In this Quest you'll be playing as the Shield Hero. Luckily for everyone involved you will...
Shield Hero, but hopefully Heroic
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Canon Omake: Whatever Happened to Miss Raphtalia (Trigger Warnings)
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Alright, here's chapter one. Enjoy!
WARNING: Suicidal thoughts and implications of sexual abuse
Whatever Happened to Miss Raphtalia?
Chapter One
Raphtalia doubled over, coughing violently. She weakly stared at the blood-tainted phlegm that now stained her hands and clothes. The young girl didn't know much about the sickness that was ravaging her, but it was bad. Her lungs felt like they were bleeding, her hands were shaking, and it hurt to think too much.
Of course, being on the verge of starvation didn't help. Nor did being trapped in a small cage, with the slave brand on Raphtalia's chest sending a surge of pain through the demihuman whenever she got too noisy. Raphtalia flinched at the mere memory; she had learned to be silent, and not ask for help. That only earned her more torture.
Raphtalia's ears twitched, and she looked up. The slave trader was entertaining more clients- what looked to be a band of adventurers. She could tell by the clanking of their weapons and armor, and the self confident air around them, similar to but distinct from that of a noble. Raphtalia forced those memories down, and continued observing the latest customers.
"As you can see, " the slave trader said proudly, "this wolfman is quite powerful. Level seventy-five, and a three year veteran of the Coliseum! An excellent warrior, with loyalty ensured by the slave curse. Only twenty gold, for a customer such as you, Lady Ermyn." The leader of the mercenaries, a brutal looking woman with short hair, examined the beastman with a cold eye. At least, Raphtalia imagined it was a cold eye, for she couldn't see Ermyn's face from her cage. "Twelve gold," the woman replied. "It's arms and legs are obviously broken. I would have to spend much time and resources to get it back into fighting shape." The slave trader laughed, sending a chill through Raphtalia's heart. "You are exactly as sharp as your reputation implies, my Lady! Fifteen, and I'll give you a discount if you buy more with this purchase."
Ermyn raised a hand to her face, and appeared to consider for a moment, before sighing. "What the hell, we're flush in money anyway after the Wave." She turned to face the adventuring band behind her. Raphtalia quickly ducked her head down. She didn't want to attract any attention, especially not from these people. Better to just die here, than be sold to another master.
"Alright, you bastards," Ermyn shouted. "Each of you grab a slave or two, nothing too pricey, but other than that, you got free reign. Consider it a bonus!" A cheer rose among the crowd, and they promptly scattered throughout the carnival tent. Luckily, they seemed to stay away from the back where Raphtalia and all the corpses were. It was taking all of Raphtalia's energy to stay aware of her surroundings while not looking like she was. Her body became wracked with shakes as her will gave, and the girl collapsed to the floor of her cage.
The rattle of Raphtalia's chains attracted one of the mercenaries: a tall man clad in plate armor, with a pair of cheek scars on an otherwise handsome face. He wandered over to Raphtalia's cage, followed by an archer wearing leathers. The man knelt and appraised the demihuman with a cold eye. "Pretty little thing, aren't you." The man reached out, thrusting his hand between the bars of Raphtalia's cage; she tried to flinch back, but he succeeded in grabbing her face, forcing her mouth open to inspect her teeth."Really, Paul? If you want a whore, there are better ones back that way," the archer commented. "Ones that aren't demis."
Paul thrust Raphtalia to the floor before retracting his hand and standing up. Raphtalia let out a cry, and pain coursed through her ribs. She laid there, limply.
"Not just a whore," the armored adventurer replied. "Remember that job back in Zeltoble? One of the merchant knights had a bunch of maidservants following him around. They would help him with his armor, make his food, stuff like that. I want one of those. This one'll serve as a trial run for me, let me see how I like it. If I don't, well, she's at least a cheap lay."
Raphtalia looked up, fear evident in her face. She did not want to be sold to this man! Maybe if she played up her sickness? Nobody would want a slave who was dying of sickness. Then she could die, and see her parents again. She could see Rifana again. Raphtalia sucked in a deep breath. It hurt. It hurt so much. But the pain would soon be over. She let the breath out, then sucked in another. To an outside observer, it would look as if Raphtalia was hyperventilating. Then, she began coughing, phlegm and blood flying from her mouth in hacking gasps. Raphtalia's deep breathing had irritated her lungs, bringing on this fit.
The archer looked at Paul as if to say 'what did I tell you?' Paul shrugged. "Like I said, a trial run. Doesn't matter if she dies. And I have that anti-plague ring, anyway." Raphtalia's heart sank. "Trader! I want to buy this one." She was being sold again. "Ah, are you sure? That one won't last a month. I'm lucky it hasn't infected my other stock." Raphtalia began truly hyperventilating. "I'm quite sure. I have plans for it." No no this wasn't happening no-!
Raphtalia's cage was opened, and she was brusquely pulled out. She couldn't find the strength to resist, for her mind was a whirlwind of panic. And then, and then- "A sample of your blood, if you please."
PAIN. It had happened before, but Raphtalia was not used to it. This pain was the sort that heralded more to come. She knew these sorts of masters; they got off on hurting their slaves. The initial agony of the brand would soon fade, however, it would come back it. It always did. As far as Raphtalia knew, death was the only release.
The demihuman looked bleakly up at her new master. Paul looked back down at her, his lips tight in a smirk. "Come along," he drawled. "I need to show you off to the others." So, they went, Raphtalia following along. The two reunited with the other mercenaries. Ermyn handed a sack of gold over to the slave trader, an eager smile on the latter's face. "Pleasure doing business with you," he cackled. The adventurer leader rolled her eyes, before turning to one of her followers- a young man, barely into adulthood, clutching the chain of a minotaur in one hand. "Is this your first slave, Cassius?" she asked in a motherly tone. The rookie in question nodded. Ermyn clapped a gloved hand on his shoulder. "Remember. Death is a certainty in our line of work. When you bite it, your slave will go free, and it will run rampant. I leave it to you ensure that it doesn't hurt the company. Got it?"
The boy mercenary uttered a "yes ma'am", bur Raphtalia barely heard it. The slave curse could be broken? She stopped in the middle of the street, and PAIN wracked through her as Paul snapped his fingers. "Stupid little thing," he muttered. Raphtalia's master then said in a clearer voice, "I ordered you to come along. So come along." Raphtalia jerked her head in a nod, and scurried after. Plans were considered and discarded inside her mind. She would need more information, and thus more time. More time meant more pain. The pain didn't matter, however, because death was the only release. That death did not need to be that of Raphtalia.
Canon Omake: Whatever Happened to Miss Raphtalia 2 (Trigger Warnings)
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Whatever Happened to Miss Raphtalia?
