Mewt's Support Group || Marche & John
"Tch." John didn’t expect to be surrounded. He also didn’t expect to run into a group of bandits here. He knew these sorts of places were the perfect place for gathering, but come on. Could they be any more cliche? He was going to kick his brother’s arse for the lack of creativity.
It had taken him quite some time to learn this system. To learn how to navigate this damn world. People he knew back home didn’t even recognize him. They were like slaves to this place. Or maybe they weren’t the real people. Just illusions meant to fulfill a fantasy. He didn’t know. He still needed answers. And he still needed a damn resolution.
But that wouldn’t work if he got beat to death here. Not that the judge would let him die, luckily enough, but he knew he wouldn’t have a way to get back to town. And he wouldn’t have a way to fix himself up.
"I don’t want any trouble." He muttered, but it fell on deaf ears. Several times. How there could be so many heads and not a single ounce of brains was beyond him. He already had a couple more burns than he fancied, so of course he had to give one hell of a strike to a moron’s head. And then he saw a light of salvation with blonde hair and ridiculous clothes. "Tell me you’re friend and not foe!" he called out, knowing it was a big leap but hoping nonetheless as he barely dodged a bad strike.
"I'm sure not a friend of these guys!" Marche yelled back, running to join the battle. Two swords, a bow, a staff... and two with nothing obvious, but probably knives. The bow and staff ran off as he approached. He'd've liked to go after them, but he couldn't just leave his new friend with the four blades. He'd just have to hope the rest of his clan would get there before he became a pincushion.
"I've got more on the way," he added, scoring a hit on one of the soldiers, only for it to be healed a second later. He really hoped the rest of his clan would get there soon.
