The Elf was not a sadist and, in his head, he swore, did not enjoy this. It was the right thing to do, however. The man had been kind, but this did not protest his innocence. They approached the door and chances are the man had a knife. He would have to quickly deal with that.

Quickly throwing Tristan at the wall of the hall, which was now mostly empty, he grabbed the man's belt and looked for any kind of weapon. Not finding anyway, Ignaescious stared into his frightened eyes. He delivered a powerful punch to his gut. 

However, something seemed wrong in his eyes. They were like an autumn moon and full of bright futures and the stars. He saw a young Elf in those eyes, a young Elf whom had left his home in search for something new. He was running, not leaving. Running from hate, bullying and a life he did not want. Who was that figure in those eyes? The Elf was drunk and angry. Fearsome. Frightening. Fearful. 

Ignaescious backed away, tripping over a table and falling over onto the floor. His eyes met the ceiling. The ceiling didn't look back.