Not all harpies are screaming, bird-woman hags.

But since most are, Heldra felt very alone. She tried so hard to find companionship in the lost travelers of the waste – but none would go near her; all fled when they saw the shadow of her outstretched wings. Her sweet voice did nothing to allay their fears: all knew that harpies and sirens were kin, and so many had heard the (true) tales of folks ripped to shreds.

She still sits often in a dead tree, singing to wyverns and birds. Occasionally a faun or dragon. But for the most part, she has the wilderness to herself – and her terrible kin.

Until she met the wizard.

The Beautiful Harpy

[I won't tell you how old this sketch is. It's really old.]

Tags: art, fantasy, sketchbook