Utter Frivolity

Skyrim, Dragon Age, and Falout OCs galore. This is for you, sis.

[mahou-shougiogio]

i love that everyone who absorbs any and all mcelroy content starts to talk like That

[thehappinessmachine]

i think what is so especially fascinating about the mcelroy brothers and their comedy is the fact that that have essentially made language itself a source a comedy.

what i mean is that often, when you think of a good joke, you often think of the content of the joke - of course, the delivery of a joke is important (you can ruin a perfectly good joke if you say it the wrong way), but overall when someone tells a joke, they put more focus on getting across the absurdity/hilarity of the material of the joke rather than putting emphasis on the words used to say it.

that’s not what the mcelroy brothers do at all, though. they do the exact opposite - with the way they say things, they’re able to transform quite mundane things and scenarios into ridiculous imagery that we can’t help but laugh at.

i’ll just use this line from the MBMBAM TV show pilot as an example - what Griffin is saying here, is, essentially, “I saw a video of a spider molting and I was absolutely terrified”, which, on its own, isn’t really incredibly funny. however, Griffin gives such a brilliant twist in the form of the words “my eyes went to hell”, which is hilarious because, essentially, it’s complete nonsense! your eyes can’t go to hell (and even if they could, you’d expect the rest of your body to follow), and yet, somehow, there’s a beautiful kind of logic to it -you can clearly get a mental image of you looking at something so horrifying that your eyes are instantly banished to the seventh ring of the underworld as a result. another line from the same show is when Travis runs away from a spider in fear, and they state “oh, Travis is going to space”. most people would just reemphasize the event (”oh, there Travis goes” or “he’s running away!”), but by stating he’s going “to space” makes it that much funnier, because, once again, there’s a logic to the absurdity of the words - he’s so terrified he might as well hitch a spaceship and get out of our solar system as fast as he can.

the mcelroy brothers are brilliant at what they do, not only because they can find good-natured humor in ordinary things, but because they have developed a way to use words as another level of comedy - they are infinitely quotable because the way they say things tickles both our minds and our ears. and that, really, is one of the major reasons why their brand of comedy is as popular as it is - the jokes are from the mcelroy brother lexicon, and they’re all the more better for it.

[afriendlydiversion]

The notes so far...

Jyn started out in a prison bus heading for a labor camp, and we never know why. Easy to assume she's been found out as Erso's daughter and is being brought to the Empire as a hostage - that's what she always feared, or was supposed to. But if you were really going to play with that aspect, either make it more central to her struggle, or have her overcome it entirely.  I decided to have her overcome that part of her life and embrace the character of a rebel. I'd like this to be informed - either by compliment or contrast - by her relationship with Saw (recast as 'Sol', but that's a whole other thing). If compliment, she learned from this individual how to be a smart rebel and become one of Sol's top agents - able to move autonomously. But Sol betrayed her by thinking big-picture, the way Cassian does. She stuck to ground work and rallied her own people, only to be defeated and captured in the end. If it's by contrast, Sol hid, what she was supposed to help Jyn do for the sake of her parents' sacrifice, but Jyn didn't believe in sitting still when there were things to be done.  If I'd gone the 'fear' route, it would have stuck closer to the actual film. She's been running and hiding all her life. Trying to keep out of the hands of the empire for the sake of her father - with whom she's never been in contact since that day. Makes her less valuable, unless convert operations becomes her specialty. Then 'smuggling' her new allies becomes her task. In addition to putting them in touch with the criminally paranoid agent Sol Gerrera. Which is another element to dissect. Keeping in line with her 'bitter' persona from the film, she'd still need to harbor resentment towards Sol for the abandonment. I like the idea of this being a bit misguided; she really feels abandoned by her mother and father, but Sol is the only one nearby to take that guilt. (And really, a female Sol would be in a better position to explain to Jyn that this is the case, helping her resolution when she finally sees her father again on Eadu.

[afriendlydiversion]

Heritage

You never see half-breeds in Tamriel. I wanted to sort out why, so I came up with the head-canon that inter-breeding couples wind up with children who come out as one or the other parent, not both, usually siding with the mother. Bretons, oft thought to be the result of elf/human mixes, are a unique case of many generations of interbreeding, and may in fact have more to do with humans' long-term exposure to elven magic - studies on the topic are next to impossible without lots of time and possibly questionable ethics.

