#Tanithia writes

[ladytanithia]

WIP whenever tf

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?”

[ladytanithia]

Trying to write a sex scene while stoned...

spoiler: no actual sex. 😂

Tagging @lillxart @dirty-bosmer @skyrim-forever @theoneandonlysemla

“Well, here we are. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for.” Larkspur spread out his arms and his untied robe spread open with them, revealing his bronze, shining nudity.

“Yes,” Miranja breathed throatily as she struggled unsuccessfully not to let her gaze move straight toward the apex of his strong, lean, delectable thighs. Rather than following his example, she squeezed her shoulders inward a bit and let her robe fall to pool around her feet, crossing one arm over her chest demurely. Any insecurity about her aging body flew out the window at the flood of warmth that Larkspur’s appreciative gaze filled her with. Not to mention the slight twitch of his mostly-flaccid member.

“How shall we begin?” Larkspur asked, taking one step closer to her.

“You’re not averse to skooma, are you?”

Larkspur smiled knowingly, revealing his glowing white teeth. They were moist and shone and flickered in the candlelight. “Just a bit, for a little pleasure enhancement? Not at all, my lovely.”

Miranja poured the skooma into the hookah, and they lounged opposite each other, as they each took one draw. They held it as long as they could, narrowing their eyes at one another in a challenge to see who could hold the vapors in longest. Larkspur lost it first, and his embarrassed laughter made Miranja struggle not to laugh as she continued to hold her breath.

“Whoo, just laughing feels delicious!” Larkspur cried.

Miranja watched him with great interest and curiosity, having never seen him lose his composure to this point. She couldn’t wait to see if he spilled anything about secret feelings.

While she never indulged any other time, she loved skooma on occasions like this. It worked almost instantaneously, and it made you deliciously sensitive to touch – as if she wasn’t already sensitive enough without the skooma. She could see why the addiction was so prevalent among the pleasure-loving Khajiit. Another effect, a mixed blessing: It also made you feel like baring your soul to someone.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (4/10/24)

Tagged by the lovely and talented @skyrim-forever

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @lillxart @theoneandonlysemla @thequeenofthewinter

This is probably kinda boring, but it's all I got right now. A snippet from the next chapter of Best-Laid Plans.

In honor of my late wife's would-have-been 64th birthday today. I'd probably be so much more inspired if she was still around. Happy birthday in the Great Beyond, Steph. ❤️

*****

“We don’t have to go straight back to Whiterun after this,” Miranja commented as they followed the river west. “You said you’d never been to Solitude, so I thought I could take you there before I take you back home to hang out your shingle again. We could hit Morthal on the way, but you’re not really missing much there. A lumber mill town set along the banks of the marsh. Mudcrabs and chaurus all around.”

“Honestly, that sounds fine, Miss Miranja. Whatever you want to do. This is the most I’ve seen of Skyrim in my entire life, and I’m enjoying all of it. Besides, I don’t know where future clients might take me, so the more I know of my homeland, the better prepared I’ll be.”

Miranja nodded and smiled, casting a fond glance his way. “Good thinking, hon. Plus, if you join the Companions, they could send you anywhere in Skyrim. I’m sorry we didn’t make it all the way to Riften, or visit Falkreath or Dawnstar. Riften might be a bit of a culture shock for you. There’s someone of every race but Khajiit there. Falkreath is another lumber mill town but it’s in a beautiful valley full of pine trees.”

“I’ve heard about the big cemetery there,” Erik replied. “Has anyone ever reported any ghosts? A place like that sounds like it could be haunted.”

Miranja thought for a moment. “Not that I’ve ever heard of. There are caves and barrows in the area that have draugr, but they never leave those places, so the town doesn’t have to worry about them.” She watched him cogitate, wondering how much of that Nord superstition she could help him come to grips with before she took him home.

Neither of them expected to be confronted by ghosts the moment they got within view of Rannveig’s Fast. Miranja was bewildered at first, as the first ghost she approached was shouting things like, “Stay back! I don’t want to hurt you!” yet he was running at her with a ghostly weapon, obviously prepared to do harm. “I’m sorry!” he wailed mournfully as he swung at her. “I don’t want to do this!” Before long, however, it sank in to her mind that the ghosts were under duress of some sort, though to whom, she didn’t know. She felt bad attacking them back, but consoled herself with the thought that they were already physically dead, and now their spirits would be able to rest, too.

