The country estate stands alone in the middle of a vast plain with only a couple groves of trees to add a change to the landscape. The full moon shines its bright light onto the estate, a single mansion surrounded by a wall with a grand gate as its entrance. The light illuminates the white alabaster walls of the house where only a single light shines from within. The lone light belongs to the study of Baron Lance von Aston, the local lord of the territory. There comes a knock on the door of the study and from outside a woman’s voice can be heard calling for the Baron.

“Lance? Are you still looking over those financial reports? It’s getting late, come on and come to bed already.”

It was not uncommon for the Baron to spend late nights in his study reading over official documents and daily reports from the territory, in fact most of the time he did not get to bed until the early hours of the morning. The woman hearing no response from within knocked once more on the door, this time a bit louder. Still no response from within. The door handle began to turn as the woman let herself into the study and the woman’s voice now no longer blocked by the door began again, “Come on Lance, it’s already----” whatever she was going to say was never finished as a scream escaped from her throat. 

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The room itself was not the cause, it was tidily kept, its books neatly shelved and in order. Not a thing out of place. No, the cause was her husband at his desk with his throat slit from ear to ear. He was slumped over in his chair, his eyes glossy, never to be filled with life again. Blood covered his neck and clothes as it had flowed down from the wound, his hands stained crimson as he tried desperately to stop the flow of life leaving his body. The papers he was reading, now covered with the bloody prints of their reader, were scattered most likely from the flailing man as his time ran out. Everything was accented with the murder weapon, a blood stained knife, stuck into the mahogony desk.

The scream of the woman, his wife of twenty years, stirred the once quiet house. Guards began to flow to the room with swords drawn only to stop when they saw the man they served dead. They checked the room for any signs of entry, but there was nothing to be found. The only thing that told of someone who was not meant to be there was the dead Baron and the page the knife stuck to the desk.

‘Here is the return on your investment. Plus interest.’