Entropy Judge
Recurring Bouts of Misanthropy
In the manga, Melty (the younger princess) describes the political setup as matrilineal with the monarch choosing their heir.
Shield Hero, but hopefully Heroic
- Thread starter Sword of Mars
- Start date
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...