[ladytanithia]

TES Summer Fest - "companion/fallen"

From "Dalliances with Dunmer"

Miranja fell really hard for her best buddy Talvas after taking him to Skyrim for a few weeks. But she didn't know how deep his Telvanni ambitions ran. When Talvas used her as a pawn to force Neloth's hand, it didn't end well - for either of them. (nudity, death - excerpt and pic below the cut)

@tes-summer-fest

"Our trip to Skyrim showed me that I'm more powerful than Master Neloth wants to admit. And of course, all the gold we split from our bandit raids and such helped me pay the Morag Tong. Neloth's been purposely holding me back and putting me down because he doesn't want me to overtake him. But I'm onto him now. And I've had enough. It's my turn."

"Oh, Talvas..." Miranja wept. "It doesn't have to be like this."

"I'm sick of Tel Mithryn, sick of Solstheim. I'm getting those secrets, collecting the bounty on Master Neloth, and going back to Morrowind in glory. You're either with me or not. I'd rather have you with me – I really do love you, Miranja. But if you leave me no choice..."

"I love you, too, Talvas, but you can't expect me to make this kind of choice. I love you both very, very much."

Talvas's face turned sulky. "You know I can't let you just go after this, right? If you're not going to be with me, I'll have to eliminate you as a witness. Neloth doesn't have to know that you're no longer alive."

"So be it," Miranja said, scrunching her eyes closed and mentally making her peace with her chosen divinities. She wasn't sure she wanted to live in a world where her precious Talvas was a twisted, evil mage-lord, anyway.

"I had so hoped you would see it my way, Miranja. I'm so much younger than Neloth; we could have had so much more time together."

"I'm not an elf; we would have five or six decades at the most, as long as I didn't get killed."

"Neloth knows life-extending magic – yet another thing he hasn't taught me yet. But you could help convince him."

"No, Talvas. This whole thing is wrong."

"Then perhaps I need to convince you." Standing next to the rack, he raised his hands, sparks arcing in his palms – and flew sideways across the room, a mass of electric sparks blinding her. Miranja blinked, her mind not comprehending what just happened. One second, she had been drawing a breath to use Bend Will against him, and the next, he was gone.

Then Neloth came into the room, anger blazing on his face and a veritable lightning storm flying from his raised hands toward Talvas. Before she could even cry out to stop Neloth, Talvas lay lifeless on the floor. Neloth stomped on his body for good measure, eliciting a shriek of horror from Miranja, then he came and released Miranja from the rack, helping her move her stiff legs, working the blood back into her numb arms.

"Are you all right?" he asked, stroking loose hair from her face and pressing kisses against her forehead. His long goatee tickled her nose, and she had to try very hard not to sneeze. In spite of her grief over Talvas, she was enjoying his comforting attentions.

"Yes, thank the Divines, I'm okay. Physically, anyway." She glanced at her beautiful, raven-haired Talvas on the floor and her heart broke anew. Tears flowed once more down her cheeks. "Gods, Neloth, why did you have to kill him?"

"If he was so far gone as to threaten you with bodily harm, then I am afraid it was already too late for redemption. I am sorry, Miranja. I know you loved him."

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (08/21/2024)

Tagged by @theoneandonlysemla

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @lillxart @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter

I've hardly done any EARNEST writing lately, but I've had a lot of little scenarios running through my mind, most of which are occurring as I play through BG3 as my half-wood elf bard, Lyric Forest-Singer. So I'll share this modest little snippet, really kind of boring, about Lyric's first meeting with Gale.

Lyric glanced at Shadowheart to see if she found their new companion as handsome and adorably full of himself as she did. To her at-least-temporary relief, Shadowheart regarded him with just as much of a closed expression as she showed to Lyric. At least for now, Lyric seemed to be the only one attracted to this intriguing man.

In the next millisecond, however, she was forced to chastise herself harshly. They were all in the same situation, an urgent one. This was not the time for cultivating romance. They needed to find a healer, and they had no idea just how much time they had to do so. They didn’t even know if a healer would be capable of removing or nullifying their tadpoles, or whether it could be done without undesirable side effects – like death, or worse. In Lyric’s mind, spending the rest of her life as a cripple or being feeble-minded would be a fate worse than death, especially if she couldn’t play her lyre or sing or dance.

