Celadon Toadstool, the orcish poet, knew that standing around looking pensive, preferably during autumn, was part of the job description for poets. She didn't particularly see the point, but never let it be said that she slacked on her duties to the Muse. (She couldn't manage to look consumptive. Women in Celadon Toadstool's family had meat on their bones, and that was the way they liked it. If you couldn't carry a live boar under one arm, the thinking went, you were too damn skinny and useless for battle.) So, in between beating the brains out of recalcitrant warlords and leading death-or-glory charges on fortified positions, she would arrange to spend an hour a week standing around in a field, gazing dramatically into the distance and sighing occasionally.

Mostly it just made her feet hurt, and she couldn't say that it did anything much for the poetry--she spent most of the time doing her grocery list in her head--but hey, you gotta keep up appearances.

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Been working on this one for awhile. I love Art Nouveau dearly, but it's such a pain to do the linework for...anyway, this is quite obviously the Art Nouveau style, as popularized by Mucha. I can't escape the feeling that if Mucha had had access to orcs, he would have painted buxom orcish women. Since the universe fell down on the job there, I am forced to pick up the slack.

Plus I just plain like Celadon Toadstool. She needs to meet Sings-to-Trees sometime...

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