“There once was a shepherd boy who was bored as he sat on the hillside watching the village sheep. To amuse himself he took a great breath and sang out, "Wolf! Wolf! The Wolf is chasing the sheep!"
The villagers came running up the hill to help the boy drive the wolf away. But when they arrived at the top of the hill, they found no wolf. The boy laughed at the sight of their angry faces…

...At sunset, everyone wondered why the shepherd boy hadn't returned to the village with their sheep. They went up the hill to find the boy. They found him weeping.
"There really was a wolf here! The flock has scattered! he cried out, "Wolf!" Why didn't you come?"
An old man tried to comfort the boy as they walked back to the village.
"We'll help you look for the lost sheep in the morning," he said, putting his arm around the youth, "Nobody believes a liar...even when he is telling the truth"”

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That was the closest thing to evidence left. The drawers had been cleared out, clothes had been removed and all traces that a human had occupied this room had been cleansed save for the mutilated body sprawled out on the carpet. When The Boy Who Cried Wolf had asked the receptionist for the occupant registry they had found it gone from their possession. 

There were blood stains splattered across the dirty beige walls and drying into the filthy carpet, a sad way for someone to leave this world were the scene not so grisly in and of itself. The face was beyond recognition, even the body had been host to several cuts and scrapes to make noticing distinguishing features a hefty task, whoever had committed this barbaric act had been sure to get their time’s worth with the victim.

James Carter kneeled down next to the victim, he was Caucasian that much was certain and he was a Tale. Crier knews this from the fact that this motel catered almost exclusively to their kind, the poorer ones anyway. Tales could take ungodly amounts of punishment but Crier suspected that from some of these cuts the killer had abused the victim long after his death, this’d seem like a personal vendetta were it not for the message written in blood on the wall.

[color=steelblue]“A god am I?....”[/color] Crier muttered to himself as he stood up and glared at it before looking back down at the victim.

Some of the cuts didn’t seem to match up with one another Crier had suddenly noticed. He kneeled back down and un-did the victim’s shirt, his pockets were empty but his body may yet yield some kind of clue or M.O

There was one straight cut from the center of his chest down to his stomach, three short claw-like marks on the side of his neck and a strange divot at his heart, further more upon closer inspection the skin left untouched was very pale, the body may not have been warm but the owner had called for assistance not a few hours ago, whilst a time of death couldn’t quite be ascertained Crier was certain it hadn’t happened more than a night ago.

Crier stood up and rubbed his eyes, [I]’That probably isn’t good.’[/I] he thought to himself, these markings could be traced back to any number of Tales, which is perhaps what the killer wanted, even still it was a lead, a slim one but a place to start none the less, he’d head back to the office and try half-ass a report before quickly taking to the streets again to start getting to the bottom of this.

“So do you know who did it?” The owner asked as Crier exited the room, a short balding man with a stern face and red cheeks, used to be he operated an Inn in The Homelands, most notable for being swindled out of his expensive coat by a thief pretending to be a wolf, now he looked after a sleazy motel in the outskirts to make ends meet.

[color=steelblue]“No, but I think I may know where to start.”[/color] Crier said taking a cigarette out from a packet in his coat and lighting it up.

“Well catch the fucker soon, I can’t sell these shitty rooms if people are afraid someone’ll come in at night and beat ‘em to death!” The innkeeper said with surprising inconsideration for someone who’s property now housed a mutilated dead man.

[color=steelblue]“You’ll be the first to know”[/color] Crier said dryly as they walked down the stairs [color=steelblue]“Someone’ll be sent down to pick up the body and clean up the blood, the rest of the room’s on you though.”[/color]

“Fuck off.” The innkeeper snarled, skulking into the main building muttering to himself as Crier phoned for a taxi.

Perhaps the office trip could wait, the night was still young after all and there were quite a few people Crier wouldn’t mind having a little “chat” with before he retired back to The Homelands building.

And, after all, he hadn’t spoken to his dear friend Little Red Riding Hood in quite some time.,,