Percibell, a silver-ranked adventurer, and recent drunk, is lying down in wait on the roof of one of the few tall, brick-and-mortar buildings in a shanty Wilderness town. From her vantage point, she spies two thugs approaching her beloved Miss Melan from opposite ends of the alleyway below. Her heart pounds with urgency to alert her companion, but fortunately, by the way she's anxiously looking to her sides, it looks like Miss Melan has already noticed them. Percibell's mind is racing. She could come out and intimidate the thugs — no, it's better to wait for the perfect opportunity to strike. She might not be the highest rank, but she's been in enough scraps to know how to handle herself. And she won't let anyone harm her Miss Melan, no matter the cost.
Studying the thugs more attentively, she notices one is scrawny-looking, of unclear race, with a spear bolted to his back. The way he saunters forward reeks of confidence, but Percibell can't tell whether it's the kind that comes with skill. Her time with adventurers from all corners of the world has taught her that it's a coin toss. Fortunately, he doesn't look too sturdy, and a few arrows in the neck should make quick work of him. However, that's not the case with his counterpart walking in from the other side. Tall and muscular, with a bare torso and large tu— an orc! Percibell freezes up, the realization sending a shiver down her spine. She quickly covers her mouth, managing to mute her shriek in time, with perspiration trickling down her face. She recounts the features — big, short but pointy ears, a large nose with flared nostrils, and distinct large tusks protruding upwards. That's definitely an orc. Why is an orc here?
Percibell wants to scream from fear and anxiety. She cowers her head behind the rooftop parapet, arms, and legs shaking with fear. Her ears, usually excellent in picking up even the faintest of sounds, are muffling every sound coming in. She can't focus, her small chest heaving up and down as she starts to hyperventilate. Her eyes dart around looking for something, anything, that can quickly make the beast disappear. A weapon. She needs a weapon. The drunken fog disperses for a moment. She moves her hand to her back, scraping the wood handle of her bow. Oh right, the bow! Her shock and the alcohol made her completely forget about it.
She needs to save Miss Melan. Though still reeling from inebriation and fear, the thought of helping her friend helps her relax. She takes deep breaths, each one reminding her of how much Miss Melan has done for her and how it's her turn to return the favor. After a few attempts, she manages to gulp down the lump of fear in her throat, and a fierce determination fills her tipsy eyes. She grasps the bow from her back along with the quiver. She puts it to her side only to realize a second later, how dumb that is, and clumsily puts the quiver back behind her so she can easily fetch the arrows. Seeing that green-skinned bastard only made thinking harder. With ears twitching, the sounds start becoming coherent again.
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「Halt! Do you realize who you're messing with!?」 an exclamation coming from none other than her beloved Miss Melan stuns Percibell.
The elf quickly readies her bow and peers down at the scene below, waiting and biding her time in vigilance. She watches as the despicable orc bare the rest of his yellow and disfigured teeth in an ugly, wicked grin as he brandishes his weapon — a big club. How primitive and dumb.
The other assailant reaches behind his back. It takes him several attempts to grab his spear, unfasten it, and swing it around in a show of strength.
「Is it coins you want!? I'll give you everything I have, just...」 Miss Melan's voice trembles as she pleads, 「Just don't hurt me!」
The thought of Miss Melan getting hurt jolts Percibell's body awake like an electric current. She refuses to wait any longer. The inebriated elf springs up on her feet and aims her bow toward the scrawny man. With an arrow ready in her hand, she closes her eyes for a moment, and a small wind rustles through her long hair, despite the rain. A thin, glowing thread of light appears in place of the bowstring, allowing her to nock the arrow. She sets her woozy sights on the man's neck — she'll finish him quickly and then work with Melan to find a way to defeat the repulsive beast.
In moments like these, she feels weightless. In this particular one, however, she feels too weightless. There's a roof missing under her foot. She's falling, her alcohol-dimmed brain realizes. Why?
Just a moment ago, she was ready to fire, but now, in the trickles of cold rain, she's plummeting straight toward the ground. Somehow, her body must have shifted past the edge of the eave, Percibell observes with a calmness available only to drunks. Unsure whether she should scream or not, she accepts her fate as anyone would in her state of inebriation. The muddy ground below approaches quickly. A failure who can't even save her friend. How could she have been so foolish as to drink so much? The speed of the raindrops slows down, and the world seemingly feels like it has halted to a crawl, giving her time to give Miss Melan one last good look. O, Sister Ophelia. She can see the surprise on her friend's face, and her arm reaching out with her mouth still open, in the middle of shouting something, but the elf's ears have already started muffling all sounds again. Goodbye, Miss Melan. Everything turns dark.