Chapter Two
WARNING: THIS CONTENT CONTAINS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND EXTREME CHILD ABUSE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Three days. Three days had passed since Raphtalia had gained her newest master, and already she hated him with the fury of… of… of a thousand raging, city destroying fires! Yeah! Paul was treating her quite poorly, punishing Raphtalia for the slightest slip ups. And it wasn't just the slave brand. There had already been two beatings, and Raphtalia had been denied her gruel more than once. And on top of all of that, she had to wear this stiff, itchy, frilly, short-skirted, black and white dress. It was very demeaning.
Ever since she had discovered the possibility of solving her problems by killing them, ever since she had found hope, Raphtalia had become more aware of every last injustice done against her. It would have been easy to sink under the weight of it all, to just curl up and die. A large part of her still wanted to. Raphtalia wouldn't have to live in this harsh world anymore, and she could see everyone she had lost again. But then, she knew Keel was still alive- that man wouldn't let any of his toys perish- and it was possible that Sadeena was out there, too.
Also, Raphtalia really, really wanted to kill Paul. Can't kill someone if you're dead.
Now, the homicidal young girl was looking over the herbs laid out on the table in front of her. She was in the kitchen tent, along with all the lower ranked mercenaries who were on cooking duty. Raphtalia picked up a leaf, and hesitantly nibbled on it. It tasted bad, but didn't seem to be immediately poisonous. That was a shame. (Later, Raphtalia would reflect that it isn't exactly a good idea to figure out if something is poisonous by taste testing.)
"MAID!" A voice bellowed from outside. "Where. Is. My. Tea!" Raphtalia jerked up, and hurried to a pot hanging over a fire. She grabbed the pot with her bare hands, only to let out a yelp and drop it. She looked down at her burned hands, and then at the teapot spilling its contents onto the ground. Horror dawned in her eyes. A few of the cooks glanced at Raphtalia, but most looked away, and no one came to help her.
The tent flap billowed as Paul stormed inside, clad in a gambeson. He coldly glared at the slave, and snapped his fingers. Raphtalia followed the tea pot to the ground, letting a cry as PAIN coursed through her. Though it faded quickly, she was still shaking, and the spasms had triggered another coughing fit. A couple of the cooks gave Paul disapproving looks for making a scene. The man grabbed Raphtalia by the collar, and dragged her away.
Later that day, Raphtalia was cleaning her master's weaponry, under the semi-watchful eye of said master. She lifted a long knife, feeling it's weight in her hands. A high quality blade, easily able to part flesh. Raphtalia learned this, as the fingers of the hand grasping the blade were now covered in blood. She had barely felt any pain as the dagger sliced her palm open. She glanced back at Paul, who raised an eyebrow in response. Raphtalia turned back to her work, and clenched the fabric of her dress in her injured hand, to staunch the flow of blood.
Really, it was good that she was working with weapons. She might have to fight her way out of the adventurer camp. In fact, she felt a call to these swords, spears, knives, shields, and bows. A primal part of Raphtalia demanded that she shed the blood of all those who had hurt her. 'Soon,' she thought to herself as she stealthily tied a rag around her hand. 'Not yet. But soon.'
Raphtalia finished her work, and wrapped the various weapons in a cloth: an arming sword, a long knife, a shortbow, a lance, and numerous daggers and arrows. The girl took the bundle in her arms, struggling under the weight; the physical exertion was also aggravating the lingering pain from the day's earlier beating. Bruises would definitely be forming. Raphtalia ignored it, and turned to her master. Paul didn't say a word, just turned around and walked off. Raphtalia staggered after.
Once more, Raphtalia coughed. Violently, of course. It was late at night, but she couldn't sleep. Didn't want to. She didn't like nightmares. 'Besides,' she thought. 'The stars at night are pretty.' Raphtalia, along with all the other slaves, were chained to posts under the night sky, given blankets to sleep on. Most of the mercenaries were sleeping inside the tents, although a few were standing watch, Ermyn among them.
Raphtalia wiped her phlegm covered hands on her dress- it was becoming quite stained at this point. Her master would likely have her clean it soon, after torturing her for daring to get dirty. Raphtalia's ears twitched, then, at the sound of chains rattling.
The wolf-man, a personal combat slave of Ermyn, had settled down next to Raphtalia. "It's a beautiful night," he started, in a polished voice that hinted at a higher education. "Don't you think?" Raphtalia looked over at him, tense, and nodded slightly. What reason did he have for being here, beside her?
"You know," the wolf-man continued, "when I was young, I wondered if anyone lived up there." He gestured to the expanse above them. "In the stars. My father said that the spirits of our ancestors were up there, watching over us; and that when we died, we would join them, to watch over our own descendants." The wolf-man let out a small chuckle. "On the other hand, my papa would say that-"
Raphtalia interjected then, speaking in a voice tight from lack of use. "You had a father and a papa? How-" The girl coughed, before sitting up to let the fluids in her lungs drain. "How does that work?" The wolf-man rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his muzzle. "Oh. So she speaks!" He let out a barking laugh. One of the night watchmen shot a glare at the slaves, and the wolf-man flinched back. "I was adopted, presumably," he continued in a whisper as Raphtalia attentively listened, curiosity in her eyes. "Although, for all I know, they did some sort of magic ritual to have me. I don't think I'll know until I'm up there with them."
The wolf-man took on wistful look, staring up at the stars. Raphtalia, however, was still tense. She thought over her words, and spoke again. "Why are you talking to me?" The wolf-man, although he did not move, gave Raphtalia the side eye. "You belong to Lieutenant Paul, do you not?" The demihuman bristled at the thought of him, and nodded. "As I'm sure you've already discovered, he is a cruel excuse of a man. The way Lady Ermyn talks about it, he's gone through personal slave each month. I think she just keeps him around because he's the master for many of the other combat slaves." Raphtalia raised an eyebrow. 'Lady' Ermyn? She certainly wouldn't be addressing that man as 'Lord'. However, she said nothing, allowing the wolf-man to continue. "You're young. You deserve better, but the only release is death. If you're going to die, I want you to do it on your own terms."
Raphtalia let out a small gasp as the wolf-man took out a small, chalky tablet. "This is a poison," he explained. "Called 'Endless Sleep'. I've had it with me since my Coliseum days. Supposedly, if you drop this in a liquid, then drink it, the next time you go to sleep, you will die. Painlessly." He lifted his arm out to Raphtalia, the tablet in his hand. "I want you to have it. I'm too high of a level for it to work on me anymore, to say nothing of the various masters I've had. But you… you don't deserve what Paul is going to put you through."
Hesitantly, barely believing this was happening, Raphtalia took the tablet, and tucked it into the folds of her dress. "Thank you," she whispered, before laying back down alongside the wolf-man. Raphtalia looked up into the stars, thoughts whirling inside her head. "My daddy talked about a War in Heaven," she eventually said. "I never learned what it was about. But I like what your father talked about more. Being with our ancestors sounds a lot better." The young girl waited, before saying "My name's Raphtalia." The wolf-man gave a toothy smile, and responded "Mine's Theo. May we see each other in the stars." Raphtalia let a small smile come onto her face, and closed her eyes. Seeing her new friend(?) again in the stars sounded nice. But that would have to come later. She had work to do.
