Snippet #2647311

"Oh great... Melgrove."

Alasahe frowned and narrowed her eyes. Amir was a fearsome ally and an infuriating associate. She would have dissolved their alliance long ago if not for the sheer usefulness of it. Still, after the journey she'd endured to make it to this sun-roasted patch of desert, she almost would rather have cut out his tongue herself and wage war against his land than hear him speak her title with such derision.

"Glad to see you're just as pleasant as ever," he sneered, rolling his eyes. His hand moved minutely and suddenly he was gripping the dagger at his side tightly. In a flash, Fiir dashed through the double doors, snaking past the pair of strangers in his way and flowed into the great room. He crawled into the room and then up onto the walls, curling his long sleek body around the top of a window, hanging there like a monstrous salamander. In any other structure, the sheer weight of him would have pulled the wall down, but Alasahe supposed that the house had long ago been imbued with the magic necessary to rear such a strange clutch of magical creatures. He rumbled a growl at Amir, watching him closely. Alasahe sniffed.

"Hm. More desert sarcasm. As always, you are ever the irritant in my eye, Amir." she said and brushed past him again. Her seat was carved with great scales, reaching high, far higher than her head, the edges wreathed in a spurt of carved flames and smoke. She threw herself into it, throwing one leg over the armrest. Fiir scuttled along the wall so that he could settle himself just behind her, watching the newcommers intently.

Alasahe had never seen the other three before, but she had studied the documents left behind by previous Melgroves carefully before her journey. None concerned her so much as the Siren-rider and beast itself. The pair wielded a worrisome power, one she would be soundly displeased to experience herself. The Griffon Rider seemed the eldest by far and was blessedly short in his greeting. Alasahe hated small talk. The last to arrive was no more than a child, a small, three-headed dog bounding in his wake. There were certainly a young group. Fiir watched the dog, a sound sense of smugness floating down to her. He was about eight feet tall at the shoulder, and an easy twelve feet long, not including his tail and at only 200 years old, still an adolescent by dragon standards. He seemed pleased at the head-start he had on the Cerberus.

She inclined her head minutely to the three newcomers. "Alasahe," she said. Fiir rumbled again. There probably wasn't much of a point of saying she was the Dragon-rider.