At the Pink Pearl, Grignr the Ecordian is up to his eyes in trollops! “Ladies, ladies,” laughs the thewed barbarian. “There is plenty of Grignr to go around!”
“Yay!” say the trollops. Grignr is their favorite customer, because all he ever wants is a lot of baths and sweet voices reading abstract poetry.
Abstract poetry and bathing are considered unbearably filthy in Ecordia. If Grignr were at home, he would be on so many barbarian registries. He’d have to go around to every yurt and introduce himself when he topped a rolling ridge, his lustrous black mane waving against the morning sun. “I’m Grignr,” he would say, half-defiantly, half-guiltily, “and I’m a literary predator.”
Luckily for everyone he isn’t in Ecordia!
“Yay!” say the trollops, again, and kiss rose petals off his skin. He smells of lemon verbena and tea leaves, and not like a horse AT ALL. Later they will all get into a water fight in a bathtub big enough for twenty!