From: Random Quote Generator
Word Count: 316
Notes: Eh. I'm so-so about this one.
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Eraldine was a poet's dream. She was armed to the teeth, her petite form covered in various weapons in their holders, and if her face was any indicator, the body that was covered by tools of destruction was what dreams were made of. Any respectable writer that set eyes on her could hardly quell their itching fingers, they could see epic ballads springing onto paper, and in a more secret part of their minds they saw her as a ticket to fame. Women warriors were in.
Not that any of the artists who claimed her as their muse spoke to her about it. She was blissfully unaware of the creative licenses they were taking with her life and person. Paintings of her form were found in almost all noble homes, and stories of her countless adventures were on everyone's lips.
In reality, Eraldine was not a warrior. She was a wizard, and a bad one at that. More often than not her spells failed without a single magical indication. No explosions or opposite reactions, just Eraldine with a puzzled expression looking hopefully around. There was only one type of magic she was good at, and that was making weapons. She could conjure the most dangerous of swords from out of the air. Her specialty was swords, but her repertoire had grown to include battle axes, arrows, pikes, daggers, and other such unmentionables.
Eraldine had tried to sell them, but people seemed to be frightened of her and refused to come closer, or they politely refused, saying they would never buy one of "her brood". She was slightly confused by this, unaware that writers had publicized the idea that she thought of her weapons as her children.
It wasn't until she had grown to be the name on every common and noble person's lips that she actually found out about the situation.
"Well, look here, this book has a character named Eraldine..."
Not that any of the artists who claimed her as their muse spoke to her about it. She was blissfully unaware of the creative licenses they were taking with her life and person. Paintings of her form were found in almost all noble homes, and stories of her countless adventures were on everyone's lips.
In reality, Eraldine was not a warrior. She was a wizard, and a bad one at that. More often than not her spells failed without a single magical indication. No explosions or opposite reactions, just Eraldine with a puzzled expression looking hopefully around. There was only one type of magic she was good at, and that was making weapons. She could conjure the most dangerous of swords from out of the air. Her specialty was swords, but her repertoire had grown to include battle axes, arrows, pikes, daggers, and other such unmentionables.
Eraldine had tried to sell them, but people seemed to be frightened of her and refused to come closer, or they politely refused, saying they would never buy one of "her brood". She was slightly confused by this, unaware that writers had publicized the idea that she thought of her weapons as her children.
It wasn't until she had grown to be the name on every common and noble person's lips that she actually found out about the situation.
"Well, look here, this book has a character named Eraldine..."
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