Rules: Show/tell us what is in your OC's bag! You can do it within their universe or in a modern-ish AU. What bag would they use? what do they carry around? Is the bottom covered in crumbs and receipts? What do the contents say about your character?
Well, speaking of bags, I'm sitting in my recliner working on making a bag right now, so I'm going to TRY to keep this brief.
Miranja used to be normal and stayed in one place most of the time, but coming to Skyrim has made her almost addicted to traveling and keeping busy. She loves to be in the great outdoors, especially when accompanied by a handsome Dunmer or Bosmer.
So she wears a large adventurer's backpack and keeps a lot of shit in it. Spare clothes and undies (and the ever-necessary rags) take up a lot of the room, as well as containers for alchemical ingredients. She likes to journal and write to her loved ones, so she keeps her current journal, stationery, ink, quills, and sealing wax in a special pocket so she can always get to them. Being concerned about her hygiene, she keeps her washcloth, soap, and towel with her so she can bathe whenever there's an opportunity (all the armor and physical activity make her a very sweaty girl, but washing her face and cleaning her teeth at the very least is important to her). And of course, her signature lavender essential oil. In an alternate universe, this girl would LOVE a bag of holding! This shit gets heavy. But it keeps her in shape, and it's done wonders for her pulmonary 🫁 capacity, especially in the thin air of the mountains.
Haven't felt like doing much beyond breathing and playing Oblivion lately, but for some reason, today I got a wild hair and decided to try to draw Miranja, just from my imagination, no reference pic.
I've had practically nothing in progress writing-wise in ages. Lost my mojo. But I'm trying to get back into a groove. Not happy with how I've done BLP so far, so I'm rewriting it, from the beginning, and incorporating Miranja's journal into it.
However, this scene from Out of the Ashes came up in a conversation the other day, and OotA technically still counts as a WIP, since it's not finished (dammit - NONE of the parts of Miranja's story is truly finished!). So I figured what the hell. It's been a long time since I had any writing to share, and this is one of the best scenes to really show how Miranja's mind works. Not even any sex here. <gasp!>
Tagging friends whose writing I've been enjoying whilst not producing anything myself. @dirty-bosmer @lillxart @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @theoneandonlysemla I hope you enjoy it.
It was just about eight o’clock in the evening when they arrived back in Solitude. Before doing anything else, Miranja went directly to Castle Dour.
Tullius was sitting on the bench in the corner by the enchanting table in the foyer. Miranja had gone straight to the war room looking for him, hadn’t found him, had checked his bedroom, still hadn’t found him, and had backtracked to the front door before he finally spoke to her and drew her attention.
“Looking for me, Auxiliary?”
Surprised, Miranja turned toward the sound of his voice and approached him.
“Yes, sir. Here’s the Jagged Crown. Legate Rikke sent me to deliver it to you.” She handed over the Crown, and Tullius took it and turned it in his hands, examining it with interest as he replied.
“Excellent work, soldier. I have to admit, I had my doubts it even existed. Did you run into any trouble?”
Tears filled Miranja’s eyes, but she kept a stiff upper lip. Teldryn’s hand in the middle of her back certainly helped give her fortitude.
“We lost a lot of good men. I hope it was worth it.” Tullius didn’t need to know that she was also talking about the Stormcloaks who died.
“That’s not for you to decide, soldier. I wouldn’t have sent you in the first place if it wasn’t going to be worth it.”
Miranja’s pride stung at those words, while at the same time, her sense of justice was offended. She was the gods-damned Dragonborn, as well as a Thane in this hold, and she had become largely unaccustomed to people talking down to her. And in her opinion, this stupid war wasn’t worth the loss of ANY people, if you got right down to brass tacks. No one should be dying over what she felt was a deeply personal religious issue. It was tantamount in her mind to killing people for what they did in their own bedrooms.
“You seem to forget who you’re speaking to, General. May I be candid with you, sir?”
“By all means, Auxiliary. Let’s hear it.” There was a challenge in his voice and in the way he jutted out his chin.
