After a somewhat tiring ordeal, Rupert finally caught up to the old necromancer. Rupert was not slow by any means, not even with his heavy helmet and chainmail. Yet the fear of death, even in old men, make a man’s legs move much quicker. The old necromancer made the mistake of begging for his life after trying to kill him and his brothers. Rupert was furious and hit the old man with his mace, strong enough to draw blood, and even dent his skull, but somehow weak enough for him to be alive. Rupert gave a chuckle colder than death as the old man’s eyes began to well up and his lips quiver with pain. Rupert had felt remorse at watching young, brash militiamen charging to certain doom, and even to hopelessly outmatched bandits, but felt no such remorse here. Defiling the dead was something that his company didn’t take to very warmly, especially Aldemar the Warrior Priest. As blood ran down the necromancer’s face, into his eyes, and onto Rupert’s foot, he gave the necromancer a merciful killing blow. After kicking the body into a “grave”- which was really just a two foot deep ditch with some dirt and gravel over it to keep any would necromancers from getting any ideas- they left, enjoying the loot and crowns found at the battlefield.