“You’re quite welcome to join us,” she told Gale with a measured smile. He seemed quite cordial, but she wasn’t seeing any spark of attraction in his eyes, just a “proper” sort of charm he probably put on for everyone, so she felt it best to be careful to mask her own attraction. Not only for her own heart’s sake, but for the sake of their little party. She must focus on the task at hand, and if there was time later, then she could let her imagination run wild.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (2/21)

I've been doing a lot of side projects this last week and getting to know a new friend and her OC, so I haven't written much. Therefore, I am afraid that all I have to offer is the rest of Miranja's letter from her mother. I'll try to have something better next week! The rest of the story so far can be found here.

Honestly, my brain is such an absolute tornado right now, I'm not even sure if anyone tagged me first, so I'm just tagging everyone I think might be remotely interested.

@dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @lillxart @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter

Erik nodded silently and Miranja continued reading.

“I’m curious to know if Arch-Mage Aren is still in charge there. And dear Professor Tolfdir – is he still around? (They were both old when I attended there.) If they are, please give them my best when you meet them, would you?

"Don’t think that I’m not concerned about the World-Eater returning, but I think you would benefit from working on your destruction magic as much as possible before you try to take on that great evil dragon. Both your father and I hope your Faendal has been turning you into a good archer, too. You’ll need something that will reach an airborne dragon when magic will not, or if you use up all your magicka. Do you know someone who can teach you more about close combat and blocking? Your father says that’s mainly why he wants you to join the Legion, more so than putting down the rebellion there.

"We worry about you so much, but we also have faith that you are surrounding yourself with people who can strengthen you: your body, your mind, your spirit, and your character. If you truly intend to fulfill your role as Dragonborn, you must prepare yourself in every way you can.

“All right, Miri my heart, I can almost hear you sighing with impatience, so I’ll stop lecturing you. What else is there to talk about?

“Oh! I bumped into Arendor in the market last Turdas. Haven’t seen him since before you went to Skyrim. He said to tell you he misses you and wishes you well. I know how much you loved him, my dear, and he seems very well-mannered, but I just can’t help thinking he’s hiding something.”

Miranja giggled at that. What Mama didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Erik eyed her curiously for a moment, then returned to scanning the tundra for predators, dragons, and such.

Mama went on about the weather and the social gatherings, and Miranja skimmed over the minor things, planning to read more thoroughly when she wasn’t on the move. She refolded the letter and asked Erik to tuck it into her journal inside her backpack, so she wouldn’t have to take the pack off and put it back on again.

[ladytanithia]

RULES: post the last line of whatever you're writing (fic, original, whatever you want!)

Tagged by my friend @dirty-bosmer

Tagging @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter

Kinda have to put the last paragraph so there's a smidge of context:

“Well, not today, of course, sadly. I have another errand to run when I leave here, and I have to prepare for the mission Farkas gave me. So, our lesson will have to be brief, I’m afraid.” She gave him a crooked, regretful smile, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (3/13)

I don't have an art WIP this week, because I haven't made any progress on any previous WIPs, and the recent pix I've done are complete and I'll be posting them on my art blog (@tanithias-art-blog) shortly. I haven't done any more on Miranja's original story lately, either, because I've been collaborating on some little side stories with @lillxart and her OC, Snow White! So this week's WIP is a couple of paragraphs from the sequel I've been writing to the story she wrote for me.

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter - I feel like my friends are falling away, but they're off living their best lives, so more power to them!

Without further ado:

Snow had begun weeping as she spoke of Ondolemar. They’d wanted to marry, she said, but through her own misguided choices, he had died before they ever could. That was when she learned the pain of losing love, losing a loved one. And Miranja felt that pain right along with her. The women cried together with great, gasping sobs, even wails. Snow let go of her own arms and clung to Miranja, who turned to wrap both her arms around the smaller woman. Snow White had had her time to grieve and scream and curse and cry, but even so, she still felt the need from time to time, and retelling it had overcome her, despite her best efforts. Miranja, on the other hand, had yet to fully mourn Talvas. She’d never been alone long enough, and when she’d been with people, she’d been afraid of making them too uncomfortable by expressing her raw emotions. But here, alone with Snow, who was already crazy as a bedbug, she didn’t have to hold back. She could release her heart’s agony and wash a large part of the pain away with her cleansing tears, scream at the Divines or the Daedra – whoever was responsible for the turn of events that had ripped Talvas from her arms. They cried for different men, but they cried together in solidarity, and sharing the pain was comforting to both of them.

