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Description

A little vignette inspired by the art of Frank Frazetta:

The degenerate Krofi were in the main eaters of insects and carrion -- except on rare occasions when indignant Fortune made them a present of some particularly foolish trespasser. Such trespassers were almost always valley people: soft, ignorant… and noisy. This one had wandered away from her caravan, searching for exotic desert flowers and singing silly songs until she found herself trussed to a Krofi butcher post.

Oran shook his head as he recalled her frantic squealing. City girls, he knew, had a curious terror of being seen naked, even in front of creatures barely more intelligent than animals. The Krofi were the worst sort of barbarians, but trial and error had taught them not to eat clothing.

Fortunately, the sun had begun its descent by the time they had shucked their prize. Whether by custom or by experience, the Krofi would not feast after dark, the chill of night perhaps being too much for the cold-blooded ones’ digestion.

Oran waited. The longer the night wore on, the better his chances of freeing the girl and leaving the Krofi camp unnoticed. Finally, at the first hint of dawn, he made his move. As a shadow, he flitted to the butcher post and deftly cut the semi-conscious girl’s bonds.

Oran cursed inwardly when he saw that her shoes were missing along with the rest of her raiment. He doubted that she would make it more than ten paces before her tender feet surrendered to the flinty stone of the Sundered Lands. The young buck gritted his teeth and hoisted the girl over his shoulder, at which she snapped fully awake and started squealing again. Now the fun would begin in earnest.

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A shoutout to ScalerandiArt for reminding me what a great artist Frazetta is and to ginnunga-gap for turning me on to some very good music to paint by!

Description

A little vignette inspired by the art of Frank Frazetta:

The degenerate Krofi were in the main eaters of insects and carrion -- except on rare occasions when indignant Fortune made them a present of some particularly foolish trespasser. Such trespassers were almost always valley people: soft, ignorant… and noisy. This one had wandered away from her caravan, searching for exotic desert flowers and singing silly songs until she found herself trussed to a Krofi butcher post.

Oran shook his head as he recalled her frantic squealing. City girls, he knew, had a curious terror of being seen naked, even in front of creatures barely more intelligent than animals. The Krofi were the worst sort of barbarians, but trial and error had taught them not to eat clothing.

Fortunately, the sun had begun its descent by the time they had shucked their prize. Whether by custom or by experience, the Krofi would not feast after dark, the chill of night perhaps being too much for the cold-blooded ones’ digestion.

Oran waited. The longer the night wore on, the better his chances of freeing the girl and leaving the Krofi camp unnoticed. Finally, at the first hint of dawn, he made his move. As a shadow, he flitted to the butcher post and deftly cut the semi-conscious girl’s bonds.

Oran cursed inwardly when he saw that her shoes were missing along with the rest of her raiment. He doubted that she would make it more than ten paces before her tender feet surrendered to the flinty stone of the Sundered Lands. The young buck gritted his teeth and hoisted the girl over his shoulder, at which she snapped fully awake and started squealing again. Now the fun would begin in earnest.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A shoutout to ScalerandiArt for reminding me what a great artist Frazetta is and to ginnunga-gap for turning me on to some very good music to paint by!