By nature, elves are typically fastidious creatures. Though he broke other molds on a regular basis, Aidan was no exception to this paritcular stereotype. With the notable exception of his infrequent clowning in the Red Dragon Inn, he ordered everything in a sense that had grown from habit into something closer to instinct. Everything had its place and he unerringly assured that it was kept there. No where was this more true than in his peculiar business dealings. Having started life in utter poverty, his early years never failed to remind him of the importance of tending his various ventures. And, though he often proclaimed himself "retired", it did not change the fact that he continued to have various endeavors that were titled either in his name or in some appropriate pseudonym. All of them were the sort that required oversight, not simple investments. In these latter years, he more often employed proxys to oversee them, preferring to keep from using an active hand.

One of those ventures was his ranch. In fact, it was the core, the basis on which he'd built the rest of his small fortune. The nucleus around which the rest of his more public business orbited, it's establisment and success had brought him not just money, but what he thought more of as freedom. Freedom from what? From having to toil daily in one task or another, from having to fret over where the funds for his next meal would come from, from working beneath the yoke of others. With it came great responsibility, which in and of itself was sometimes a considerable burden, but in the end, he was the one calling the shots.

So it was that, when he arrived at his ranch on the outskirts of Rhy'Din, his considerable shock could be understood. Of course, he'd seen the lazy trail of smoke from far off, though at first had thought nothing of it. Perhaps Riirson had started a cook-fire or was burning some refuse. Or, as sometimes happened, there may be a hunt party on his grounds (which were not fenced or guarded). But as he drew nearer, the sinking in his stomach only grew deeper until at last he rounded a thick copse of trees and his eyes beheld the devestation that had been done.

His house, once a sprawling sort of ranch arrangement, now looked more like a the charred remains of dragon, slain and offered in sacrifice. Timbers that had stood for time immemorial were reduced to so much soot and ash, only the the thickest of their number forming a crumbling rib cage. Of his roof, there was no evidence left. Could it have been accidental? Folly? It seemed unlikely -- in the extreme -- that Riirson would have allowed any such thing to happen. That particular young elf was every bit as fastitidious as was his employer. There had been no recent thunderstorms. The elf's mind strayed to the deliberate as his hand strayed to his sword. As though to confirm the overarching sense of sinister intent, Aidan's blue gaze swept the swaying grass through which his charger now stepped and found evidence there. Shod horses, several of them, traveling in formation, had left their unmistakable tracks there on the soft earth. One needn't have had the keen sight of the elves to determine that. His jaw tightened.

The out-buildings had been mercifully spared from the ravages of fire, but still had not been left untouched. The door to his shed, he saw, stood open and swinging slowly in the breeze. The small stable was likewise unsecured. And, worst of all, the herd was no where to be seen. In this last fact, Aidan well knew the potential not just for immediate financial loss, but for the stability of the business as a whole. Furthermore, the potential for grievous personal injury was there too; these were horses that the tall elf had known all their lives and for the lives of many generations of their ancestors. He had personally threaded their line by careful breeding, years of toil and careful experimentation. Their true lineage and heritage were secrets he guarded as closely as any trade secret. Suffice it to say, though, that it would be no small feat to recreate such stock.

All of these considerations, as well as a few other, stirred in the tall elf's mind as he swung from his horse's back in silence and walked to the smoldering remains of his home. Who would do such a thing? The loss of the material goods was not all that keen to Aidan, but the insult at so personal an attack was keenly felt. Moreover, this had been his first self-established home in Rhy'Din. He'd designed the home and built a good deal of it with his own two hands. To see it now reduced to charred rubble was a difficult thing indeed.

"And where is Riirson?" he asked, turning back to his horse with a sense of purpose. If his horse knew, he didn't answer.