He settles the last fold in his worn, brown uniform, and stacks it amongst the pile of dirty clothes. The air in the Bree Jail was cold that night, yet the silence of the night, and the snores of multiple Watchers gave an odd sense of comfort to him. Tholorast would now smile like a child, seeing the very seat he sat on when he first joined the Watch two decades ago. A dreamy rush of nostalgia comes upon him, and he hangs his head in thought for just a moment.
A letter is pulled from his pack. Upon it, his name. Within it, his parchment of resignation. He sets the letter on the front counter where the receptionist would come across it the next morning. His bag is tied shut, and he leaves the common room of the barracks. One last gaze of his second home enters his eyes, and with that, he heads for the door.
Twenty years in the Watch had given Tholorast everything he could ask for-- coin, honour, titles and a wonderful experience. It also gave him immense back pain and a sprained wrist-- Tholorast was never a very strong man. Yet family was a priority for him, and the risk of death in the force was not something he was willing to bargain with. Tholorast had now the ability to live comfortably for the rest of his life, and perhaps the rest of his children's lives-- should they accept his money.
Perhaps a life of politics or simple bar-hopping was the future for Tholorast from now on in. Either way, he has now put the Watch behind him. He is thankful for all of his fellow Watchmen, resentful towards the criminals he arrested, and hopeful for the years to come...
until one day, the Watch called for him once again-- the Town was devolving, quick, and something had to be done.
