A Night Working For “The Daily Serf”

            October 4th, 1382 a night that will be remembered by all as a horrific tale of family trials, confusion, pain, and death.

            The Daily Serf receives many odd tales and stories of supposed crimes that people would like us to investigate and possibly put into our “Serfly News section” of our paper, most of which, upon investigation, prove to be lacking if not completely fictive. Although every so often we do find a story that provides us with the interesting and exciting content that our readers thirst for.

            I received a message earlier that evening from a seemingly distressed noble-woman who said her son had just left her and their family and they are unable to find his father. As no one was able to assist her she had came to me to see if I would put an article out in the Daily Serf to attempt to gather a search party for both the son and the father. Having nothing more productive to do, and with a promising story to follow, I allowed her to lead me to the scene of the incident which turned out to be far away from the heart of the village.

Upon arriving at the scene I noticed a few things that didn’t match up with the woman’s story of her son “leaving without reason”. Firstly, there was blood glistening blackly in the moonlight shining through the windows onto the oak floor. Immediately I asked her what had happened; “My son killed his hawk and I think it was an accident that might be why he left. He… he was very attached to the hawk.” she said in a slightly rushed manner. As to how a hawk could leave so much blood… I didn’t have time to question her alibi because of the glint of steel I saw being slowly eased into the closet we were just walking past. “What was that?” I asked. “What was what?” “That flash it looked almost like a blade, what are you hiding?” “N…n…nothing”, she stammered. Now here is where most investigative reporters such as I would leave it alone; as “digging/investigating” to far into any story that has to do with a noble-persons’ life tends to lead to death. But as her husband was gone and her son had left her… she was now socially a person of no rank. Feeling confident that I had discovered some “dirt” on a noble household, I pressed passed her and opened the closet. To my astonishment I found not the “dirt” I was expecting, but a sword of fine make lying in a pool of blood impossibly large for a hawk and off the side were clothes soaked in blood.