The next morning, Raphtalia was toddling after Paul, the weapon bundle in her arms. She wasn't sure if the Endless Sleep would work on him. Theo had said that he himself was too high level for the poison to work on him. Did that mean he ignored it? Or would it have a lesser effect? 'Tonight," she thought to herself. 'I'll slip the poison into his evening tea.' Raphtalia felt the pill in her dress pocket, and the swordbreaker dagger she had slipped into her shoe. 'Then, I'll break my chains, slip into Paul's tent, and stab him. Just to make sure. Then I'm free.'
'Then what?' A part of Raphtalia asked, but before she could think of an answer, they had arrived at their destination: a clearing within the camp, where Ermyn was leading most of the mercenaries- about eight dozen of them- in training. "Alright, men," she began in a strong voice. "The next Wave is coming soon. And with the Shield 'Hero' having shown her true colors, the kingdom needs warriors to defend the world. The King will pay us well to be those warriors." Ermyn was pacing in front of the assembled adventurers, looking into the eyes of each one. Raphtalia kept an ear swiveled in their direction was she helped Paul put on his armor. "I won't lie to you. We all remember how bad the last Wave was, and this is going to be worse. But we will. Stand. Strong. We've delved ancient tombs and forgotten dungeons. We've fought across the whole continent, for kings, lords, and senators. When the times got tough, we swallowed our pride and accepted jobs from the filthy demihuman kingdoms. Will we back down now?!" A resounding "NO!" came from the crowd. Pride was gleaming in Ermyn's eyes as she looked over her company. Raphtalia rolled hers as she tightened a buckle, resisting the urge to yank it down hard. 'So you're a good leader,' she thought. 'Doesn't excuse anything.' "So let's get to work, you sons of whores! We've gotta be tough enough to fight off the monsters when they come!"
A resounding cheer came from the gathered adventurers. They broke up and scattered through the clearing, drilling maneuvers and sparring with each other. Ermyn intermingled among her men, correcting any mistakes they made and providing firm encouragement- to the humans, at least. A cold "Do it again" was all that was given to any of the combat slaves. Raphtalia, now that Paul was training with the others, sat off to the side and watched. She absorbed everything she could: how the mercenaries held their weapons, how they shifted their feet, how they plunged their blades into straw dummies.
Raphtalia felt her vision drawn to Paul. The man was strangely agile in his full plate; Raphtalia thought that sort of quickness was impossible in heavy armor. He wielded a wooden arming sword in his main hand, and a long knife in the other, expertly parrying his opponent's strikes. For a moment, Raphtalia imagined that she was fighting her master, a blade in each hand, inflicting him with painful cuts and scratches, drawing the fight out before plunging her sword into his black heart. Then, as he sank to the ground, Raphtalia took her other weapon sliced Paul's head off in one clean stroke.
A nearby clanking noise drew Raphtalia out of her fantasy. She drew in a small breath as she looked up to see Paul, staring down at her with a strange look in his eyes. "You were staring at me, maid," he drawled. Raphtalia didn't respond, only beginning to breath heavier. This couldn't be happening. She wasn't ready yet. She wasn't ready yet! Paul knelt down before Raphtalia, and placed a hand on her shoulder; the look in his eyes only intensified. She was being consumed with panic. It felt like she couldn't breathe, and her lungs burning as the filled with phlegm and blood. "It's only natural, for your kind." What was he saying? What did he mean!? "Normally, I wouldn't stoop to the level of giving my attention to a filthy demihuman. You are all worthless." Paul took off his glove, and softly touched Raphtalia's cheek with his bare hand. She was paralyzed. He was going to beat her he was going to make her hurt he was going to snap his fingers and the pain would be back-
"However, this needs to be done." Paul forcefully grabbed Raphtalia by the arm-
Raphtalia vomited what little there was in her stomach onto the ground outside the kitchen tent. She was kneeling over the puddle of sick, clutching at her belly. Her throat convulsed, and it felt like she was about to spew more, but there was nothing left. Instead, the convulsions triggered a round of hacking coughs. Phlegm and blood joined the puddle as Raphtalia stared dully at her hands, one still wrapped in a bloodied rag. The other was missing two fingers. She resisted the urge to bring her hands to her face.
She felt dead inside. After what she went through at the hands of that man, all the torture, seeing her best friend- her best friend die, it had felt as though there left nothing left of Raphtalia to be broken. However, Paul had taken the last scrap of dignity she didn't even know she had left. She had been violated, disfigured. Her thoughts were slow, and everything felt wrong. Did she really think she could break free? Theo was right. She needed to die on her own terms.
Raphtalia put her hand into her dress pocket, and took out the poison tablet. She looked bleakly at the instrument of death. Shifting into a sitting position, Raphtalia prepared to release herself from this cruel world, to walk among the stars. Then, she felt something in her shoe poke at her toes. "Oh," she whispered. Raphtalia took out the swordbreaker dagger, and admired the serrated blade. Just looking at it sparked something her heart. It was like a burning fire, that demanded to be fed. Raphtalia pressed the flat of the knife against her cheek, feeling the cool metal through freshly scarred skin. She hated Paul. She would kill Paul. And she would make it painful.
Wiping the vomit off her mouth, Raphtalia tucked the swordbreaker dagger back into her shoe, clenched the hand holding the tablet of Endless Sleep, and got to her feet. Everything came into focus for her. Never again would Raphtalia serve another. She would come down like the wrath of the Heroes on anyone that tried.
Raphtalia walked into the kitchen tent, purpose in her stride. The cooks, of course, ignored her. The demihuman grabbed a fistful of tea leaves, then dropped them and the chalky tablet in a pot of water. As she hung the pot over a fire to boil, Raphtalia took comfort in the feeling of the dagger in her shoe, instead of the odd feeling of breathing through her nose, or the way it hurt to squint. The Endless Sleep would not be enough to kill Paul. Besides, she wanted to see him die with her own eyes.
That night, Raphtalia sawed at her chain with the swordbreaker dagger, looking around furtively. She already cut herself a couple times, and was lucky the wounds were shallow. The pain was nothing compared to what she had gone through earlier that day. Her apron and headdress had already been cut up to serve as bandages. She never liked them anyways. Too itchy.
Finally, the chain broke near the base of her ankle cuff with a snap. Raphtalia froze, almost certain someone was going to hear. However, no one came running towards the slaves. She gripped the dagger in one hand, and began sneaking towards Paul's tent, on the other side of camp. More than once, Raphtalia had to crawl through the mud or freeze utterly to avoid the gaze of the night watchmen. She avoided their watchful eyes, with more luck than skill, and made it her target.
