Thresholds Last Sunset

"Stop being paranoid" muttered the mole, attempting to ease his anxieties.

His cover has not been blown. Not yet anyways.

It has one week since the death of Councillor Sully.

Chaos is rife in the town of Threshold..

The towns leadership are still grieving.. and only slowly picking up the pieces.

A pang of regret enters his mind. These people have been nothing but good to him.. they don't deserve what is to come.

Still.. it's their ass or his. Those gambling debts aren't going to pay themselves.. not when the Iron Ring is involved.

If he changes tack right now it might be okay.. then again he might end up being shipped off as an indentured servant.. or worse..

Steeling himself from his emotions he presses on with his task.

His patrol takes him past the door of the temple. He stops momentarily to listen in.. Yep.. the sounds of grieving are still strong in there.. they'll be too busy dealing with their emotions to tail him.

Veering from his usual path of patrol he takes a detour through the back door of Darcy's Diner. A common sight for a militiaman.. the drinking culture is far too prevalent within their ranks.

No-one bats an eyelid as he ventures downstairs to the basement.

He is alone. Just him and the statues. Always watching. They give him the heebies..

Letting out a low groan he kneels and retrieves the device from his rucksack, nestling it in the corner near the door to the pit.

He doesn't know what it is.. but it's got to be bad. His benefactors promised him the less he knows the better.. they are probably right.

His job done he returns to his patrol, casually stopping at the bar to grab an ale. His last ale from Darcy's. His last steps on the ale soaked carpets. His last flirty wink to the barmaid. His last dirty look from Kaster.

A final wave of regret hits him as he re-enters the early afternoon light.

One last goodbye and he can be done with this place. A new chapter awaits.

Elbowing his way past a couple of off-duty militia members he retrieves his day-pick from the lockers.

The familiar smell of cheap chewing tobacco and rotten teeth hits him before he hears the words.

"Ayy Dave-o, what's cracking moite?"

Stifling his guilt he turns to his long time friend Dougo. Once again he puts on the mask of "Dave", adopting the fake lower-class accent common amongst the towns militia.

"Aye, nothing much Dougo. I'm just headin' to verge for some R & R. I'll be back tomorrow morn, orrite?"

Dougo's gives him a curious grin, followed by a snort and a face full of Dougo breath.

"Heh, orrite moite. You must be real sweet on one of the girls there the amount of time ya spend up that way. I hope ye be plannin' on making an honest woman of 'er, eh?"

His last conversation with Dougo. Unlikely someone as worn out and haggard as Dougo will make it out..

"Maybe someday, my friend."

He shuffles out before the conversation can continue any longer. By the time he reaches the hills of verge he can already hear the roar of an explosion following by screaming.. oh the screaming..