Dragon Rider

By Threetoe

Felcliff rode the black dragon Mircloth out from his mountain fortress. The dragon could speak, but only to him, and only directly into his mind. The dragon talked almost exclusively about how he was hungry, and how he would eat Felcliff when the time was right. At first Felcliff wad troubled by these messages. Now, after many wars of conquest with Mircloth burning hostile cities at his command, Felcliff was at ease with his companion.

They flew over Felcliff's vast goblin army. It had almost reached the white castle of Domesphere. The dragon dove at the gate and smashed it open with a huge ball of fire. Felcliff laughed as his evil army poured into the city.

A voice echoed in his mind from a far away place. All this exercise is wetting my appetite, it seemed to say. Felcliff's victory was now dimmed. Mircloth craned his head back and looked into Felciff's face.

Together they flew back to the mountain fortress. Felcliff left his creepy companion in his layer below the fortress and walked into the great deserted hall and sat upon his throne. The tiny voice spoke once again from the darkest reaches of his mind.

Three days.