A traveler passing near the tower heard the sobbing and wailing, and ventured closer to see who was in such distress and whether he could help. But as he neared the end of the path leading to the tower’s steps, the skeleton guards snapped their attention toward him. He gasped, blood running cold, and with eyes and mouth wide with terror, he turned on his heel and ran as if the death hounds of Coldharbour were pursuing him. If there were armed skeletons, he reasoned through his unreasonable fear, then something terrible must be happening in that tower, perhaps a Daedric ritual with a human sacrifice. A certain old drunkard at the Dead Man’s Drink would be the only one to believe him when he told his tale.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (1/24)

For Chapter 22 of Best-Laid Plans - Miranja and Athis getting better acquainted.

I haven't written much in the last month. Barely picking at this chapter. Haven't drawn anything since Christmas. Long slump. Winter feels like a time for looking inward, coming up with ideas, germinating. I hope to have some things rolling - downhill, with momentum - by spring. In the meantime, here's part of a scene that's taken me weeks to grind out. Tagging my friends, but no obligation to read or share something if you're not inclined. @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

As they took adjacent seats at the table, Miranja commented, “You know, I’ve been all over Skyrim, and I’ve noticed that there are only a few cities where Dunmer live. Winterhold, where the college was once well populated with Dunmer, but now there are only a few left. Windhelm – ” Here Athis briefly interrupted her with a derisive snort. “ – where the Dunmer live and work but are treated as second-class citizens. Riften, where the Dunmer live and work alongside everyone else, including Argonians, and everyone but Khajiit are accepted with open arms. And here, where you and Irileth are esteemed members of society.”

“So what’s your point?” Athis asked, washing down his bread and cheese with a swig from his bottle of ale.

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just being silly. Please don’t take this as condescending; it’s really not. I just feel rather proud of you for making a name for yourself in this mostly prejudiced province. I mean, I respect you.” She turned to look him directly in the eyes. “Also, you’re the only Dunmer I know, besides Irileth, who’s an actual warrior. It takes a different kind of strength and courage to be a warrior. I didn’t come here to be a warrior; I came here to be a mage. But I’ve felt obligated to become one since learning I was Dragonborn and that Alduin has returned. I’ve always been just a girl, and now everyone sees me as the savior of Skyrim. Of all Tamriel, even.”

She was, to an extent, fishing for sympathy and comfort, but Athis was oblivious to her hinting and was not inclined to coddle her even if he had noticed. “Well,” he said, “you’re in the right place if you’re looking for ‘elp in becoming a better warrior. We all ‘ave our specialties here. Farkas can teach you about two-handed weapons, Vilkas is good wif heavy armor, Njada earned the name Stone-Arm because she’s great wiv a shield – but don’t tell ‘er I said that.”

Miranja smiled wryly, remembering the first time she’d entered Jorrvaskr and witnessed his maybe-not-so-friendly spar with Njada. She’d been humiliated right along with him, but she hadn’t even known his name yet and she hadn’t wanted to say or do anything to embarrass him. Now that she had him talking, though, she had to satisfy her curiosity.

“What is the deal with you and Njada? I don’t know if you remember, but I happened to come in here for the first time just as you and Njada were ‘discussing your differences.’”

“I knew you looked familiar. Yes, now that I think about it… you asked my name, didn’t you?”

“Yes, and you told me. Then it seems you promptly forgot about me,” she ribbed. “But I remembered you.”

“Well, I was a bit preoccupied, if you’ll recall,” Athis replied defensively.

“It’s okay, Athis. I’m just teasing you. So…?”

“So, she’s got this ‘strong Nord woman’ attitude. If you’ve ever ‘eard Olfina Grey-Mane goin’ on about that, it’s because they’re friends. Njada can beat any man at Jorrvaskr in a fight – except Farkas, the big brawny s’wit. And I say that in the most loving o�� ways. Nord or not, he’s treated me like a brother since the day I joined. Anyway, it’s a superiority thing for ‘er. She likes to test everyone - and 'erself - about once a month. You just ‘appened to walk in on me getting my turn.”

