He pulled the stopper from the flask and gave it a sniff. His nose wrinkled at the foulness of the scent. It was no mild ale or cider. It was something considerably more pure. He'd seen tavern fires from where their spirits had caught the flames of a candle, he wondered how effective this would be at covering the tracks.
He found three bottles of relatively untouched stuff. Briefly, he considered that it was likely to have belonged to Lydia's husband. The man had seemed the type to enjoy these stronger concoctions… He shook that thought away. He needed to remain calm, and he needed to move quickly.
He threw on the fresh pair of trousers, and retied his boots, wrapping them in the new boot furs. He was just pulling on his tunic when he heard pounding on the door.
"TOWN'S WATCH! OPEN UP!" A voice said, punctuating the fist that seemed incessant. "WE'VE RECEIVED WORD OF AN ASSAULT – OPEN THE DOOR LYDIA, OR WE'LL BE FORCED TO KICK IT DOWN!"
"Shit!" Vol cursed under his breath. He quickly grabbed the coat that Lydia had set out for him, and the gloves. He didn't have time to tie them up. Instead, he grabbed his backpack again, and stuffed his supplies back inside. He'd wanted longer here. Five minutes longer, even, so that he could restock his supplies with Lydia's food, and add to his coin pouch with hers, but from the talking outside the door, that wasn't an option.
The first boot hit the centre of the wood, and it groaned. It would not last long. That front door would no longer serve as an escape for him. That damn raider – the man should have just killed him. Why let him live, only to call the town's guard on him a moment later?
Frantically, he looked around. There was a window in the same room that he'd gotten the alcohol from. It looked to be too small for him, but it was the only real choice that he had.
BANG!
A book hit the wood again, it buckled. It reminded him of the gates of Bolrif, being smashed by Oliver's battle rams. Vol cursed. He threw the first flash at the door, hoping that it would at least achieve something. Then he threw the next in the centre of the room. Both shattered, spraying glass everywhere – glass brought in by raid from the Stormfront no doubt – and then with the third, Vol threw it straight into the fire.
In a cloud of orange, the room burst into red at once.
BANG!
The door flew open, and the latch snapped. Cheap rusted iron. It gave way before the wood did. The first guardsman locked eyes with him, trapped beyond the wall of knee-high flame.
It was the same guardsman that had been about to keep him out of Nookhaven, calling him suspicious. Usar was his name, Vol remembered. Somehow, Vol was calm enough to think it odd that the man was there. He'd thought his shift was over, and that he'd been out drinking.
"BASTARD! I KNEW YOU WOULD BE TROUBLE!" He shouted. He'd drawn his weapon and was pointing with a fury.
"Your mistake," Vol said. He turned on his heel and went towards his only option – the shuttered window in the next room. He drew his axe, and smashed the shutters from their frame, widening the gap, but still he couldn't fit comfortably through.
He slung his backpack from his shoulders, and launched it into the snow outside. No guardsman was waiting for him – not yet. They'd soon catch on. He knew he only had a matter of seconds.
With the courage required of someone bitterly struggling to survive, as he saw the flames spread in the room behind him, Vol took a run at the window. He'd have to dive through, with his arms flat by his side, and hope that his shoulders wouldn't get caught on the way through.
He felt remarkably foolish laying his life on the line with a salmon dive, but there was no helping it. At speed, he launched himself, forcing his resisting instincts to obey him, and keep his hands tight against his side, even as he neared the window at frightened speed.
He felt his coat catch on the side, and his shoulders hit, and bruise – he was right, he was still too small for the whole. But his speed forced him past that choke point, and he managed to get his whole torso through before the speed ran out, and he flopped to the ground ungracefully outside.
"THERE HE IS!" It was Usar again, pointing at him with a sword, not giving him any chance to recover. The man seemed to be intent on making himself Vol's mortal enemy. The urge to reach for his axe to fight the man and cut him down for his irritation was nearly overwhelming.
But the System did not speak. The System seemed only to speak when the option of killing was a sensible one – or at least, a survivable one. Here, the System remained quiet, which to him, seemed to be an urging for him to run. He took that advice, and grabbed his backpack at a run, as his feet struggled for purchase in the icy snow.
"GET HIM!" Usar shouted. Vol dared to look behind. There was a whole gaggle of guards with him. He counted at least ten. Not a number that he could fight and live.
!! SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT
QUEST ISSUED!
ESCAPE THE NOOKHAVEN GUARDSMEN
REWARD:
LEVEL SYSTEM – BASIC
It was the first time he'd been delivered a reward other than stats and items for completing a quest, but Vol didn't have the time to ponder that thought. He was running hard through the snow, behind the back of the longhouses, away from the street, where the snow was piled deep.
He was glad of the practice that he'd had in running the snow all the way he. He recalled the ways that he could shift his weight, to avoid sinking too deep, and to avoid wasting energy springing up too early.
He stumbled at first, frantic, but his heart quickly calmed. It could get no worse than this, after all. The whole guard's barracks were already after him. There was nothing to fear, for fear was what came with thinking. Vol was a man of action.