He did not want a repeat of that.
Thirty minutes he spent walking, and he found nothing. Nothing but the corpses of people that he knew. He should likely have felt something as he rolled them over, seeing familiar faces frozen stiff, none of them spared the fleckings of blood, all of them fallen to the sword.
But Vol had never been particularly close to any of them. It was only his brother Jok that he'd truly felt a kinship towards.
He likely should have looked for the body of his mother amongst the wreckage, but he didn't think to. Whether that was sheer forgetfulness, or a more slippery manoeuvring by the unconscious, directing him to avoid potential pain, it was hard to tell. Vol's relationship with his mother had not been good. It had grown even worse when Jok died, and she spent every moment since then spitting on the warrior's profession, and using Jok's death as an excuse for it.
No food, no shelter, no clothes, nothing that Vol particularly wanted. Any scraps of food that he found had already been sitting for a while, and most of it had been touched by the flames. Any clothes he found were either frozen in blood, cut to pieces, or were simply too small for his large frame.
It was after using nearly an hour of precious sunlight, as he made his rounds around the ruins of the town, that he finally made it to the front gate again, one that Oliver had broken down just days before. He stepped slowly in between the corpses, with his clothes hanging off his shoulders, and his skin exposed to the cold air in more than one place.
There was nothing left in Bolrif but death. Oliver had made sure of that. Everything that would have been of use was taken or burned. Weapons remained, left in the hands of the dead, but they would have done Vol no good.
He briefly considered taking a handful of them to sell, but decided against it. He had more pressing concerns than mere coin. The same could be said for the chainmail that he saw peaking through the clothes of several bodies. The air was far too cold for it, and he knew to fear that cold. He'd seen more than a few men die, after braving the winter storms on a night.
North, he decided at the gate. He'd seen Oliver's army go East. He could have followed them, and sought to claim Oliver's head already, but if there was one thing he had learned from his first battle, it was that he was still far too weak, when compared to Oliver.
And so North was what he decided upon, towards another town, and the prospect of food, and shelter.
!! SYSTEM LOCATION NOTED: NOOKHAVEN. DISTANCE: THIRTY MILES.
Vol grimaced at the reminder. Thirty miles. That would be too far to cover in the night.
!! SYSTEM REMINDER: QUEST – FIND SHELTER. TIME REMAINING: 10H 15
Listening to the System's reminder, and eyeing the best path through the forest, as he stood at the gate, Vol did not notice the approach of a quiet set of boots, plumbing through the snow. It was not until he heard a branch cracking to his right, beneath all the snow, that he finally noticed.
He raised his axe, in one swift motion, and pointed it in the direction of the man.
"Woahh there!" The man came to a halt, ten feet away.
A bearded man, in his forties, covered in warm furs, with the boots to go with them. By the heavy pack on his back, the man was a merchant, coming to trade in Bolrif.
"Merchant?" Vol asked.
"Aye… Aye, I would be, if there wasn't a man – or are ya a boy? – pointing an axe in my face," the man said, his irritation obvious.
Vol glanced back at the town. He wondered if the man could see the corpses peeking out through the gate. The man followed his gaze, finally noticing the destruction that he had been wrought. From the outer walls, with their solid stone, it was hard to tell – but as soon as one looked at the gate, with its deformed centre, and scorch marks, it was obvious what had happened here.
"By the Mighty… I thought… Gods! Was it Oliver?" The man asked, the terror evident on his face.
Vol nodded slowly, noting the sword on the man's hip, and then noticing the furs that were peeking out through his backpack. From the look of the man, he seemed a hunter. At the very least, he had connections to one, if his trade was what Vol thought it to be.
The System – once again – startled him out of his analysis.
!! SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT!
OPTIONAL QUEST ISSUED:
SLAY THE FUR MERCHANT: 0/1
THE SYSTEM TAKES PITY ON THE VESSEL AND HIS DIRE SITUATION. SLAY THE FUR MERCHANT AND STEAL HIS MERCHANDISE.
QUEST REWARDS:
+1 STRENGTH
+1 STAMINA
+1 WEAPONS PROFICIENCY
Even as the System spoke in his head, the fur merchant was still talking. "I'd thought… I'd thought with talk of Oliver already being seen marching East, that Bolrif had been avoided. We all did. Though there was no way that he could take a town that quickly…"
His eyes flickered towards Vol's, seeing something there. The youth took a quiet step in the snow towards him, his axe hanging by his side.
His bloodlust must have been palpable, for the nervousness about the man's face was obvious. "Woah there, boy… What's with that look?" He looked to the state of Vol's clothes, seeing the dried blood there, as he searched for an explanation to his hostility. "Ah… You're out of sorts. Been robbed, got nothing, eh? Been there – it's the way of our people. I'll give you some furs, aye? Goodwill. Even Varsharn wouldn't begrudge the disposed of some goodwill."