Liberator!

Hi Guys! 

My buddy Cliff has been tryin' to copy Frank Frazetta again!  That's understandable, 'cause Frank's the greatest artist who ever lived!  Nobody could make cooler pictures and I got to hand it to Cliff for setting the bar high!  'Course he's got a ways to go, but maybe you'll like this gritty clash of scaly and furry anyhow!  As a bonus, I paid one of the hacks in our PR department to barf up a story to go with it.  Check it out!

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Liberator!

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 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 succumbed 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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You go, Cliff!  Ars Super Omnia!