In the small moment Iouril had, he glanced over to his companions. Sylvia was holding her own against three assailants; he wondered if he should step in, but the wind was knocked out of him in his hesitation. The stool that was once in his favor had crashed into him, punching into the bar. He gripped the counter and didn’t fall, but his knife dropped from his bloodied hands. He kicked the chair away from him and back toward the men, who easily tossed it aside. He grabbed another from his thigh, but the uninjured man came upon him, swinging a heavy handed punch. The dark elf threw himself to the side, but the hand clipped him on the shoulder.

Grunting, the elf staggered away from the bar, slashing behind him with the knife he had drawn. He felt it snag on the man’s exposed side. Reeling and raising his crimson fists, he faced the unnamed attacker with a wide stance. Ducking back from a punch, the elf jutted to the side and followed with a short jab to the man's torso; his knife sunk just an inch below the surface, but with the force of the blow carried Iouril's own tainted blood to roiling forth in a wave, overcoming his hand and overflowing to the foreigner's skin. It burned the man's skin like acid. With a howl, he fell back, clutching the hemorrhaging wound. 

The dark elf retreated and looked back to his other foe, but he was leaning on a nearby table clutching his chest, distracting by what was happening on the other side of the room. He looked, and watched with wide red eyes the conflict Eri had gotten into. He had turned in time to watch her get thrown through the wall of the tavern. Hesitating, he looked at the men who had confronted him, but they made no move in his direction. He heard Eri's muffled yelling from outside, and jogged to the hole where the charging Xanara had disappeared. He watched the conflict for a moment, really only catching Eri get impaled by flames, until he heard someone calling from inside the bar.

"Oy! Elf! Come back here..." The first man he had injured was coming toward him, his friend now kneeling near the bar still clutching the small festering wound on his abdomen. His shirt was burned open with singe-edged hokes, faint stains of blood speckled on the exposed skin. Iouril sneered and twisting his wrist to draw more blood from the lateral wound on his wrist; it cascaded down to the knife he was holding. The man heaved a pitcher from the bar, tossing it at the elf. He dodged to the side and back for the lout had come in right behind it, and lashed out at his turned back. Again, the knife only went in a few inches, but it was coated in the elf's corrupted blood. The man fell forward, heaving, and the elf steps back. Both men now eyed him with caution. He turned back to the hole in the wall and went for it. 

He went outside and saw Eri had pinned the other Xanara. He stayed near the rubble, keeping an eye on both the inside and outside of the tavern. The men he had fought were retreating to the unharmed front door, where many of the other patrons had fled in the moments before. He looked for Sylvia, who had before been starting to bandage one of the men she had wounded. Although burned and hurt, what Iouril had done would have little effect on the men if treated within a reasonable amount of time. He hadn't noticed how she had done it, but it must have been a bad wound if she had turned to helping him so quickly.