The necromancer crunched across the snow to his car. He opened it with the button on his keys. His name was Acra Monvere, and he was a rogue necromancer who didn't bother with beliefs and that sort of mumbo- jumbo. His object that he stored his power in was a skull shaped brooch which he always wears just in case.
He gave up on magic a couple of years ago. He got fed up of being bossed about, so he left. He switched on the engine and pulled out of his drive. He turned on the radio. He had wandered without a care in the world for a couple of years. He only settled down weeks ago.
The radio blared and boomed all the way around town. Acra started singing the current song. He was very bad at it. Singing was never his thing. He got to the motorway and pulled out. He didn't know where he was going, but he'd know as soon as he got there. The news came on.
"In the headlines today a woman has been murdered on the m50 by a mysterious man wearing black...."
The car stopped. People beeped behind him. In the front a man walked of nowhere, coming straight at Acra's car. He knew instantly who it was. It was the high necromancer Baden Maugham. He hated rogues. He hated anyone who went against the beliefs.
The door flew off its hinges. Acra tried to raise shadows, but his brooch was pulled off.
"Hello," said Maugham cheerfully.
Acra gulped. "Hi," he replied.
And then Maugham was on the ground dead.
Acra just managed.
"What the hell?..."