His Final Hour

They had marched southward for the past ten days. For ten days and ten nights the personal guard of Sir Edward Jansen had escorted the renegade known as Karamaz to his permanent banishment. As they had passed Dackes a squadron of Zertus knights had tacked themselves onto the escort, no doubt informed of the incident four nights prior, to ensure that the great escapist did not make a desperate gamble. Among the forty men who would have seen him dead on that very night was a single soul who was dedicated to seeing him live, that the promised word be carried out, the word of his own father. Sir Karl Jansen, Knight Gallant of the Realm, was the only witness to what would become of the wanted criminal.
The early spring weather was not showing signs of grounding winter to an end, the dreary skies, rainy weather, harsh winds and cold night air all made their impact on the march. The group made their way through the pass eventually coming to take a view of the assembled armies quartered outside Motcem. Blue and green banners flew from hundreds of tents as the fifteen thousand strong army waited their call to arms in the bitter fighting for Karsder. Sparing hardly a passing glance at the assembled forces, which any other time would've been considered a threat to the existence of their own country, the Toranikans pressed southwards.
Quickly they were halted by a Merton detachment of cavalry and made to wait. After three hours of discussion between Sir Edward and Lord-General Serre, the Toranikans continued on their way. They traveled the rest of the day towards the southwest, abandoning the roads. Darkness quickly overtook the knights and they made camp within earshot of the flowing river to the west. Tents were unfurled, fires started, latrines dug and watches set. A dour mood fell over the group.
Nearing eleven in the hour of darkness, the Knight Gallant heard the sound of armor rustling. He opened his tent to find a large group of soldiers barring his way. An older Warden met his gaze and spoke in a sympathetic but uncompromising tone of voice. "It's best if you don't get involved." Sir Karl contemplated his action, his chance to save his friend Karamaz.

Thirty men walked out with the Inquisitor that night, most armored in chain or plate and armed to the teeth, ready to kill anyone in the world that got in their way. Thirty one men marched into the marshy water of Karsder, fewer would return.
The elder Jansen stood at the fore of the group and faced his captive unflinching. "This will be your resting place. No one will revive you. No one will save you. No one will find you. I will give you no burial rites, your soul will not be saved by the Arch-Paladin in his eternal glory. You will not rest in perpetual joy in the fields of Elysium nor will you find forgiveness in the clouds of Celestia. You will die here traitor, and no one will mourn your loss.
"If you have any final words I will hear them. I will do you no kind acts of generosity or benediction. I will honor no requests of a man sentenced to the Red Prison, I will not pray for your soul. I will hear only your words, and then it will be nothing for you. Nothing is the best you can hope for now, not even the Hells will take you."
Karamaz took a heavy breathe. In a foreign land, an unmarked grave in the middle of a swamp, I always thought it would end like this. A man like me deserves a grave like this. "I make no requests of you. I did my duty, to protect my king, my country..my people. I don't regret any of it, not the people I murdered, not the families I butchered, the orphans I made nor the widows. I did it all to protect my people, even if they don't see it that way. My only regret is that I could not do more--"
"Do more!?" One of the Zertus Knight interrupted, "You're a traitor and a villain . The only thing you've done is divide our kingdom further." Others joined in, in the jeers and shouts of anger, of hate. They despised him for who he was and for what he'd done. There was no pity or remorse for him. Not when the blades struck his back, not when the warhammers fell upon his corpse, nor when the vermin came for his bones.
So ends the tale of Karamaz the Inquisitor.