Inside, Paul was sleeping fitfully on his cot, his skin glistening with sweat. Raphtalia trotted over to him, and placed a pair of fingers from the less injured hand on his neck. His pulse was still there. But it was slower. He was weaker. Raphtalia didn't know Paul's level, but it was certain to be high. She was thankful that the Endless Sleep was at least partially working. She took her hand back, and glanced over at her soon-to-be-ex master's weapon rack. That arming sword looked nice.
A scant few seconds later, Raphtalia was armed with said blade, which was much too large for her. But she wanted the irony of slaying Paul with his own weapon. Taking the sword in both hands, Raphtalia stood over Paul, breathing quickly as she prepared to stab down into his throat.
She was hesitating. Why was she hesitating? She wanted with all her heart to kill this man. Maybe it was her mother's voice in her ear, urging her that to take a life was wrong. Was it the faint disgust she had felt at seeing the blood ooze from her various wounds? She didn't know.
Suddenly, Paul stirred, blearily opening an eye, focusing on Raphtalia's face. "Maid," he croaked. "I knew you would come here. Your kind always needs more." But her distaste for blood was nothing compared to her disgust at those words. Raphtalia growled, and plunged the sword down with all her might. Paul's eyes flew open, and he flailed, choking on his own blood, trying and failing to scream. Raphtalia lifted her weapon, and swung it around to bite deep into her victim's chest, a mad look in her eyes as she was splattered with gore. She hefted the sword for another strike, but then, somehow, Paul found the strength to reflexively snap his fingers.
A cry of PAIN tore from Raphtalia, her slave crest crackling with purple light, and her injured hands not dropping the arming sword, but tightening around the hilt. Raphtalia screamed, tears running down the grooves of her scarred cheeks as she slashed at Paul's bleeding body over and over and over. Everything HURT. Her chest was BURNING, and it seemed as if her entire world was PAIN. That PAIN only fed Raphtalia's frenzy, until finally, it stopped.
Raphtalia collapsed, the sword clattering on to the ground, coughs wracking through her. It hurt, yes, but is was nothing compared to before, only lingering aches and pains left. An icon declaring "+10,000 XP" appeared in the corner of her vision with a ding, but Raphtalia ignored it. Instead, she picked up the arming sword with one hand, the swordbreaker dagger clutched in the other. Raphtalia looked into Paul's still open eyes. She found nothing. Her master was dead.
Raphtalia let out an adorable cheer, raising her weapons- one still dripping with blood- above her. As she eagerly hurried around the tent, gathering supplies for her escape, Raphtalia did not process the battle cries outside, the glow of raging fires, or the clash of steel against steel.
Chapter Two
WARNING: THIS CONTENT CONTAINS SUICIDAL THOUGHTS AND EXTREME CHILD ABUSE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.
Three days. Three days had passed since Raphtalia had gained her newest master, and already she hated him with the fury of… of… of a thousand raging, city destroying fires! Yeah! Paul was treating her quite poorly, punishing Raphtalia for the slightest slip ups. And it wasn't just the slave brand. There had already been two beatings, and Raphtalia had been denied her gruel more than once. And on top of all of that, she had to wear this stiff, itchy, frilly, short-skirted, black and white dress. It was very demeaning.
Ever since she had discovered the possibility of solving her problems by killing them, ever since she had found hope, Raphtalia had become more aware of every last injustice done against her. It would have been easy to sink under the weight of it all, to just curl up and die. A large part of her still wanted to. Raphtalia wouldn't have to live in this harsh world anymore, and she could see everyone she had lost again. But then, she knew Keel was still alive- that man wouldn't let any of his toys perish- and it was possible that Sadeena was out there, too.
Also, Raphtalia really, really wanted to kill Paul. Can't kill someone if you're dead.
Now, the homicidal young girl was looking over the herbs laid out on the table in front of her. She was in the kitchen tent, along with all the lower ranked mercenaries who were on cooking duty. Raphtalia picked up a leaf, and hesitantly nibbled on it. It tasted bad, but didn't seem to be immediately poisonous. That was a shame. (Later, Raphtalia would reflect that it isn't exactly a good idea to figure out if something is poisonous by taste testing.)
"MAID!" A voice bellowed from outside. "Where. Is. My. Tea!" Raphtalia jerked up, and hurried to a pot hanging over a fire. She grabbed the pot with her bare hands, only to let out a yelp and drop it. She looked down at her burned hands, and then at the teapot spilling its contents onto the ground. Horror dawned in her eyes. A few of the cooks glanced at Raphtalia, but most looked away, and no one came to help her.
The tent flap billowed as Paul stormed inside, clad in a gambeson. He coldly glared at the slave, and snapped his fingers. Raphtalia followed the tea pot to the ground, letting a cry as PAIN coursed through her. Though it faded quickly, she was still shaking, and the spasms had triggered another coughing fit. A couple of the cooks gave Paul disapproving looks for making a scene. The man grabbed Raphtalia by the collar, and dragged her away.
Later that day, Raphtalia was cleaning her master's weaponry, under the semi-watchful eye of said master. She lifted a long knife, feeling it's weight in her hands. A high quality blade, easily able to part flesh. Raphtalia learned this, as the fingers of the hand grasping the blade were now covered in blood. She had barely felt any pain as the dagger sliced her palm open. She glanced back at Paul, who raised an eyebrow in response. Raphtalia turned back to her work, and clenched the fabric of her dress in her injured hand, to staunch the flow of blood.
Really, it was good that she was working with weapons. She might have to fight her way out of the adventurer camp. In fact, she felt a call to these swords, spears, knives, shields, and bows. A primal part of Raphtalia demanded that she shed the blood of all those who had hurt her. 'Soon,' she thought to herself as she stealthily tied a rag around her hand. 'Not yet. But soon.'
Raphtalia finished her work, and wrapped the various weapons in a cloth: an arming sword, a long knife, a shortbow, a lance, and numerous daggers and arrows. The girl took the bundle in her arms, struggling under the weight; the physical exertion was also aggravating the lingering pain from the day's earlier beating. Bruises would definitely be forming. Raphtalia ignored it, and turned to her master. Paul didn't say a word, just turned around and walked off. Raphtalia staggered after.
Once more, Raphtalia coughed. Violently, of course. It was late at night, but she couldn't sleep. Didn't want to. She didn't like nightmares. 'Besides,' she thought. 'The stars at night are pretty.' Raphtalia, along with all the other slaves, were chained to posts under the night sky, given blankets to sleep on. Most of the mercenaries were sleeping inside the tents, although a few were standing watch, Ermyn among them.
Raphtalia wiped her phlegm covered hands on her dress- it was becoming quite stained at this point. Her master would likely have her clean it soon, after torturing her for daring to get dirty. Raphtalia's ears twitched, then, at the sound of chains rattling.
The wolf-man, a personal combat slave of Ermyn, had settled down next to Raphtalia. "It's a beautiful night," he started, in a polished voice that hinted at a higher education. "Don't you think?" Raphtalia looked over at him, tense, and nodded slightly. What reason did he have for being here, beside her?