I play with this concept in a couple of my tales, and most specifically with Thessaly, my Bosmer fighter and reluctant Dragonborn. She grew up in the slums of Cyrodiil in a city called Anvil . Her mother was a whore and an addict, and more often than not, young Thessaly was on her own. She never knew her father, but I played with the idea that he could have been someone passing through who carried the dragon blood. This was before I found out that being the Dragonborn had more to do with the soul you carried than the blood that bore you. Interestingly, I think I came up with this theory primarily to explain how my primary Dragonborn characters - a Bosmer and a Redguard - had inherited the title in the first place, when the lore clearly belonged to the Nords. Turns out I needn't have bothered. But I still like it, mostly because of how it plays into Thessaly's story. 

Once Thessaly got old enough to care for herself, and found her place among the warren of street kids in Anvil, visits to her mother became less frequent - every time she went back, things were a bit worse. Sometimes there were other people there, sometimes there weren't. Sometimes her mother was sober or conscious enough to speak to her, even recognize her - and sometimes she wasn't. Sometimes it was easy to get in - door open and unlocked - and other times it wasn't. There was one time she had to scale the outside of the building with a loaf of bread under one arm. After she nearly fell to her death, Thessaly had one of the warren kids teach her how to pick locks. Each time she went home, Thessaly left a gift of some kind - money at first, but when she realized the other people were taking it, she brought food instead and waited for her mother to eat some before she left.

  There was one visit that nearly scared her off for good. Thessaly came home to a putrid smell and a room occupied by several surly characters, all looking strung-out and haggard. One of them, she was quite sure, was her mother. One of them tried to grab her. Thessaly managed to wriggle away and bolt, but the greasy scratches on her leg convinced her - that place wasn't safe anymore. 

A year and a half went by before her next visit - the longest she'd ever been gone. When she came back, the house was unrecognizable. Clean and warm and furnished. No greasy drunks on the floor. No stink of skooma smoke. It looked like a home.  Thessaly was starting to think she'd broken into the wrong place - could her mother have died and someone else taken up residence? 

  That's when she hears the sound of a toddler shrieking, and a little Bosmer kid comes crawling around the corner. Thessaly turns and is about to bolt when a woman comes chasing after the child, scooping it up and babbling lovingly at it . Thessaly freezes.

It takes her a minute to recognize her, whole, healthy-looking, smiling, conscious - but there's no mistaking her mother.

They lock eyes and stare, breathless.

Before either of them can say anything, a human man comes stomping around the corner, calling her name. 

As soon as the moment is broken, Thessaly flees. She runs and runs until she finds a place to hide, where she cries until she doesn't have to anymore.  She never goes back.

[afriendlydiversion]

Sigrid and the Blades

One of my constant struggles in the Skyrim fandom is finding a decent RP partner. But I just keep coming back and coming back, and do you know why? Because while I'm talking with potential partners about a hypothetical RP that may never get off the ground, I get to sit down and, in as few words as possible, tell them all about this character whose backstory I've carefully cultivated over time and am so emotionally invested in that I'm thrilled just to have someone to share them with. I feel this for pretty much all of my Skyrim characters, but today I got carried away talking about a character I'd like to share with you.

Sigrid is part of an AU I call 'Harvest Dawn', for reasons I think I'll keep to myself for now - the explanation is a story in itself. She's part of a small cast of characters that inhabit a version of Skyrim in which the Dragonborn never appeared - wasn't spared the block in Helgen, never answered the call of the Greybeards, and didn't travel to Sovngarde to confront the World Eater. Only Sigrid knows the reason why. She's part of the ancient order of the Blades, devoted to protecting the blood of the emperor, descended of the great Reman Cyrodiil, the first Dragonborn. Though the true bloodline ended with the last emperor, and the Blades themselves decimated in conflict with the Aldmeri Dominion, few of her order remain in hiding, protecting their last and most carefully guarded secret - the last of Reman's line. A pair of Redguard-born twins with the blood of the Dragonborn in their veins, gifted with the natural talents of the Voice; a command of dragon language and the source of their power. 

