Au petit moment d'Iouril, il regarda ses compagnons. Sylvia se tenait elle-même contre trois assaillants; il se demandait s'il devait intervenir, mais le vent lui a été arraché dans son hésitation. Le tabouret qui était une fois en sa faveur s'était écrasé sur lui, frappant dans le bar. Il a saisi le comptoir et n'est pas tombé, mais son couteau est tombé de ses mains sanglantes. Il éloigna la chaise de lui et retourna vers les hommes, qui la jetèrent facilement de côté. Il en a pris un autre de sa cuisse, mais l'homme non blessé est venu sur lui, se balançant un gros coup de poing à la main. L'elfe sombre se jeta sur le côté, mais la main le coupa sur l'épaule.
Grognant, l'elfe s'éloigna du bar, s'enfuyant derrière lui avec le couteau qu'il avait tiré. Il l'a senti snag sur le côté exposé de l'homme. Respirant et levant ses poings cramoisi, il affronta l'attaquant sans nom avec une position large. Retirant d'un coup de poing, l'elfe juta sur le côté et suivit d'un court jab au torse de l'homme; son couteau coula juste un pouce au-dessous de la surface, mais avec la force du coup transporta le propre sang entaché d'Iouril pour rouler dans une vague, surmontant sa main et débordant à la peau de l'étranger. Il a brûlé la peau de l'homme comme de l'acide. Avec un hurlement, il est retombé en embrayant la blessure hémorragique.
L'elfe sombre se retira et regarda de nouveau son autre ennemi, mais il s'appuyait sur une table voisine qui lui embrayait la poitrine, distrait par ce qui se passait de l'autre côté de la pièce. Il regarda, et regarda avec de grands yeux rouges le conflit dans lequel Eri s'était engagé. Il avait tourné le temps de la regarder se jeter à travers le mur de la taverne. Il hésita, il regarda les hommes qui l'avaient confronté, mais ils ne firent aucun mouvement dans sa direction. Il entendit les cris étouffés d'Eri de l'extérieur, et se jeta dans le trou où la charge de Xanara avait disparu. Il a regardé le conflit pendant un moment, en fait seulement attraper Eri se faire empaler par les flammes, jusqu'à ce qu'il entende quelqu'un appeler de l'intérieur du bar.
"Oh! Elfe! Revenez ici..." Le premier homme qu'il avait blessé venait vers lui, son ami maintenant agenouillé près de la barre encore embrayant la petite blessure fétiche sur son abdomen. Sa chemise a été brûlée ouverte avec des hokes à tranchants, de faibles taches de sang tachetées sur la peau exposée. Iouril s'est éternué et a tordu le poignet pour tirer plus de sang de la blessure latérale sur son poignet; il s'est enfoncé jusqu'au couteau qu'il tenait. L'homme a pris un pichet du bar, le jetant à l'elfe. Il a esquivé le côté et le dos pour le lout était entré juste derrière lui, et s'est évanoui à son retour. Encore une fois, le couteau n'allait que dans quelques centimètres, mais il était enduit dans le sang corrompu de l'elfe. L'homme est tombé en avant, en lourd, et l'elfe recule. Les deux hommes le regardaient avec prudence. Il s'est retourné au trou dans le mur et est allé le chercher.
Il est sorti et a vu qu'Eri avait pincé l'autre Xanara. Il est resté près des décombres, en gardant un œil à l'intérieur et à l'extérieur de la taverne. Les hommes qu'il avait combattus se retiraient à la porte d'entrée non blessée, où beaucoup d'autres patrons s'étaient enfuis dans les moments précédents. Il chercha Sylvia, qui avait auparavant commencé à bander l'un des hommes qu'elle avait blessés. Bien que brûlé et blessé, ce que Iouril avait fait n'aurait guère d'effet sur les hommes s'ils étaient traités dans un délai raisonnable. Il n'avait pas remarqué comment elle l'avait fait, mais ça a dû être une mauvaise blessure si elle s'était tournée pour l'aider si rapidement.
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.

IM AN INDEPENDENT WOMAN WHO DONT NEED NO SENPAI