Palmacosta had definitely changed since the last time he was here. Where before there had been just a small fishing town, now there was a bustling city full of shops and their keepers, visitors from distant lands and traders peddling their wares. Armed humans (‘what a joke,’ he thought sourly,) patrolled the streets with a lazy confidence that spoke of the prosperity of the people. This place had come a long way from three thousand years ago.
Mithos sat at the window of the inn, drinking apple cider and watching the world go by. Lately Derris-Kharlan had been nothing but a reminder that his sister was not awake, humans still hated Half-Elves, and that he had no other reason to live but to bring his sister back in a world that would love her. That was the least his kind sister deserved. She hadn’t deserved to be born a hated race, and she most definitely hadn’t deserved to be murdered. But he would change that. He knew he would. He- he had to.
Hours flew by as Mithos nursed his drink, thinking and watching. None of the humans had ever been a match for Martel, and he was suspecting that none of them would be in this next one-hundred years. Maybe he could find another race to make a Chosen in...?
Somewhere behind him he heard a clamor. Turning around, he saw a small woman standing at the counter, motioning at the innkeeper with her hands. Some other human was trying to talk to the woman about something inconsequential, and as she rebuffed him he caught clips of words in a lyrical voice. The humans didn’t interest him, but that voice sounded very familiar. Almost too familiar. She had immediately caught his interest.
He stood and walked over, grabbing the woman’s hand and smiling charmingly at the innkeeper and the additional rude human. He hoped that this would divert their attention and allow him to investigate her familiarity. “Hey Sis, why’d you keep me waiting? C’mon, I have some cider at the table for us!”
