As he got close, the knight slowly discerned more and more details. Steel. A sword. A body. A dead body. An armor-clad body with a sword lying next to him. A red cloak, a insignia with a red shield on it. The dead body of a Red Marshal. It was badly wounded, not with a few large gashes or holes, but hundreds of smaller slashes and missing small chunks of flesh. Whoever it was, fought hard but did not really had a chance.

In his left hand, it was holding a medallion, as if he was holding it out for someone to take it.