Castle Town Visit [Open]

Built into the side of a brick building was a door that was so faded that it looked liked part of the building itself. A homeless beggar sat on a stool outside the faded door, cup in hand and begging for change. A pile of green rupees sat at the bottom of his cup. With a heaving hinge and a shower of dust, the door beside the homeless man creaked open, a cloud of smoke pouring out from whatever was contained behind him. Out of the building drifted a red light, the lit tip of a cigar preceding the body that smoked it. Out stepped a dusty cowboy, his spurs clinking as pushed the door open and adjust his serape and swords. He closed the door, quietly shutting behind him as he readjusted his metal gauntlet. He patted the homeless man on the shoulder.
"Good work, Jacques." He commended, his ragged, warm voice slipped out from behind the cigar, and the cross-eyed man smiled widely, several of his teeth missing.
"Thank ya, mister Boss!" The excitable old man replied. The "Boss" patted him once more, stepping out into the sunlight and pulling the lip of his hat down so it blocked the sun's rays. He looked the town square, eyes focusing one by one on the people that had gathered there. He slowly walked out into the plaza, his eyes drawing to the fountain, naturally, as it was the centerpiece. He stepped towards it to get his bearings, eyeing a large blond man which a glistening piece of art for a sword strapped to his back. He whistled under his breath; it was surely a beauty. He looked approached the fountain, his ears automatically ignoring the giggling of the gaggle of girls that seemed to be focused on the blond. He watched his reflection in the water before his attention was stolen by a high pitched, annoying voice.
"Excuse me, sir?"
He spun around, his serape twirling with him, one hand on his longsword and his teeth gritting his cigar. He knew plenty of people who would kill him as soon as they were sure it was him, but the speaker revealed to be a rather nervous postman. He released his grip on his sword, his teeth loosening on the cigar. He reached up and pulled it out, blowing a puff of smoke into the air. "Yeah, what can I do you for?" He asked, his speech betraying his Ordon heritage. The postman gulped, and checked the name on a letter several times.
"W-would you happen to be, er, a Mr. Ashley Beauregard?" He naturally tensed as the postman said his name. Casting around to see if anyone had reacted dangerously, he nodded. The shivering postman handed him the letter, and Ashley waved him goodbye as he readjusted his cigar in his mouth. Slicing open the letter with one of his daggers, he began to read.

Smoke rose from Ashley's cigar, and he took a puff, the lit tip glowing a bright yellow orange. He flapped the paper, smoothing out the creases and took to reading it. It said...
"Dear Mr. Beauregard,
We regret to inform you of your father Cyrus' passing.
We have enclosed a copy of his will, but for your own sake, we will tell you that he has left the property of Beauregard Ranch in Ordon to you, as well as any money and profits that accompany it.
Please make an appearance at the ranch as soon as possible to collect your father's belongings, and attend his funeral.
His ceremony will begin at 9:00, a week after you have made your appearance.
Respectfully yours,"
The rest of the letter was too smudged to read. Cursing under his breath, Ashley crumpled the letter in his fist. He took a long drag on his cigar, staring into the rushing water of the fountain. His father was dead, huh? Served the bastard right. Who had he been to attempt to control his son's fate, down to the letter? He removed the cigar and blew smoke into the air, the plumes of gray dancing on the surface of the fountain.
Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea. The Mercenary's Guild had long been needing an outpost in the Southern tip of the country, but Ordon's closed borders and strict families had prevented anything but the occasional lone wolf merc from stopping there. Having a ranch down there would give him reason to stop by, irrelevant of who or how dangerous his company was, and it would allow an outpost to spring up and more profit for the guild. Then, he could rent the ranch out to other ranchers - his father had always owned a sizeable slice of land - and bring in even more profit. Reconnecting with his roots might help him out in the mental department in the long run, and it wouldn't hurt to rekindle some old connections.
He had been away from Ordon for a long time, though. He barely knew the people that remained there, let alone the new immigrants and families. He would need a guide to show him what had changed, what was new, and what had happened to the old. Someone who wouldn't mind a lethal-lookin' merc to tag along back to their hometown. He turned to the blond, examining him. He looked foreign, but already Ashley could see the rust of Ordon growing on him, like a mold. Ashley's thoughts were cemented by a burlap bag hanging from his belt loops, the Ordon symbol of a goat emblazoned boldly on it. He'd found his man.
"'Scuse me, sir?" He turned to the blond and said. He didn't tap him on the shoulder to get his attention; he had known plenty of men in his time that would promptly suplex Ashley into the fountain. When it became clear he had the man's attention, he carried on, eyes darting from the blond's face to his build, to the shining golden sword on his back. "You're an Ordonian, I figure? Well, as luck would have it, so'm I, and due to, well, personal reasons," he held up the crumbled letter, "I find myself needin' to return to Ordon to take care of some business." He paused.

Ashley smoothed out the letter before folding it and tucking it away in his breastplate.
"Well, ya see, I've been away for a long time. You probably know how hard it is to fit in with the Ordon crowd; they can be a stubborn bunch. I could use a reference of sorts, as well I've sort of lost my knowledge of the area in recent years. Plus," he added, "it seems I've recently come into possession of a ranch, and I've honestly forgotten how to run one in my recent years. I wouldn't mind having some, if not assistance, advice. You're headed back there anyway, aren't you? Mind some company?" He wasn't revealing all of his intentions, and certainly not the parts about the mercenary guild; the last thing he needed was for this guy to be some relative of someone he'd killed, and that would go to hell soon enough. The man seemed honest enough, though, and a good honest person would be relieving change from what he was used to.

He minded the slip in the man's words regarding his...whatever. Relationships didn't really matter to him. He shrugged. The man posed a valid point; as of yet, there was no reference to give. Perhaps on the journey back he could find something to pose as a reference to the townspeople.
"And that's all I ask sir; some company and advice." He said, tipping his hat slightly to the man. He extended his hand to the man, his cigar tip smoldering in the crisp air. "What's yer name, pard-, er, mister?" He stopped himself mid-sentence to halt his cowboy accent, correcting it to a different pronoun.

He nodded.
"No worries, friend. I'll be outside the South Gate when you're ready to set out." He said, tipping his hat to his new acquaintance. He stepped away from the fountain, rubbing his metal gauntlet and massaging the arm underneath. He stepped back toward the homeless beggar Jacques posted outside the Guild's door, fishing out a green rupee and depositing it in his tin cup. He leaned down and patted him on the shoulder, taking the moment to give him directions.
"Have my horse ready for me outside the South Gate, standard provisions." Jacques nodded and stood up slowly. Ashley straightened and looked at the door, frowning as he watched smoke creeping out of the top edges of the door, giving the building the appearance that it was steaming. "And fer god's sake, air that room out." Jacques nodded, and Ashley turned, walking toward the South Gate.

When he arrived, his horse was waiting for him, equipped with a standard journey's provisions. Standing beside it was one of his mercs, one hand on the bridle and the other on his sword. He jumped on his horse and leaned down to listen to what the Merc had to say.It wasn't anything important, but Ashley had to jerk to attention and shoo the man away as he watched his companion emerge out of the gate. Ashley rode up to meet him, igniting a new cigar and tipping his hat. "Ready, partner?"

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