“With all due respect, sir, I don’t like you very much.”
“Well, that’s fine,” Tullius replied indifferently. He rose and brushed past her to carry the crown into the war room. “I’m not here to win popularity contests. I’m here to keep the Dominion out of Skyrim, and to quell this dissention.”
Miranja followed him, and Teldryn tagged along quietly behind her. “The Dominion is already in Skyrim, whether you want to admit it or not. I pass Thalmor on the road every day taking Stormcloak prisoners to gods-know-where to do gods-know-what to them. The only reason I don’t kill them is that I don’t want a bounty on my own head.”
“Wise choice,” Tullius acknowledged briefly, but added, “Think what you want, Auxiliary. It could be much worse.”
“I’m sure it could. I just want you to know that I think you’re a cold, insensitive…” She hesitated for a moment, searching for a milder word than ‘asshole.’ “…jerk. I wonder if you have a compassionate bone in your body, and if you really care about the people of Skyrim at all.”
Tullius’ face darkened with anger. “Listen up, Auxiliary. I’m here to do a job. Not that it’s any of your damned business, but I have family back in Cyrodiil who I love and miss terribly. I’ve been in Skyrim longer than I ever wanted to be. I’m doing what I’m paid to do, what I believe is for the greater good in the long run. I hope that’s also what you’re doing, why you joined the Legion in the first place.”
“Of course it is,” Miranja glowered back. “But I’d like to think I’m going about it in a more personal, compassionate way. I’m not sitting in a fancy castle ordering everyone else around. I’m on the ground, learning about the people and helping them in more ways than just killing Stormcloaks and getting Imperial soldiers killed.”
“Well, good for you,” Tullius replied with overt sarcasm. “Imperial Generals don’t have that luxury. I didn’t get to my station in life by being compassionate.”
“That may be so, General, but it’s obvious you’re not particularly happy. And there’s no reason to take it out on others. You chose your path.”
“And you chose yours when you joined the Legion, Auxiliary. You can either follow orders or take up residence in the Solitude prison. Which will it be?”
She was sick of being addressed as a title. “My name is Miranja. Miranja Laurentius. And I will follow orders, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“You’re absolutely right, Miranja. We all have to do things we don’t like to bring about things we do like.” He stopped and regarded her with a scrutinizing look, as Miranja stared back with some surprise at his unknowing echoing of her father’s words.
“You said your name was Laurentius?”
“Yes.” She didn’t bother with the ‘sir.’
“Your father was in the Legion, wasn’t he?”
“Yes… sir.” Where was he going with this?
“Ah, yes, I see the resemblance now. I worked with your father briefly in Hammerfell some twenty-five years or more ago. I remember him because he had the same bleeding heart and lack of respect that you do.”
“I’m proud of my father and his work for the underprivileged,” Miranja said, jutting out her chin as Tullius had earlier. “And both my father and I give respect where it’s due. We just feel morally compelled to point out injustice regardless of who’s perpetrating it, and that includes the Empire.”
“Well, his soft heart is what kept him from advancing past Captain. He could have been a general himself, if he’d been tougher.”
“My father and I don’t measure success by titles and wealth. We measure our riches and our station in life by the happiness we create and the love we give and receive. My father retired a happy, peaceful man, and he’s still bringing joy to those around him and earning respect for his deeds.”
“Well, that’s a heartwarming story, Auxiliary, and your opinions are duly noted, but it’s time we got back to business.”
Miranja heaved a resigned sigh and closed her eyes for a moment, then spoke tiredly. “Very well, sir. What’s next?”
“I need someone I can trust to deliver a message of great import to Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We have it on good authority that Ulfric has raised enough men to attack the city of Whiterun. The Jarl, however, refuses the Legion’s support. This missive should convince him. Be aware, soldier, these documents contain sensitive intelligence for the Jarl’s eyes only.”
