IC: Soren was at his hometown of Listyl, a small village where the only things that weren't burned to cinders were a few poor villagers and some boards they were using to build their makeshift (perhaps what they will live in for the rest of their lives) shelters. It's been a 3 years since he left, and 2 years since the horrendous attack that left the village like this. The humble village of which the founder of the Bloodfang Slayers, Soren's father, was born and raised was now destroyed, coincidentally the day Soren's parents came to visit. Perhaps this was how he wanted to die, fighting for his homeland and protecting his wife. Soren had not shedded a single tear at the loss of the place and his parents. Why should he? He was dragged into a world where even the place he was born was ashamed to house interracial abominations. And his parents, who dragged him and his brother into the world as such. The loss of such things triggered, not sadness, but anger. Anger at the world and everything in it. But he has cooled down since then, and approached the villagers with due respect, but a chilling demeanor.
"I suppose the higher-ups haven't stepped in to help yet?" Soren asked
"This is the second year. It's not like we can hope for much now." One said, not bothering to look up.
"I still don't understand why you people persist at making these pitiful shelters when in a fraction of the time taken, you could have moved and settled in a neighboring town already."
"You don't get it, do you? This is our home. We will live and die here."
"I wouldn't know. Never had a real home other than the one I was forced out of." Soren walked away, realizing he missed nothing, and leaving the humans to wallow in their dirt.