@poweratanyprice
The inn was filled with the sounds of chattering patrons and clinking glasses, as was so often the case. Soren had a habit of distancing himself from the noise and flipping through books or toying with his spells off in his room, alone. Like many of the mages, though, Soren was not a loner. He longed for the community that came with being at the Star Tower, the heated conversations over dinner, or tricking the mages-in-training to believe that there was such a thing as a breastplate stretcher. Here there was none of that.
But then again, there was a piece of home just a few doors down, likely staying away from the peasants’ chatter just as Soren had chosen to do. But the thought of approaching her in this world, this place so far removed from the Tower...it seemed terribly odd and even a bit intimidating. All the same, Soren walked out into the hallway and knocked on the door outside the room reeking with magic.
“Lady de Sauveterre,” he called. “Soren Archeim. You must remember me.” He stared at the wood grain on the door in the dim torchlight of the hallway. She would know the name Archeim from his mother. The question was, did the older mage know of the Archmage’s son? She had to.