Yes, yes, she’d overheard the conversation between Rikke and Tullius when she’d first walked into Castle Dour yesterday. “Of course, General. We may not see eye-to-eye, but we are on the same side, and you can trust me. Balgruuf was one of my first friends when I came to Skyrim. I’ll see this gets delivered.”
“You do that,” Tullius replied, eyeing her thoughtfully. “You’re dismissed.”
Once they were outside, Tel whistled – or tried to, and only partially succeeded with the scarf over his face – and shook his head. “Damn, woman, I can’t believe you spoke to a General like that and didn’t end up in the stockade.”
“Speaking your mind isn’t a crime, Tel, and I didn’t disobey any orders. I asked him for permission to be candid, and I also made sure to include ‘with all due respect.’ My father taught me that. I know when I’m within my rights.”
Teldryn chuckled. “I like a woman with cast iron balls. I bet your dick is bigger than his.”
Miranja grinned and blushed with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment. They were still standing between the door guards, and there was no way the guards hadn’t heard the whole conversation, but they were wisely keeping their mouths shut. She knew the barracks would be abuzz later, though.
“So, what are we going to do with the rest of the evening, boss?”
Forced myself to sit down and try to work on the rewrite of Best-Laid Plans last weekend. Hoping to slowly regain some motivation. Guys, you just have no idea how apathetic I've been, for the last year, but especially for the last few months. Facing a "career" change at mid-life is overwhelming when you've gotten too complacent.
So, is anyone sick of Miranja yet? I'm sharing a big chunk because it's been so damned long.
Tagged by @skyrim-forever and @theoneandonlysemla
Faendal sat down next to her and crossed his legs, letting the fire restore his strength and the dexterity in his fingers. The feeling of being baked was rather pleasant after being chapped and stiffened in the icy wind outside. “I came here from Valenwood on foot after my parents died. It seemed like every time I got barely out of sight of a town, bandits waylaid me. If it wasn’t bandits, it was nutty daedra worshippers. I was attacked more often by people than by wild animals. But at least I ate well on the way.”
Miranja’s eyes widened, partly in mild shock and partly in understanding. Faendal had adhered to the Green Pact. He’d eaten the enemies he’d killed. Spilling human and mer guts was a way of life for him, like cleaning an animal for cooking. If his parents were dead, it was likely that he’d even consumed them.
“I forgot,” she said, casting her eyes downward in embarrassment. “My lover Arendor, back in Cyrodiil, told me about the Green Pact and how you eat your dead.”
“Well, I guess you just answered your own question, huh?” Faendal gave her a mischievous grin when she looked back up at him, and then he winked at her. “And you’ve been with a Bosmer, eh? How’d you like it?”
If Miranja’s face hadn’t already become rosy from the fire, the flush in her cheeks would have been obvious. As it was, she worried that the fire within her belly might have caused her arousal to be readable in her expression. “Why do you want to know?”
“I know what you human women say about us. Because we’re shorter than humans…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence for Miranja to know what he meant. “I never found him lacking. In fact, he seemed to have more passion than any of the human men who tried to sleep with me. If he didn’t know what pleased me, he asked me to tell him or show him. Human men would be too proud to admit they didn’t know what they were doing, and would go on being lousy in bed because of their stubborn pride. If they were shit in bed, they didn’t want to know. Ironic, really.”
Faendal laughed heartily. “You know, that’s exactly how I think Sven thinks. As if his music and poetry could make up for being a lousy lover. Truth is, though, I don’t know if he has any more experience between the sheets than I do. But hopefully, thanks to you, I won’t have to worry about that anymore, where Camilla's concerned. Thanks again, seriously.”
“I was glad to help. I tend to favor elves over humans, especially racist assholes like Sven and his mother.”
“Well, if you happen to talk to Camilla and get the chance to slip in something about how good your Bosmer lover was, maybe it’ll get her to wondering about me.” Guilt flashed across his features for a moment. “Not that all I want to do is get her into bed, of course. She deserves to be treated like the lady she is.”