"You know," the wolf-man continued, "when I was young, I wondered if anyone lived up there." He gestured to the expanse above them. "In the stars. My father said that the spirits of our ancestors were up there, watching over us; and that when we died, we would join them, to watch over our own descendants." The wolf-man let out a small chuckle. "On the other hand, my papa would say that-"
Raphtalia interjected then, speaking in a voice tight from lack of use. "You had a father and a papa? How-" The girl coughed, before sitting up to let the fluids in her lungs drain. "How does that work?" The wolf-man rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his muzzle. "Oh. So she speaks!" He let out a barking laugh. One of the night watchmen shot a glare at the slaves, and the wolf-man flinched back. "I was adopted, presumably," he continued in a whisper as Raphtalia attentively listened, curiosity in her eyes. "Although, for all I know, they did some sort of magic ritual to have me. I don't think I'll know until I'm up there with them."
The wolf-man took on wistful look, staring up at the stars. Raphtalia, however, was still tense. She thought over her words, and spoke again. "Why are you talking to me?" The wolf-man, although he did not move, gave Raphtalia the side eye. "You belong to Lieutenant Paul, do you not?" The demihuman bristled at the thought of him, and nodded. "As I'm sure you've already discovered, he is a cruel excuse of a man. The way Lady Ermyn talks about it, he's gone through personal slave each month. I think she just keeps him around because he's the master for many of the other combat slaves." Raphtalia raised an eyebrow. 'Lady' Ermyn? She certainly wouldn't be addressing that man as 'Lord'. However, she said nothing, allowing the wolf-man to continue. "You're young. You deserve better, but the only release is death. If you're going to die, I want you to do it on your own terms."
Raphtalia let out a small gasp as the wolf-man took out a small, chalky tablet. "This is a poison," he explained. "Called 'Endless Sleep'. I've had it with me since my Coliseum days. Supposedly, if you drop this in a liquid, then drink it, the next time you go to sleep, you will die. Painlessly." He lifted his arm out to Raphtalia, the tablet in his hand. "I want you to have it. I'm too high of a level for it to work on me anymore, to say nothing of the various masters I've had. But you… you don't deserve what Paul is going to put you through."
Hesitantly, barely believing this was happening, Raphtalia took the tablet, and tucked it into the folds of her dress. "Thank you," she whispered, before laying back down alongside the wolf-man. Raphtalia looked up into the stars, thoughts whirling inside her head. "My daddy talked about a War in Heaven," she eventually said. "I never learned what it was about. But I like what your father talked about more. Being with our ancestors sounds a lot better." The young girl waited, before saying "My name's Raphtalia." The wolf-man gave a toothy smile, and responded "Mine's Theo. May we see each other in the stars." Raphtalia let a small smile come onto her face, and closed her eyes. Seeing her new friend(?) again in the stars sounded nice. But that would have to come later. She had work to do.
The next morning, Raphtalia was toddling after Paul, the weapon bundle in her arms. She wasn't sure if the Endless Sleep would work on him. Theo had said that he himself was too high level for the poison to work on him. Did that mean he ignored it? Or would it have a lesser effect? 'Tonight," she thought to herself. 'I'll slip the poison into his evening tea.' Raphtalia felt the pill in her dress pocket, and the swordbreaker dagger she had slipped into her shoe. 'Then, I'll break my chains, slip into Paul's tent, and stab him. Just to make sure. Then I'm free.'
'Then what?' A part of Raphtalia asked, but before she could think of an answer, they had arrived at their destination: a clearing within the camp, where Ermyn was leading most of the mercenaries- about eight dozen of them- in training. "Alright, men," she began in a strong voice. "The next Wave is coming soon. And with the Shield 'Hero' having shown her true colors, the kingdom needs warriors to defend the world. The King will pay us well to be those warriors." Ermyn was pacing in front of the assembled adventurers, looking into the eyes of each one. Raphtalia kept an ear swiveled in their direction was she helped Paul put on his armor. "I won't lie to you. We all remember how bad the last Wave was, and this is going to be worse. But we will. Stand. Strong. We've delved ancient tombs and forgotten dungeons. We've fought across the whole continent, for kings, lords, and senators. When the times got tough, we swallowed our pride and accepted jobs from the filthy demihuman kingdoms. Will we back down now?!" A resounding "NO!" came from the crowd. Pride was gleaming in Ermyn's eyes as she looked over her company. Raphtalia rolled hers as she tightened a buckle, resisting the urge to yank it down hard. 'So you're a good leader,' she thought. 'Doesn't excuse anything.' "So let's get to work, you sons of whores! We've gotta be tough enough to fight off the monsters when they come!"
A resounding cheer came from the gathered adventurers. They broke up and scattered through the clearing, drilling maneuvers and sparring with each other. Ermyn intermingled among her men, correcting any mistakes they made and providing firm encouragement- to the humans, at least. A cold "Do it again" was all that was given to any of the combat slaves. Raphtalia, now that Paul was training with the others, sat off to the side and watched. She absorbed everything she could: how the mercenaries held their weapons, how they shifted their feet, how they plunged their blades into straw dummies.
Raphtalia felt her vision drawn to Paul. The man was strangely agile in his full plate; Raphtalia thought that sort of quickness was impossible in heavy armor. He wielded a wooden arming sword in his main hand, and a long knife in the other, expertly parrying his opponent's strikes. For a moment, Raphtalia imagined that she was fighting her master, a blade in each hand, inflicting him with painful cuts and scratches, drawing the fight out before plunging her sword into his black heart. Then, as he sank to the ground, Raphtalia took her other weapon sliced Paul's head off in one clean stroke.
A nearby clanking noise drew Raphtalia out of her fantasy. She drew in a small breath as she looked up to see Paul, staring down at her with a strange look in his eyes. "You were staring at me, maid," he drawled. Raphtalia didn't respond, only beginning to breath heavier. This couldn't be happening. She wasn't ready yet. She wasn't ready yet! Paul knelt down before Raphtalia, and placed a hand on her shoulder; the look in his eyes only intensified. She was being consumed with panic. It felt like she couldn't breathe, and her lungs burning as the filled with phlegm and blood. "It's only natural, for your kind." What was he saying? What did he mean!? "Normally, I wouldn't stoop to the level of giving my attention to a filthy demihuman. You are all worthless." Paul took off his glove, and softly touched Raphtalia's cheek with his bare hand. She was paralyzed. He was going to beat her he was going to make her hurt he was going to snap his fingers and the pain would be back-
"However, this needs to be done." Paul forcefully grabbed Raphtalia by the arm-
Raphtalia vomited what little there was in her stomach onto the ground outside the kitchen tent. She was kneeling over the puddle of sick, clutching at her belly. Her throat convulsed, and it felt like she was about to spew more, but there was nothing left. Instead, the convulsions triggered a round of hacking coughs. Phlegm and blood joined the puddle as Raphtalia stared dully at her hands, one still wrapped in a bloodied rag. The other was missing two fingers. She resisted the urge to bring her hands to her face.
