his name is Magnus, and many consider him to be their savior, their beacon in the night when they lose their faith. of course, he is nothing of the sort. born a buzzard means living as a buzzard, and while his brothers entered into the mortuary business, as his father would have liked, Magnus took the high road and decided to enter into the art of religion. of course, to be a buzzard is to be a death dealer, a cheat, and a fraud.

Magnus excels at all three. with his gentle southern drawl, his impeccable (if drab) clothing, and his toothy grin, he has the local people of whatever town he rolls into charmed. nobody would suspect an eye for profit and scamming the good townsfolk out of their money. when the town mayor goes missing, or turns up in the nearby river dead, or is perhaps poisoned and left on the steps of the church, who else would a mourning community turn towards? well the priest, of course.

and Magnus plays his part well enough, feigns sadness for whatever victim… er, poor soul who passes through his holy house. and when a plague sweeps through the town, who is it who collects the alms and makes sure that the good Lord hears their prayers to end the death and calamity? well, Magnus of course. as a buzzard of immense faith and practicality, only his words to that mighty being in the sky can cure whatever ails the townspeople. or, if he feels that they have not given enough, he lets them all pass slowly away.

of course, he always digs graves for all of the poor souls who have been claimed by whatever illness he concocted. it is only fair. they gave him their money, lives, earthly possessions, and enough good karma to last five life times. daddy would most certainly be proud.