“Of course,” Miranja smiled, though frustration curled its gnarled fingers around her heart. “And it seems you’ve taken my mind off of killing, at least for the time being. I feel a little better. It’s just that before I came to Skyrim, I’d never killed anything bigger than a chicken or a rabbit, and now I’ve killed several of my own kind. I’ll have some thinking to do when we get back to town. I believe this makes me a murderer, especially since I killed that woman before she even attacked me.”
“I killed her,” Faendal interrupted. “You shot her, but you only wounded her.”
“Well, it could have been either of us who fired the killing shot on him.” Miranja nodded her head in the direction of the male bandit, lying in his own congealing blood a couple meters away. “You know, the border guards told me Skyrim was a different place than Cyrodiil, and that I should be ready to defend myself, but for some reason, I never thought it was people he was telling me I’d have to defend against.”
“I’m sorry to say you’ll probably end up getting used to it. Skyrim is plagued with bandits. I’m actually rather glad to see the various Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers on my trips into Whiterun, just so I know I’m not on my own out there.”
“Well, I’m very glad to have you with me for this,” Miranja declared, standing and brushing herself off. The fire had actually made her start to sweat. “I feel safer and more confident with you here. Especially after your archery tips.”
Faendal smiled fondly at her. He rose easily to his feet. “You learn fast, too. That was a good shot for a beginner, even if we were kind of at a close range.”
“Beginner’s luck?”
“Probably,” Faendal nodded, feigning seriousness.
Miranja side-eyed him and elbowed him in the ribs. “Asshole.”
First of all, I'm kicking my feet and twirling my hair rn, thank you for tagging me I'M SO HONOURED. Secondly!
From BG3, "Lyric" is really intriguing me
"What might have been - the other outcome" is also really calling to me, tell us about that one!
"Journal"'s vagueness has also captured my attention. Whose journal?
Anyway thank you, and I want to know what basically all of those titles are because THEY ALL SOUND COOL
Thanks for your ask! I get so few of those now that I'm hardly doing anything, haha! I'm about to ramble, so I hope you're comfortable!
Lyric Forest-Singer is the name of my Tav in BG3. She's a wood elf, and she and Gale have a relationship. I started drawing a pic of them together last year, but got lazy and never finished it. I pledge to finish it this year! The folder contains several unfinished scenes, but I'll give you a snip from "blood":
Gale's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared, but his gaze was not on her. He was focused on something inside, she perceived. She held her breath, waiting to see if he was angry with her or Astarion or himself, or... something else? Was he going to blow up on her? They'd never had more than a mild disagreement so far. She wasn't sure she wanted to see Gale lose his temper.
When he spoke, his voice was quiet and emotional. His eyes were a bit watery. "To think that you, in your loving generosity and compassion, allow him to taste the very essence of your existence, the most personal part of your physical being, and he can be so flippant about it, as if you're giving him mere candies. He's tasted something of you that I haven't, and it makes my blood boil and my stomach churn that he can be so cavalier about it."
Lyric knew that undertone in his voice. "Gale, are you *jealous*?"
***
What might have been is an alternate ending to Miranja's story, and while I called it finished at the time (just wrote it to get it out of my system because I regretted how I REALLY made things go for her), I may yet write more at a later date. There's a lot more that could be written, but I've lost faith in my imagination, at least for now.
Miranja had been moving slowly that morning, and Talvas thought she looked rather peaked. She’d also commented for the last few days that her nipples were very sore and tender, and he knew it was not because of anything he had done to her in bed. Suddenly, she dropped the pants she’d been about to put on and bolted for the bucket in the corner of the room, where she fell to her knees on the cold stone floor and heaved miserably whatever remained in her stomach from supper last night.
Talvas had never seen her more than simply tired, as she had a tendency to push herself too hard sometimes, and this was completely alien and utterly alarming to him. Horrified, he rushed to her side, pulling her long, loose hair back in an attempt to see her face. She heaved again, but nothing came this time.