She felt dead inside. After what she went through at the hands of that man, all the torture, seeing her best friend- her best friend die, it had felt as though there left nothing left of Raphtalia to be broken. However, Paul had taken the last scrap of dignity she didn't even know she had left. She had been violated, disfigured. Her thoughts were slow, and everything felt wrong. Did she really think she could break free? Theo was right. She needed to die on her own terms.
Raphtalia put her hand into her dress pocket, and took out the poison tablet. She looked bleakly at the instrument of death. Shifting into a sitting position, Raphtalia prepared to release herself from this cruel world, to walk among the stars. Then, she felt something in her shoe poke at her toes. "Oh," she whispered. Raphtalia took out the swordbreaker dagger, and admired the serrated blade. Just looking at it sparked something her heart. It was like a burning fire, that demanded to be fed. Raphtalia pressed the flat of the knife against her cheek, feeling the cool metal through freshly scarred skin. She hated Paul. She would kill Paul. And she would make it painful.
Wiping the vomit off her mouth, Raphtalia tucked the swordbreaker dagger back into her shoe, clenched the hand holding the tablet of Endless Sleep, and got to her feet. Everything came into focus for her. Never again would Raphtalia serve another. She would come down like the wrath of the Heroes on anyone that tried.
Raphtalia walked into the kitchen tent, purpose in her stride. The cooks, of course, ignored her. The demihuman grabbed a fistful of tea leaves, then dropped them and the chalky tablet in a pot of water. As she hung the pot over a fire to boil, Raphtalia took comfort in the feeling of the dagger in her shoe, instead of the odd feeling of breathing through her nose, or the way it hurt to squint. The Endless Sleep would not be enough to kill Paul. Besides, she wanted to see him die with her own eyes.
That night, Raphtalia sawed at her chain with the swordbreaker dagger, looking around furtively. She already cut herself a couple times, and was lucky the wounds were shallow. The pain was nothing compared to what she had gone through earlier that day. Her apron and headdress had already been cut up to serve as bandages. She never liked them anyways. Too itchy.
Finally, the chain broke near the base of her ankle cuff with a snap. Raphtalia froze, almost certain someone was going to hear. However, no one came running towards the slaves. She gripped the dagger in one hand, and began sneaking towards Paul's tent, on the other side of camp. More than once, Raphtalia had to crawl through the mud or freeze utterly to avoid the gaze of the night watchmen. She avoided their watchful eyes, with more luck than skill, and made it her target.
Inside, Paul was sleeping fitfully on his cot, his skin glistening with sweat. Raphtalia trotted over to him, and placed a pair of fingers from the less injured hand on his neck. His pulse was still there. But it was slower. He was weaker. Raphtalia didn't know Paul's level, but it was certain to be high. She was thankful that the Endless Sleep was at least partially working. She took her hand back, and glanced over at her soon-to-be-ex master's weapon rack. That arming sword looked nice.
A scant few seconds later, Raphtalia was armed with said blade, which was much too large for her. But she wanted the irony of slaying Paul with his own weapon. Taking the sword in both hands, Raphtalia stood over Paul, breathing quickly as she prepared to stab down into his throat.
She was hesitating. Why was she hesitating? She wanted with all her heart to kill this man. Maybe it was her mother's voice in her ear, urging her that to take a life was wrong. Was it the faint disgust she had felt at seeing the blood ooze from her various wounds? She didn't know.
Suddenly, Paul stirred, blearily opening an eye, focusing on Raphtalia's face. "Maid," he croaked. "I knew you would come here. Your kind always needs more." But her distaste for blood was nothing compared to her disgust at those words. Raphtalia growled, and plunged the sword down with all her might. Paul's eyes flew open, and he flailed, choking on his own blood, trying and failing to scream. Raphtalia lifted her weapon, and swung it around to bite deep into her victim's chest, a mad look in her eyes as she was splattered with gore. She hefted the sword for another strike, but then, somehow, Paul found the strength to reflexively snap his fingers.
A cry of PAIN tore from Raphtalia, her slave crest crackling with purple light, and her injured hands not dropping the arming sword, but tightening around the hilt. Raphtalia screamed, tears running down the grooves of her scarred cheeks as she slashed at Paul's bleeding body over and over and over. Everything HURT. Her chest was BURNING, and it seemed as if her entire world was PAIN. That PAIN only fed Raphtalia's frenzy, until finally, it stopped.
Raphtalia collapsed, the sword clattering on to the ground, coughs wracking through her. It hurt, yes, but is was nothing compared to before, only lingering aches and pains left. An icon declaring "+10,000 XP" appeared in the corner of her vision with a ding, but Raphtalia ignored it. Instead, she picked up the arming sword with one hand, the swordbreaker dagger clutched in the other. Raphtalia looked into Paul's still open eyes. She found nothing. Her master was dead.
Raphtalia let out an adorable cheer, raising her weapons- one still dripping with blood- above her. As she eagerly hurried around the tent, gathering supplies for her escape, Raphtalia did not process the battle cries outside, the glow of raging fires, or the clash of steel against steel.
It's going to get worse, before it gets better.
Canon Omake: Whatever Happened to Miss Raphtalia 3
- Location
- Not the asylum anymore
- Pronouns
- She/Her
Whatever Happened to Miss Raphtalia?
Chapter Three
A pile of salvaged items sat in front Raphtalia, who was digging through said pile to figure what she could take, and what she had to leave behind. Obviously, she was too small for any of the armor, and even a cut down, frayed gambeson still went past her knees. (Better than the maid's dress, though.) She could afford to skimp on food rations, since she could probably supplement with hunting. A water skein was absolutely needed. A blanket and pillow, a few whetstones, a carving knife, and pouch of coins containing about twenty silver (anything more would be in the company chest) all were stuffed into a backpack.
Each movement, especially around her hands, shoulders, and hips, sent a small stab of pain through Raphtalia. But she ignored it. She had to.
Raphtalia hefted the backpack over her shoulders, tucked the swordbreaker dagger and a long knife into her belt, and took the arming sword in her hands. She took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in her lungs, and the odd feeling in her nose. This was it. All she had to do now was sneak out of the mercenary camp, and for the first time in… she didn't know how long anymore, she would be free. But…
Looking back at the corpse of her former master, Raphtalia felt a pang of guilt. It… Theo had helped her with this, although it may not have been his intent. She needed to free him, too. Repay the debt. Her will resolved, Raphtalia opened the flap of Paul's tent, taking a moment to bask in the sun's warmth on her face. Her lips tried to twitch into a smile.
Wait. That wasn't the sun.
Raphtalia opened her eyes, and saw that the mercenary camp was in chaos. The warmth was not that of the sun, but came from the inferno raging through the tents. Humans and Beastmen fought with each other, the former fighting with the adrenaline that comes from being attacked in their sleep, and the latter fighting with fervor of abused slaves granted a chance at revenge. Bodies littered the ground, and the sound of weapons clashing against armor filled the night air.
