En passant presque délicatement à travers les débris du combat, Iouril regarda Eri revenir de son combat sanglant mais victorieux. Le gardien est arrivé à la fin de l'affrontement, amenant les personnes sujettes du sol et restreignant ceux qui ont déterminé d'avoir causé la perturbation. Quelques regards latéraux ont été envoyés à son chemin, regardant la marque sombre autour de son cou, mais sa familiarité avec la femelle Xanara les a empêchés de lui poser des questions. L'elfe n'a pas vu les hommes qu'il avait personnellement combattus, et il s'est demandé s'ils s'étaient enfuis. Il doutait qu'ils étaient particulièrement dangereux, juste ivres à la recherche d'un peu de plaisir. Il secoua légèrement la tête à la pensée, se tournant avec un soupir vers le bar une fois de plus.
En rentrant près d'Eri, elle a attiré l'attention d'Iouril juste à temps pour qu'il prenne rapidement le sac lancé. Étant un voyageur depuis si longtemps, sans aucun autre soutien que son propre travail, le sang avait rarement vu une telle somme dans sa main depuis un certain temps. Il a arché un front finement façonné à la Xanara, demandant "Êtes-vous sûr de vouloir me donner autant pour combien je l'ai fait?" Il n'était pas contre l'obtention d'une pièce de monnaie après avoir aidé, mais il l'avait attendu du barman sous la forme d'une chambre ou d'un repas à prix réduit, pas du chasseur de primes. Il s'assit au bar en face d'elle, prenant le verre qu'elle offrait avec un clin d'œil de remerciement.
Finalement, après tout ce qui s'est passé, le mage sanguin a aperçu Sylvia. Il lui a donné son verre, et a doucement tapé son verre sur le bar avec le sien. Un petit voyou laissa ses lèvres à sa remarque et il secoua la tête en désaccord. "Je ne sais pas si c'est le mot que j'utiliserais." Il a réfléchi un moment plus, sur sa deuxième question, et a répondu honnêtement. "Je suppose que je vais aller quelque part, mais je ne sais pas encore où."
Name:
Iouril (EYE-or-el) Ranuu'Laer
Physical Description:
6' 1"
140 lbs.

Magical Abilities:
Iouril is a blood mage, meaning that his power comes from physically using his blood. The many knives on his person are more often used on himself than enemies. Dark rites and self-flagellation happen often in his particularly malicious style, and more often than not injuries benefit him instead of his opponent. Golems, hexes, and body control are the staples of his routines.

Blood Hex
Iouril spills his own blood to mark an enemy. This mark can have vary effects, from burning the target to making them sick, or pushing them back. The more blood he puts into the mark, the more powerful it is.
Golem
Using the spilled blood of himself and enemies on the battlefield, he creates a humanoid servant made of blood. It is strong and varies in size relative to the available blood supply. This creature had minor regenerative powers and defends Iouril until its death.
Blood Manipulation
Once his blood mixes with an opponent's, Iouril gains influence over their blood as well for a short period of time. During this, he can bleed an opponent, or, he can make his opponents blood acidic to the flesh around it, making the wound fester. On the other hand, Iouril can use his manipulation of blood to knit wounds together. It is easier done to himself, but he can do it to others.
Body Modification
This is something Iouril can only to do himself. He can alter parts and aspects of his body with his precise control of his physical body. He can do simple things, like give himself night vision or temporarily empower a limb.
Blood Purity
The dark elf's blood is constantly circulating and renewing itself, mainly because he is always in need of it. He does not get sick often and is generally in good health. Also, he heals relatively quickly, although not at an exceptional rate.

Quirks/Personality:
Iouril is a man with an identity crisis. Born to a body showing the sins of his ancestors, it would seem that he is inherently evil. This is not true. The man struggled throughout his childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood with his morality and self-worth. He seems to be searching for penitence for crimes he himself did not commit. His magical abilities put him at odds with this, and you'll find him calling his art "disgusting and unholy" as much as his light-marked brethren. He doesn't have much of an option if he wants to defend himself, however.
He has a calm demeanor, is congenial and works well with others, which is surprising given his heritage. He isn't too social, and he doesn't have much of a sense of humor, but his tendency to invalidate his own feelings gives him great empathy for others. He's easy to get along with, even if he doesn't give much precedence to his own opinions.
Backstory:
House Ranuu'Laer is a prevalent force in a few of the smaller Nations near the northern end of the continent. Powerful magic-users and forceful negotiators, they were and still are an up-and-coming power house thanks to an influx of followers in the few decades. Comprised mostly of dark elves, many of its members were hardened veterans, wizened magus, and notable scholars. They made their influence by selling the fruits of their magical abilities and intellectual pursuits, even so much as so that certain small Nations depended on them for the military might of their blood golems. They are like mercenaries, but the diversity of the jobs they take elevate them from that status.
The "mother" and "father" of this family are Iialve and Suthis Ranuu'Laer, respectively. This House was actually started centuries ago by these two and their close relatives, and grew slowly, member by member, at first. Other dark elves were drawn in by seemingly loving dynamic of this group, and were slowly ingrained until they became something akin to cultists. In the past, people were rarely brought into the House, they were born into the family. In the last few decades, a displaced war party of dark elves from a Nation leagues away, who had been defeated by the nearby Clan of Light elves, found solace in their home. Among them were warriors, magics, healers, scouts, and war maidens; their numbers increased twofold.
Approximately 26 winters ago, the family was blessed with a magnificent holy child. Mother and Father had a son. Ask now, and many deny this, though at the time the house had been in uproarious celebration. All were glad to have this child. And while yes, he was royalty, they knew they had to work to make him strong. None questioned his start of academic and physical training at age five. None questioned his isolation from the family. None questioned the fact that he had not been seen in public after he was a toddler. This was Mother and Father's holy child, and they knew how to raise him.
For as long as he could remember, Iouril was practicing. His academics, his combat training, his magus training, that what was he knew. He awoke, he went to class all morning, he ate, he trained, he bled, and then he slept. By the time he was 12, he had been honed into an unquestioning tool. He knew only his parents and instructors. He parents loved him very much, or so they said, and that was why he had to stay and train. To be strong. It is an ugly world, they had told him, and he believed them. He had no other options presented to him. When his youth was coming to an end, his parents released him to the public with a different identity, and used him as an agent in their own city. Meeting others for the first time, and finding that this "family" of his was not nearly the people he thought they were, and he became slightly dissociative in his childhood home. With perfect service and no complaints, his parents easily granted him many freedoms and privileges. One such privilege was being able to join the two on their trips away from the lands of the House.
These trips proved disastrous to his parents' intentions. He was still quite young and impressionable at this time, and after a while of being prompted by others his age, he started running off on the trips, only to return to harsh punishments and threats. However, over time he grew more independent. He hated his family; his vicious mother, his evil father, and the monsters that taught an innocent child to cut his wrists and summon monsters. Eventually, on one of these trips, Iouril left and didn’t return.

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