Opportunities were everywhere, if one knew where to look.
Continuing along the main road, he crossed into the heart of the city. The cobblestones gleamed in the light, and carriages rattled past as the scent of bread and tobacco drifted from open shopfronts. A tram bell clanged loudly as it rolled by, narrowly missing a man pushing a cart of crates.
Caleb's eyes took in every detail. Th grand square dominated by a statue in its center. To his left were rows of elegant, multi story apartment buildings with wrought iron balconies.
To his right stood the imposing facade of the Saint Denis train station, a hub of constant activity. Directly ahead, he could see the post office and the stagecoach station, the official arteries of the city's communication and travel. Everything felt alive, louder, dirtier, but also full of opportunity.
Caleb reined Morgan to a slow trot, his sharp eyes scanning every corner taking everything in. "Damn," he muttered to himself, "feels strange seeing it in the flesh again."
The air was different here, thick with coal smoke, the clatter of carriages, and the murmur of a thousand conversations. It was a world away from the quiet danger of the swamps. For a long moment, he just sat there in the saddle, taking it all in.
Saint Denis. The city of progress, vice, and opportunity. The city that would one day break the Van der Linde gang apart.
He could almost feel the pulse of it, the thrum of money, corruption, and power that ran beneath its polished surface. Somewhere in that web was Angelo Bronte, the man Dutch now wanted him to find. But Caleb wasn't just here for Dutch. He was here for himself, to gather knowledge, to shape the future, to shift the story before it could collapse.
He dismounted near the square, patting Morgan's neck. "You wait up here, girl," he murmured, securing her reins by the hitching post. "I ask around for a moment, as we've got work ahead."
As he stepped onto the street, he felt the weight of eyes upon him, people measuring him by his worn duster, his hat, the faint trail dust still clinging to his boots.
He didn't look like the gentlemen who strolled past with walking canes and pocket watches, but neither did he look like a common drifter. There was something sharper in his gaze, something the cityfolk instinctively stepped aside from.
He made his way toward the post office first, slipping into the shade of its stone façade. The clerk barely looked up until Caleb placed a few coins on the counter. "Morning," Caleb greeted casually. "I'm new in town, lookin' to get the lay of things. Name's McLaughlin."
The clerk's mustache twitched. "Saint Denis is a fine place for a man of ambition, Mister McLaughlin. Plenty of work, if you've got the right friends."
"Right friends," Caleb repeated with a faint smirk. "Any of those happen to be named Angelo Bronte? I heard of his name during my travel to Saint Denis."
The reaction was immediate. The man's posture stiffened, and he glanced over his shoulder then around before leaning closer. "Careful where you throw that name, mister. Bronte runs things here. Police, politicians, even the riverboats. Best you keep your distance unless you're invited."
"Duly noted," Caleb replied smoothly, tipping his hat before leaving. He had what he needed, confirmation that Bronte wasn't just powerful, he owned the damn city.
Back outside, Caleb decided his next stop would be the saloon on the main street of Saint Denis, the Bastille, a place known for whiskey, gambling, and loose tongues, of the upper citizen of the town.
Caleb swung back into Morgan's saddle, the leather creaking a familiar tune. He nudged her into a slow walk, merging with the flow of carriages and pedestrians.
He guided Morgan carefully through the widening streets, the hum of the city swelling around them like a living tide. He followed the right hand street, where the tram rails gleamed like twin silver snakes, cutting a clean path between the cobblestone lanes.
Morgan's iron shoes clicked rhythmically against the stones, her breath steady beneath him as the noises of Saint Denis grew richer, laughter, chatter, and the metallic hiss of steam blending into a strange kind of harmony.
To his left, a tram clattered past, sparks snapping beneath its wheels as the driver rang the bell twice to warn off a wayward carriage. Caleb slowed to let it pass, eyes flicking to the Fontana Theater on his right, its ornate façade glimmering in the sunlight.
Posters lined the walls advertising upcoming plays and musical acts, the cursive fonts and painted faces promising an evening of refinement and laughter. He couldn't help but smirk. Even the theaters here got that extra shine.
He urged Morgan forward again, the mare trotting leisurely along the main road. Every few seconds, Caleb's gaze roved over the streets,the towering apartment buildings with their wrought iron balconies, the street vendors calling out their wares, and the neatly dressed gentlemen and ladies walking arm in arm.
In the game, it had all been pixels and set pieces. But now, every step, every sound, every smell was real. The mixture of perfume, smoke, bread, and filth blended into a scent uniquely Saint Denis, both intoxicating and overwhelming.
He passed through a three way intersection, continuing straight. Ahead, the Bastille came into view, its brick façade standing proud at the corner of the avenue. It was more than just a saloon, it was an establishment for the city's affluent and the ambitious, a place where secrets flowed freer than the liquor.
Pulling Morgan to a stop, Caleb dismounted with a smooth motion. He led her to the hitching post outside, crafted in the shape of a wrought iron fence capped by a sculpted horse head. "Stay here, girl. You deserve the rest." he murmured, patting her neck affectionately. Morgan nickered softly, settling into place as Caleb gave her one last scratch between the ears.