How- how had she not noticed this? Had she really been so giddy at Paul's death that she hadn't heard the battle? She couldn't escape the mercenaries were awake now they would notice her and recapture her and punish her except this time they would cut hands off instead of fingers and ears off instead of noses and sew up her mouth instead of-
A sudden coughing fit saved Raphtalia from spiraling into panic; for a given value of 'save', anyway. No. She would find Theo, kill his master, run away, and live happily ever after, or until whatever disease she had did her in. She would survive. She would survive. Raphtalia wiped the mixture of phlegm, blood, and spit off her mouth, then took the arming sword in her shaking hands. She could do this. She needed to find Theo.
So, Raphtalia took off running, staggering under the weight of her backpack. She took a wide berth around any fighting, and especially the flames. She felt a pang of guilt (or was that the constant low grade pain running through her) that she wasn't helping the other slaves in their struggle, every time she passed a body lying on the ground. If she had been faster, if she had used her blade once more... But she could rationalize it. She couldn't kill every last adventurer in the camp on her own. Theo, however, was powerful, a whopping level seventy-five. And Raphtalia herself had gained a fair amount of XP from killing Paul, though it hadn't set in yet. They would come back later, and free everyone.
Raphtalia's mind and body came to a screeching halt in front of a crush of battle. An enormous minotaur, seven feet tall, with a slave brand glowing brightly on his brow, was rampaging through a pack of wolf demihumans armed with axes. 'Keel…' Raphtalia looked around frantically, her eyes soon settling on a half awake young mercenary, wearing a leather breastplate over his sleep clothes, desperately directing the minotaur.
His back was turned to her. He was young. He was a slave owner.
Eyes narrowed, Raphtalia crept towards her target. Every clank of her backpack, every twitch of her tail and ears, every step, she thought would alert the boy. But no. She was within a few feet now. Her breath was heavy, her hands were shaking, it felt like her arming sword would slip through her fingers. The adventurer did not notice. Go for the legs, they were unarmored. Once he had fallen to the ground, deliver the killing blow. Breath heavy, hands shaking, breath heavy, hands shaking, breath heavy-!
A high-pitched, nasally (how was that even possible anymore?) war cry tore it's way from Raphtalia's throat as she charged her target. The boy turned around, dagger in one hand. He swung it at Raphtalia wildly, and missed by a mile, unconsciously expecting an adult instead of a child. Raphtalia seized the opportunity to close the distance, and swung her arming sword at the mercenary's legs. The blade sank into his calf, embedding itself into the bone. Letting out a scream, the adventurer fell backwards, dragging the sword and Raphtalia with him. The girl yelped in response, then grunted as the boy's knife traced a line of fire across her back. The two scrabbled on the ground, wrestling for victory.
Pain flashed through Raphtalia's skull when her opponent struck her squarely with a fist. She continued to try and pull out the arming sword; her attempts failed, but each yank heralded another scream from the mercenary it was embedded in. The pain was easy to ignore, and some part of her relished the adrenaline in her veins. But Raphtalia needed to end this now. She let go of her primary weapon, tumbled to the side, and pulled the sword breaker dagger from her belt. Baring her teeth (it hurt to stretch her mouth so), Raphtalia jumped back on, stabbing wildly. Blood flew, and the boy's weapon slipped from his fingers with a gurgle. Raphtalia kept stabbing.
The girl soon ran out of energy, and sat on her latest kill, panting. She felt…. Odd, as she looked down at the corpse. He was an enemy; he was torturing another person, forcing them to fight. On the other, now three fingered hand, he was just-
Raphtalia went flying as a morningstar slammed into her, her ribs creaking with the force of the blow. The young demihuman tumbled over the ground, blow flowing from reopened wounds. It was a miracle she didn't lose grip of her dagger. She coughed, and struggled to look up; she saw Ermyn, leader of this mercenary band, looming over her.
"You…" the woman ground out. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" She tilted her head, Raphtalia unable to identify the look in her eyes. "No, of course you don't. You killed my chief handler. Because of that…" Ermyn trembled, both hands gripping her mace tightly. She was blinking away tears, all while Raphtalia stared back dully, blood and phlegm dribbling from her mouth. "Because of that, I have a revolt on my hands, and over a dozen of my men are dead! You can't even comprehend it," Ermyn bit out, "what it is like to lose people you care for, you little monster!"
Those words struck deep into Raphtalia, and her thoughts came into focus. This woman was wrong. She, too, had lost people. Friends. Family. All to slavery, and those who let it happen. Coughing, Raphtalia hauled herself up, only double over as Ermyn delivered a kick. "No," the human woman all but growled. "You don't get to run away. I am going to-"
Ermyn was interrupted by the now-freed minotaur charging her from the side, while a wolf-demihuman rushed over and pulled Raphtalia to her feet. "Come on, we're getting you out of here." Raphtalia shook her head, pulled herself away, and ran over to the corpse of the young mercenary, her arming sword still stuck in it. A second wind fueling her, she put the sword breaker dagger back in her belt and yanked at the larger blade, freeing it. She couldn't run away now, she still had to free Theo! Raphtalia turned back to look at her savior, and saw that they were now dead, an arrow in their throat. A glance to the side showed that Ermyn, although distracted by the minotaur, was quickly overpowering him.
Running away now seemed like a good idea.
And so, Raphtalia ran. She didn't know how long. It was easy to avoid combat, even in her wounded state. But she couldn't dodge everything. Another man fell to her blade. It was a reflex, he was running towards her, and now she was coated in his blood.
She was outside the camp now, stumbling through the woods. As far as she knew, there wasn't anyone chasing Raphtalia, but she kept running. She had to get away from that hell, where someone could die in an instant. Eventually, the girl collapsed, coughs wracking her. It hurt to breath through her nose, but strecthing her jaw open to gulp in that way also hurt. Everything hurt.
Raphtalia brought a hand up to the hole where her nose should've been, wiping away discharge. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. She could sleep now. She could sleep...
Chapter Three
A pile of salvaged items sat in front Raphtalia, who was digging through said pile to figure what she could take, and what she had to leave behind. Obviously, she was too small for any of the armor, and even a cut down, frayed gambeson still went past her knees. (Better than the maid's dress, though.) She could afford to skimp on food rations, since she could probably supplement with hunting. A water skein was absolutely needed. A blanket and pillow, a few whetstones, a carving knife, and pouch of coins containing about twenty silver (anything more would be in the company chest) all were stuffed into a backpack.
Each movement, especially around her hands, shoulders, and hips, sent a small stab of pain through Raphtalia. But she ignored it. She had to.
