By the time Soren had loaded the third bolt, the fight was in practical terms over. He had arrived late, but even setting aside his ego he could see the import of his contribution with the two well-landed bolts. He didn’t cheer at his own success, nor so much as smile. There wasn’t even much skill involved in what he had done, or at least merely in the shooting; it was all just rote application of study and his earlier craftsmanship in making a simple but effective weapon. The situation wasn’t complex enough that he had to think of wind-speeds and such things on the go, merely point and loose with the knowledge he had made a deadly tool.

Soren had fought together with these people, largely based on his own prejudice against magekind, combined with scientific curiosity. However, he did not know if this strange lot consisted of good or reasonable people. Naturally, if he tried to have a go at them he would lose, and that was why he planned to run if a chat with them went the wrong way. But, running was a lot simpler if your pursuer had a bolt sticking in them. So it was that he did not unload the crossbow as he made his way out of his cover, the string very softly creaking with the sustained stress. But as he approached the scene of for now finished violence, he did not hold it in a threatening manner lest the risk of him being a target to his erstwhile comrades become self-fulfilling prophecy. Rather he held it quite leisurely in one arm, the hend cradling it such that bicep and shoulder pinned it into a comfortable position that could be held a long time at rest – it was an unwieldily heavy thing after all. The fact the other party now had a mage in its ranks made him wary, but he figured he couldn’t just hide more if he was to get what he wanted out of this.

Now, Soren was a person that had seen a lot of gore and consequences of violence. But he had to admit at least to himself that even overseeing a mere fraction of it, the affair with the animated corpse did unsettle him somewhat. His expression as he walked didn’t reflect this, but one might just be able to glean this from him as his eyes darted constantly to and away from the writhing horror: too horrified to keep looking yet too fascinated to look away. 

But by the time he was close enough to properly speak without words being lost in the breeze, he by and large had managed to compose himself. A soft smile was on his visage, stubble just a slight bit too short to be called a beard moving with his skin. “A good day!” he called out, despite the ground being littered with evidence to the contrary. 

“My name is Soren, and it was my pleasure to be of assistance. Perhaps as a show of good faith to strangers as yourselves, I would offer to mend your wounds and other ailments resulting from this bout, for I am among other things a physician by trade. Free of charge of course, despite my regular fee being quite handsome!” 

He didn’t see any of the others get particularly hurt, but offering to deal with the many hurting things a warrior had was in his experience a quite simple way to get into their good graces.

Regardless, he felt that was enough expounding on how exactly he was not a threat to these people that he could begin speaking on his own stake in this little battle. “I must admit however, my participation in this was not wholly altruistic in nature. I confess my interest was more scholarly than anything. It has been a long time since I had the opportunity to study magekind, and it would be an opportunity I can’t merely go to waste. Once you are done picking over their bodies for whatever valuables it is you seek, I merely ask I may take the remains for myself.” He paused for a moment, thinking over what Brigitte had said. “I can also make sure as many of them stay lively for you for as long as you need. With a small bit of shopping, I could even get them to be a lot more honest than they would otherwise be inclined.”