Straightening his hat, he stepped toward the swinging double doors. The moment he pushed through, the shift in atmosphere hit him immediately. The Bastille wasn't like the saloons in Valentine or Rhodes, it was refined, polished, and buzzing with genteel chatter.
A warm, golden glow spilled from gas lamps and chandeliers, catching the shine of glassware and polished wood. The low hum of a piano filled the air, playing a jaunty but tasteful tune.
Men in tailored coats and bowler hats lounged by the tables, their cigars sending thin trails of smoke into the air. Women in elegant dresses laughed behind gloved hands, their eyes bright beneath decorative feathers and jewels. Caleb was a piece of the frontier that had suddenly materialized in a drawing room.
Caleb stood out like a sore thumb, the dust on his boots, the well worn coat, the hat tilted just enough to speak of frontier miles. But his young and handsome face, as he moved, drew the attention of the female patrons and the working girls first. A few subtle smiles and inviting glances were cast his way, a silent acknowledgment of his physique and youth.
For a brief moment, conversation slowed, eyes following him as he crossed the floor. Caleb simply tipped his hat and smiled at those who met his gaze, his demeanor easy but unreadable. Then, without hurry, he made his way toward the bar.
Behind it stood a young black bartender dressed in a crisp white shirt and vest, polishing a glass with quiet efficiency. He looked up the instant Caleb approached and greeted him warmly. "What can I get you, sir?"
"A glass of whiskey, please," Caleb said, placing a dollar on the counter. "The good stuff."
"Coming right up," the bartender said with a nod. He reached for a bottle on the shelf, poured a generous measure into a clean glass, and slid it across the polished wood. "Enjoy."
Caleb lifted the glass, taking a slow sip. The whiskey was smooth, richer than the harsh blends back in camp. He let the warmth spread through him before smiling faintly. "Fine pour. Name's McLaughlin," he said, introducing himself under the alias he'd been using since entering the city.
The bartender nodded with a polite smile. "Pleasure, Mister McLaughlin. Name's Ezra. Don't think I've seen you 'round these parts before. You new in town, or just passing through?"
Caleb chuckled lightly. "Guess you could say both. What gave it away, my clothes or my face?"
Ezra grinned. "Outfit, mostly. Most folks that come in here dress a little more… city like. You got the look of a man used to the trail. Though I'll admit, some of the big spenders come in here wearin' that same kind of look, only cleaner."
"Fair point," Caleb replied with a smirk. "I'm from Blackwater. Figured I'd come down, see Saint Denis for myself. They say it's the future."
Ezra nodded knowingly. "It's somethin', that's for sure. Blackwater's on the rise, but it ain't this. This city never sleeps. Steam, smoke, and money keep it turning." He moved to serve another customer but returned, his curiosity seemingly piqued by the well spoken stranger.
Caleb swirled his drink, then leaned in slightly, lowering his tone. "So, Ezra… I'm looking for work. Something that pays well. You hear of anything around here for a man who isn't afraid of getting his hands dirty?"
Ezra's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing to polish the glass. His expression didn't change, but his eyes flicked briefly toward the corner of the room where a pair of men in fine suits were talking quietly. "Depends on who's askin'. There's work all over this city, Mister McLaughlin. Just depends on the kind of man you are."
Caleb gave a quiet chuckle. "Fair enough. Let's say I'm the kind of man who knows how to keep his mouth shut." He took another sip, watching Ezra's reaction. "I've been hearin' a name floating 'round since I got here. A man who... facilitates things. Bronte. Angelo Bronte. They say if you want real work in this city, you go through him. Sounds like he's the one with real power."
...
Name: Caleb Thorne
Age: 23
Body Attributes:
- Strength: 7/10
- Agility: 7/10
- Perception: 8/10
- Stamina: 7/10
- Charm: 6/10
- Luck: 8/10
Skills:
- Handgun (Lvl 4)
- Rifle (Lvl 4)
- Firearms Knowledge (Lvl 4)
- Past Life Memory (Lvl MAX)
- Knife (Lvl 3)
- Blunt Weapon (Lvl 1)
- Sneaking (Lvl 3)
- Horse Mastery (Lvl 4)
- Poker (Lvl 4)
- Hand to Hand Combat (Lvl 3)
- Eagle Eye (Lvl 1)
- Dead Eye (Lvl 3)
- Bow (Lvl 2)
- Pain Nullifier (Lvl 2)
- Physical Regeneration (Lvl 1)
- Crafting (Lvl 3)
- Persuasion (Lvl 3)
- Mental Fortitude (Lvl MAX)
- Cooking (Lvl 4)
- Teaching (Lvl 2)
- Germanic Language Proficiency (Lvl MAX)
- Inventory System (Permanent - 10x10x10)
- Acting (Lvl 3)
- Alcohol Resistance (Lvl MAX)
- Treasure Hunter (Lvl MAX)
Money: 1,813 dollars and 46 cents
Inventory: 104,021 dollars and 22 cents, 7 gold nuggets, 58 gold bars, 7 silver rings, 1 Double Action, 1 Schofield, 2 large bags of jewelry, 5 gold rings, 5 silver rings, 6 silver pocket watches, 3 silver buckles, 3 gold buckles, 1 gold pocket compass, 2 platinum pocket watches, 2 Colm's Schofields, and land deed (Parcel)
Bank: -