Raphtalia hefted the backpack over her shoulders, tucked the swordbreaker dagger and a long knife into her belt, and took the arming sword in her hands. She took a deep breath, ignoring the pain in her lungs, and the odd feeling in her nose. This was it. All she had to do now was sneak out of the mercenary camp, and for the first time in… she didn't know how long anymore, she would be free. But…
Looking back at the corpse of her former master, Raphtalia felt a pang of guilt. It… Theo had helped her with this, although it may not have been his intent. She needed to free him, too. Repay the debt. Her will resolved, Raphtalia opened the flap of Paul's tent, taking a moment to bask in the sun's warmth on her face. Her lips tried to twitch into a smile.
Wait. That wasn't the sun.
Raphtalia opened her eyes, and saw that the mercenary camp was in chaos. The warmth was not that of the sun, but came from the inferno raging through the tents. Humans and Beastmen fought with each other, the former fighting with the adrenaline that comes from being attacked in their sleep, and the latter fighting with fervor of abused slaves granted a chance at revenge. Bodies littered the ground, and the sound of weapons clashing against armor filled the night air.
How- how had she not noticed this? Had she really been so giddy at Paul's death that she hadn't heard the battle? She couldn't escape the mercenaries were awake now they would notice her and recapture her and punish her except this time they would cut hands off instead of fingers and ears off instead of noses and sew up her mouth instead of-
A sudden coughing fit saved Raphtalia from spiraling into panic; for a given value of 'save', anyway. No. She would find Theo, kill his master, run away, and live happily ever after, or until whatever disease she had did her in. She would survive. She would survive. Raphtalia wiped the mixture of phlegm, blood, and spit off her mouth, then took the arming sword in her shaking hands. She could do this. She needed to find Theo.
So, Raphtalia took off running, staggering under the weight of her backpack. She took a wide berth around any fighting, and especially the flames. She felt a pang of guilt (or was that the constant low grade pain running through her) that she wasn't helping the other slaves in their struggle, every time she passed a body lying on the ground. If she had been faster, if she had used her blade once more... But she could rationalize it. She couldn't kill every last adventurer in the camp on her own. Theo, however, was powerful, a whopping level seventy-five. And Raphtalia herself had gained a fair amount of XP from killing Paul, though it hadn't set in yet. They would come back later, and free everyone.
Raphtalia's mind and body came to a screeching halt in front of a crush of battle. An enormous minotaur, seven feet tall, with a slave brand glowing brightly on his brow, was rampaging through a pack of wolf demihumans armed with axes. 'Keel…' Raphtalia looked around frantically, her eyes soon settling on a half awake young mercenary, wearing a leather breastplate over his sleep clothes, desperately directing the minotaur.
His back was turned to her. He was young. He was a slave owner.
Eyes narrowed, Raphtalia crept towards her target. Every clank of her backpack, every twitch of her tail and ears, every step, she thought would alert the boy. But no. She was within a few feet now. Her breath was heavy, her hands were shaking, it felt like her arming sword would slip through her fingers. The adventurer did not notice. Go for the legs, they were unarmored. Once he had fallen to the ground, deliver the killing blow. Breath heavy, hands shaking, breath heavy, hands shaking, breath heavy-!
A high-pitched, nasally (how was that even possible anymore?) war cry tore it's way from Raphtalia's throat as she charged her target. The boy turned around, dagger in one hand. He swung it at Raphtalia wildly, and missed by a mile, unconsciously expecting an adult instead of a child. Raphtalia seized the opportunity to close the distance, and swung her arming sword at the mercenary's legs. The blade sank into his calf, embedding itself into the bone. Letting out a scream, the adventurer fell backwards, dragging the sword and Raphtalia with him. The girl yelped in response, then grunted as the boy's knife traced a line of fire across her back. The two scrabbled on the ground, wrestling for victory.
Pain flashed through Raphtalia's skull when her opponent struck her squarely with a fist. She continued to try and pull out the arming sword; her attempts failed, but each yank heralded another scream from the mercenary it was embedded in. The pain was easy to ignore, and some part of her relished the adrenaline in her veins. But Raphtalia needed to end this now. She let go of her primary weapon, tumbled to the side, and pulled the sword breaker dagger from her belt. Baring her teeth (it hurt to stretch her mouth so), Raphtalia jumped back on, stabbing wildly. Blood flew, and the boy's weapon slipped from his fingers with a gurgle. Raphtalia kept stabbing.
The girl soon ran out of energy, and sat on her latest kill, panting. She felt…. Odd, as she looked down at the corpse. He was an enemy; he was torturing another person, forcing them to fight. On the other, now three fingered hand, he was just-
Raphtalia went flying as a morningstar slammed into her, her ribs creaking with the force of the blow. The young demihuman tumbled over the ground, blow flowing from reopened wounds. It was a miracle she didn't lose grip of her dagger. She coughed, and struggled to look up; she saw Ermyn, leader of this mercenary band, looming over her.
"You…" the woman ground out. "Do you have any idea what you have done?" She tilted her head, Raphtalia unable to identify the look in her eyes. "No, of course you don't. You killed my chief handler. Because of that…" Ermyn trembled, both hands gripping her mace tightly. She was blinking away tears, all while Raphtalia stared back dully, blood and phlegm dribbling from her mouth. "Because of that, I have a revolt on my hands, and over a dozen of my men are dead! You can't even comprehend it," Ermyn bit out, "what it is like to lose people you care for, you little monster!"
Those words struck deep into Raphtalia, and her thoughts came into focus. This woman was wrong. She, too, had lost people. Friends. Family. All to slavery, and those who let it happen. Coughing, Raphtalia hauled herself up, only double over as Ermyn delivered a kick. "No," the human woman all but growled. "You don't get to run away. I am going to-"
Ermyn was interrupted by the now-freed minotaur charging her from the side, while a wolf-demihuman rushed over and pulled Raphtalia to her feet. "Come on, we're getting you out of here." Raphtalia shook her head, pulled herself away, and ran over to the corpse of the young mercenary, her arming sword still stuck in it. A second wind fueling her, she put the sword breaker dagger back in her belt and yanked at the larger blade, freeing it. She couldn't run away now, she still had to free Theo! Raphtalia turned back to look at her savior, and saw that they were now dead, an arrow in their throat. A glance to the side showed that Ermyn, although distracted by the minotaur, was quickly overpowering him.
Running away now seemed like a good idea.
And so, Raphtalia ran. She didn't know how long. It was easy to avoid combat, even in her wounded state. But she couldn't dodge everything. Another man fell to her blade. It was a reflex, he was running towards her, and now she was coated in his blood.
She was outside the camp now, stumbling through the woods. As far as she knew, there wasn't anyone chasing Raphtalia, but she kept running. She had to get away from that hell, where someone could die in an instant. Eventually, the girl collapsed, coughs wracking her. It hurt to breath through her nose, but strecthing her jaw open to gulp in that way also hurt. Everything hurt.
Raphtalia brought a hand up to the hole where her nose should've been, wiping away discharge. It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. She could sleep now. She could sleep...