Her time guarding the twins was the happiest time in Sigrid's life. Many of the Blades felt lost when the Emperor's last known heir gave his life to save his people. The line to which they had pledged themselves and their service was gone, and the new rulers did not trust them. These distant relatives were a last hope for purpose, and Sigrid and her ilk fell to it with vigor. Of an age with the twins, Sigrid became friendly with the both of them, and they grew to be like family. But it was not to last.

They were betrayed. One of their own sold them out to the Thalmor. They were ambushed, and one of the twins was killed - the girl. The loss was heavily felt. Of the twins, she had been the most gifted in the Way of the Voice. Believed to be the true heir to the prophecy and meant to face the World Eater when he returned. With her gone, her brother fell to self-doubt - and was weak to the influence of the dragon cult that spelled his own doom. Sigrid nearly gave her own life to save him, but was too late. Both of the twins were gone.

Devastated at her own failure, Sigrid gives up her title as a Blade and fades into obscurity. She hires herself out as a caravan guard and lets the job carry her from the home of the twins in Hammerfell across war-torn Cyrodiil and up into the frozen north of Skyrim. Here, the worst comes to pass. The prophecy of the World Eater comes true and dragons return to the world. And there is no one but Sigrid who knows the truth - that the Dragonborn will not save them. Because the last of the line is dead, and it's her fault. 

Inspiration for her redemption comes in the unexpected form of her greatest enemy. 

A Thalmor Diplomat happens to take up residence in an inn where Sigrid is staying. Sigrid is considering fleeing the establishment - knowing what the Diplomat's guards might do to her if they found out what she was - when the unthinkable happens. A dragon lands in the middle of the small town and begins burning it to the ground. 

The villagers panic. The guards who face the beast find that their blades and bows mean nothing against the dragon's impenetrable hide, and quickly fall to flame and the beast's terrible size. But then, the Diplomat throws herself into the fray, casting spells of healing, protection, and calm among the citizens. She places herself between the dragon and a felled guard, magic barrier barely holding against the blast of fire. Inspired by the elf's bravery, Sigrid takes the last sigil of her order - the one piece she could not discard when she abandoned her duty - the Blade's katana, and charges the beast herself. 

With the help of a Blade on their side, the last of the dragon slayers, the village guards and the Thalmor Diplomat manage to bring the beast down. In the aftermath, the Diplomat approaches Sigrid. There is no question about Sigrid’s identity, not after that performance. But the Diplomat doesn’t turn her over to her guards. Instead, she asks for Sigrid's help. If she truly is a Blade, she should be able to help her in her own quest - to solve the mystery of the returning dragons, and help put a stop to it. 

Here it is. A way to redeem herself, to take responsibility for her failure at the loss of her charges. Sigrid can't bring herself to tell the Diplomat the truth, not yet, but she accepts this offer, and the two join forces. 

The tale follows them across Skyrim, searching for answers and tools to use against the beasts. They speak with the mages at the College of Winterhold, with the Bards in Solitude, and even the Greybeards on High Hrothgar, and over time gather a following. I hope to write many characters who pledge themselves to the cause, inspired by their determination to defeat the threat not just to Skyrim but the whole of Nirn. Eventually, Sigrid manages even to face her past. In their travels, she finds the home lands of the Blades at the heart of Skyrim. She even gets a chance to confront the dragon cult that took the last of the Dragonborn - the last of her family - from her. She may even come to find that her past is not as lost as she thought. 

[afriendlydiversion]

Rhuk and Muiri and a mudcrab

When I first started telling you stories about Rhuk and Muiri, their tale was pretty easy to track. All I had to do was travel across Skyrim in the shoes of a mercenary with a talent for survival and a consistent curse when it came to partnerships, and pretend he had a jilted alchemist on his trail. It was a long walk from Markarth to Windhelm with several stops along the way.

One scene I had from the start, though, was one I'd like to keep if I can. It always puzzled me that you could find spare coins or pieces of jewelry amidst the pelts or meat of slain animals, til I realized a rather obvious reason, and knew Rhuk would be the perfect character to make use of this information.