“Water,” Miranja murmured weakly, and Talvas immediately went to the table and filled a tankard with water from the jug. He returned quickly and handed it to her, watching and waiting with concern as she swished the water in her mouth and spat it into the bucket. She took a small sip and swallowed cautiously, waiting to make sure it would stay down. Then she handed the tankard back to Talvas so she could use both hands to support herself as she rose shakily to her feet, and she leaned on him as they walked back to the bed.
Talvas sat next to her and pressed his hand to her forehead. She was sweating, but her skin was cold. She was still holding her belly and grimacing. Had she been poisoned?
“Miranja, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” There was a note of panic in his voice, and Miranja smiled weakly at his loving concern.
“I’ll be fine, my love,” she assured him. “Let me simply say that… I believe your seed has taken root in my garden.”
Talvas looked befuddled for a moment, then realization dawned in his eyes, followed by disbelief with a touch of fear. Miranja continued smiling her small, queasy smile as she took the tankard back from Talvas’ unresisting hand and sipped a little more water.
***
Journal - I like to keep a journal for my characters so I can really get into their heads, figure out what they notice most about their experiences and the world around them, and of course, how they feel about people, things, and events. I write most of my stories in third person, so part of the overhaul of Miranja's story is that I want to add her journal entries in the appropriate places. I know, it's nuts, it's just a fanfic and it's never going to be published. I put too much pressure on myself. But I also want to add some scenes from other characters' POVs, since the whole thing has been strictly from Miranja's POV. I'd like to get into how other people feel about her. She has too many people liking her, and let's get real, she needs some enemies besides the usual ones (DB/Morag Tong, vampires/Dawnguard, the Blood Horkers, the followers of Malyn Varen, etc.). I know, you're the big hero in the game, and everyone's supposed to love you except the evil people, but you know someone's gotta be jealous, or she accidentally killed someone or screwed someone's husband or stole produce, and someone wants retribution, right? Anyway, here's something that really hit Miranja hard. (Tel is Teldryn Sero)
Fredas, 1 Morning Star, 4E 203 - Korvanjund
Happy New Year, indeed. Almost 3am – just got out of Korvanjund. Well, almost out. In antechamber. So tired, but have to get this off my chest. 2 bedrolls here, nice warm fire, & cooking pot, & would love to take nice long nap, but I’d hate for Rikke to come up & find me sleepingafter she tasked me with taking Crown back to Solitude. I know this place isn’t too far from Nightgate Inn, but how long will it take to get there? Out of our way, but closer than Whiterun. Tel’s acting tough, but I’m pretty sure he’s just as wasted as me. Started really snowing outside, but wore my fur armor.
We lost 2 men. 1 fell to Stormcloak before we even got inside, other fell to draugr deathlord who wore Jagged Crown in final room with dragon wall. Stormcloaks lost everyone. At time, didn’t have time to think too much about it, because kill or be killed, but now that Tel & I are out of there & about to hit road & I have TOO MUCH time to think, feel like I could cry all the way back. If that makes me a weak soldier, so be it.
I hate war, hate politics, hate that people feel need to kill each other over things that don’t matter in the end. I do believe Nords have right to worship whoever they please. I’m live-and-let-live person; parents taught me if you’re not hurting anyone, people should just shut the hell up & let you live life as you see fit, & you should treat others same way. I do think Thalmor are assholes, but know that overt war & bloodshed will get Skyrim nowhere. Then again, seems talking doesn’t do much good, either. Will take someone far greater than me to convince Thalmor they have no business telling good, harmless (until provoked) people what they can do in their own homes & hearts.
Tagged by @thequeenofthewinter and @skyrim-forever - thanks, beautiful ladies!
Yesterday I was off work but had lots of running around to do, so didn't have time to post. Besides, I'm still picking away at this guy's clothes. Once I'm done with the detailing on the left armhole of his vest, I'll finally be completely finished. Then I'll probably finish some other WIPs (Athis, Fihada) before moving on to Miranja's mother, Hjalda. Once again, I give you Flavio Laurentius (DILF to certain people 😜).
