#connorstarter

Power unlike anything Inan had previously known flowed through him, sorcery wasn't something the warder had ever taken the time to study - there'd been no reason. He lived by his blade and the arrows on his back, some minor spells for battle, but his magic was short lived. With Tamlen... With the Titan connecting them, Inan's power overflowed. The arrows he wielded were crafted special by Nirvaan, they sunk into their target, melded them with his rot, then returned to the quiver to be used endlessly. Useful and thanks to Tamlen the attunement did not drain him.

On the rooftops about the great creature, Inan surveyed and protected the Titan as legions of monstrosities crept up from the catacombs to try and take the chancellors' in their blind. An arrow embedded itself into one as rot felled it, dissolved it into a reddish mould as it roared in a desperate plea for death that would not come.

Some of these lycans looked like they were having a hard time discerning friend from foe, so the eladrin kept to the rooftops and supported where he could from there. One of the beasts was dogpiled on and Inan released three arrows, then another set of two before he landed beside the beast that had already shifted back to a man. "Looks like your nose is healing" Inan commented as he offered the other a hand up.

Emotions were something that Inan could settle into with ease; after the failure that settled over his shoulders following Fen'Harel's betrayal, Inan had lost himself. In so many ways the warder was still trying to find his way back to the sense of purpose he'd had when he'd first resolved to this path. So much had changed between then and now that it might have been easy for the warder to lose himself, but he hadn't. More than ever, the stalwart fixture knew his place among the court; he knew that his duty was to lay down his life for Robin when required, and he knew that beyond that, his world was his own. A world that had become decidedly warmer lately, despite how cold this winter had been.

Connor was snoring loudly on the couch in front of the wood stove; Halani, curled against him, was giving the lycan a run for his money. It was too cold to want to be outside, the ways through the forest were too snowed in, and while the days were getting warmer bit by bit Inan quietly hoped that afternoons spent in this fashion would continue. Inan hadn't called himself happy in a long time; content would have been a more fitting word, but as his nimble fingers braided three different coloured strings together, he settled into the new feeling gladly. Happiness suited a person, maybe this was what he was owed.