Soren rips the false mustache off his upper lip, breaking his Smort Longpocket disguise as he runs away from Finnegrin and the cloud of bees Callum had conjured. Fortunately, Soren was faster.

Scumport was pretty maze like, twists and turns like you’d never believe. The whole ordeal had Soren scrambling to figure out which way to go to get back to Callum and friends while losing Finnegrin and his butler… thing? Deadwood, he recalls. Doesn’t help that the cobblestones seemed to be perpetually slick with sea spray. He felt like a newborn baby fawn on some turns when his boots didn’t want to grip the stone under him.

One such turn, he scrambled to get upright, ducking into an alley just behind some crates before Finnegan could see him. His surprise came when he noticed a cloaked elf, also seemingly hiding and he had startled them.

With between him and Callum having the braincell today, Soren apparently was the one to have it as they pulled the elf close, hand over their mouth to keep quiet as Finnegrin and Deadwood passed by. He doesn’t realized how trapped he has them as they’re smooshed into the corner of the heavy crates and the stone alleyway walls. When he was sure the men were gone, he released the elf gently, feeling guilty about pinning them in like that.

“Hey sorry about that. I’m Soren. Nice to meet you.” His gloved hand is held out to them, a sheepish, apologetic smile on his face. “You hurt or anything?”