Rhuk and Muiri are in the marsh just north of Morthal. Neither of them are terribly used to the trecherous bog environment, but Muiri learned a little about the area when she came through this way last year, and she does her best to be helpful. Most of her help comes from explaining the usefulness of the local flora in various poisons.

"The deathbell isn't nearly so common anywhere else," she was saying, speaking slowly, her attention more on her footing. There were patches of mud here that transformed quickly and without warning into scum-slick mudholes. "And the nectar in its flowers draw butterflies, whose wings can be powdered and combined with dried nightshade to create a poison that causes bone weakness."

Rhuk, who had grabbed a sturdy branch from somewhere, was poking the ground rather than test the path with his own boots. He was also listening for anything that might try to creep up on them through the intermittent fog. He wasn't terribly concerned - anything big enough to cause them trouble would announce itself on the moist, loamy soil or in the dry reeds. If she needed to comfort herself with some nattering, better that than silence followed by startled shrieking.

"Stop!"

Rhuk just about jumped out of his skin. He rounded on his companion.

"What?!" he growled.

Muiri was pointing at a patch of ground-mushrooms over which is branch was hovering.

"Don't disturb the lichen," she cautioned. "The spores are a poison all their own. Breathe them in and you'll be sick for a week."

Rhuk moved the stick carefully out of the way of the growth, growling his frustration. He moved aside to give it a wide berth, and kept his eye out for more. "Is EVERYTHING in this bog out to kill you?"

"Not everything," Muiri replied to his rhetorical question. "Actually, if you dry the shafts and mix them with - AAHH!"

Muiri had tested a shining rock with her shoe, only to find that she had disturbed a rather large mudcrab. It rose from the muck, claws raised, ready to teach a lesson to whomever had disturbed it.

Rhuk stepped in and rapped the thing smartly on its cone-shaped head. The creature, completely nonplussed, scuttled right around and snapped Rhuk's stick in half.

"Hey!"

New target acquired, the mudcrab advanced on the large Orc.

Rhuk took a moment to sigh over his lost tool, then tossed it and drew the axe from his belt.

"That was a good stick," he told the crab.

It wasn't long before both the creature's claws lay still in the mud, and Rhuk was wrenching the axe blade from its crown. He brought the bloody head to his nose and sniffed. Before Muiri could ask what he was doing, he gave it an experimental lick.

"Oh, gods." She put a hand to her mouth.

Rhuk smacked his lips, tasting.

"Scavenger," he determined. "Could do with some cooking."

"Yes, typically that gets done BEFORE you eat it."

Rhuk didn't spare her more than a wry glance before going to his knees and ripping the things legs off, gathering them together in a bundle. Muiri turned away. When she was sure that all six of them had been removed, she was startled to hear an even more horrendous sound of carapace being rended from flesh. She turned to find Rhuk muscling off the armored crown of the crab and digging into the smelly flesh beneath.

"What in the hells are you doing?"

Rhuk's arm was plunged into the body up to his elbow. He seemed to be searching for something by feel.

"Scavengers," he said, straining as his arm sunk deeper. "They like nothing better than to pick off of the fresh dead."

There was a horrible squelching noise as he used his other hand to pry the crab's wound open further, to get a better look at its innards.

"Oh, for--!" Muiri turned away, but couldn't help glancing back out of horrified curiosity.

"Animals 'round here aren’t stupid enough to get caught in a bog. But then there's folk like us that don't know any better."

Muiri was starting to question her confidence in Rhuk's skills as a survival guide.

"And there ain't better eating than a nice... juicy... corpse."

He pulled his arm out, coated in gore, with his prize in hand. At first Muiri thought she saw a bloated organ clutched in his fist, and swallowed hard to keep herself from being sick. But as the viscera dripped away, she noticed texture beneath the fluids, and a clear wrapping of cord around one end. Rhuk dunked it in the bog water, and when he lifted it out, she heard a clear clink of metal.

Stunned, Muiri watched as Rhuk cut open the half-digested purse to reveal a handful of coins.

"How did you...?"

Rhuk shrugged. "Didn't. But hey, sometimes you get lucky."