The pungent stench of rot permeated the desert. Judun hung from the dead tree, the noose tight around his throat. A week had passed since his sins had caught up with him. Lynched by a mob of those that he'd wronged, this vile man had never stood a chance when they dragged him from his room at the inn, beating and cursing him as they dragged him out of town. His begging and pleading and promises fell on deaf ears that had already fallen to his tricks before. His death was slow and painful, suffocation as opposed to the usual and simple neck snap. Judun's neck had eventually broken, but only after the pressure of the rope caused his throat to cave in. In life, he'd gotten to know many people, only to betray them all for any gain, no matter how large or small it may be. In death, he quickly learned just how unimportant his life had really been. As he felt his throat being crushed by the noose, he prayed to the Gods to be saved. They did not help him. His former victims simply watched him die, and when the deed was done, they left him to rot.

A strong, hot wind blew from the south, and with it came a murder of crows which cawed and cackled. They flew past the hanging corpse, and disappeared over the horizon. A tall man, clothed in black, now stood before Judun. His skin was milky white, and his hair was neat and slicked back, with a few locks covering his forehead. His clothing consisted of a tailored suit. A button down shirt, tie, pants, boots and long coat gave him a rather intimidating, if bizarre, appearance. The man's face was not handsome by any means, as his features appeared to be normal at first glance, but a longer look would make one uneasy. They were just ever so slightly too thin, or too static. The most bizarre thing about this man's face was his eyes. His eyeball was black, matching his pupil. The iris was golden, thus making his gaze uncomfortable to say the very least.

The black eyed man reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of black gloves. He put them on and stepped towards the corpse. His boots crunched on the dry and cracked ground as he inspected the corpse from all sides. He clicked his tongue, and pulled a measuring tape from his pocket and took Judun's measurements. The wind blew again, this time from the east, and wafted the scent of rot right into the man's face. He did not react, as if he was used to such a smell. Now that he was finished taking measurements, he snapped his fingers and a black coffin appeared on the ground behind the corpse. Drawing a silvery knife and slashing the rope that suspended the lynched liar in the blink of an eye, the corpse fell into the coffin, landing perfectly inside it and fitting perfectly as well.

This man was Crow, a necromancer with an ironic name. He was in his late twenties, and was a recluse by nature. Hence his presence in a desert looking for test subjects, rather than raiding graveyards or hospitals like his peers often did. It wasn't that he disliked others, he simply had a difficult time relating to most people. He regarded the tree, allowing his mind to wander for a little while, theorizing why this man had been hung out here. Crow shrugged, as he could ask the man soon enough. Finally, he decided to call it a day and go home.

With another wave of his hand, the murder returned, and swept him up as it flew back in the direction it had come.

***