“Ahh, so you’re saying that if I hang around here enough, I can expect her to do the same to me.”

“Exactly.”

They ate their fill, Miranja glancing stealthily at Athis every few moments, watching what he chose to eat, how his used his hands, listening to the sounds he made as he ate and replenished his body.

Something about sharing food and eating together seemed intimate to her; not just with Athis, but with anyone. Sometimes, food was scarce and hard-won, and the act of sharing it was generosity at its finest, helping others to survive, stoking their life force. This wasn’t one of those times of scarcity, but Miranja still enjoyed sharing meals with people whether she was on the giving or the receiving end of the deal. She’d shared the idea of the intimacy of sharing food with her parents once. They’d been surprised and intrigued by her point of view, and wondered, as they had many times before about some of her other ideas, how she’d reached that conclusion. She knew she was odd, but she didn’t care, when her ideas were pleasing to her.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday - 5/8/24

It's been a while since I posted from The Best-Laid Plans. I've been off doing other fun side projects. I'm trying to get back to work on it. So here's a fairly long snip of Erik and Miranja camping at Rannveig's Fast.

Thanks for the tag, @thequeenofthewinter!

Tagging the rest of the mutuals: @auguamenti09 @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @igorlevchenko-blog @lillxart

@mareenavee @moriche @skyrim-forever @thechaosdragoness @theoneandonlysemla

No obligation to either read this or share anything of your own, just including you in case you're bored, haha! If anyone doesn't wish to be tagged on these, please let me know - the last thing I want to do is annoy people.

Without further ado...

While Erik started a fire with the unused wood in the fire pit, Miranja got out her bow and scanned the scrub brush below for any kind of small animal to shoot for their supper. They could have fruit and dried meat if necessary, but fresh meat was always so much tastier, not to mention the smell of cooking meat was tantalizing and mouth-watering.

As it happened, a mountain goat wandered into the valley after a few minutes, just as Miranja was starting to descend the stairs to venture further out. She froze and slowly reached over her shoulder to feel out an arrow. She nocked it and drew down on the goat, aiming for the head. She let fly the arrow and it whizzed forth, but the goat moved at the last moment and the arrow glanced off the goat’s horn, sending the animal bounding for safety.

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath, but even as the word left her lips, she realized that the goat’s flight had startled a rabbit out from its hiding place under a bush. Before she could even reach for another arrow, an arrow whizzed down from the patio ledge above and skewered the rabbit through its ribcage. Miranja looked up to see Erik gloating at her, and she smirked and stuck her tongue out at him before hurrying down the stairs to grab their supper.

Murmuring a thankful prayer to Kynareth and to the soul of the rabbit, Miranja took out her hunting knife and cut the animal open from breast to butt, removing all the innards. She beheaded it, cut the feet off, and worked the skin off carefully, keeping it as tidy as possible so that she could dry and sell the pelt later.

When she carried the prepared creature back up to the camp, Erik had the fire going. He’d gone through the knapsacks of the previous campers and found some nice long skewers. As he used his own knife to split the carcass lengthwise, Miranja praised him.

“Holy hagravens, Erik! I can’t believe you shot that little guy from so far away, while he was moving! I knew you were pretty good with a bow, but I had no idea you were that good! I’m really impressed!”

“I’d like to exercise bragging rights,” Erik replied with a slight blush, “but it was a fluke. I’ve never been able to shoot anything as small and fast as a rabbit before. Deer, elk, and mountain goats are bigger targets, way easier to hit. Rabbits deal me fits.” He skewered each half of the rabbit and handed one to his mentor.

“Well, Kynareth must be watching over us tonight.” Miranja grinned as she took her skewer, and he grinned back for a moment before his eyes went thoughtful and somewhat suggestive.

Before he could speak, Miranja gave him a playful scolding. “Erik, you know the rules about camping outdoors. Making love is too big of a distraction when you’re vulnerable to enemies and predators. We have to stand watches.”

“Can we just kiss a little?”

“Will that get you too frustrated?”

Erik thought in earnest for a moment. “No, I think I can control myself.”

Minding their skewers and taking a look around at the same time, they scooted closer. Miranja laid her head on Erik’s shoulder, and he kissed her hair before turning her face gently toward him. Miranja felt a little thrill at his assertiveness, smiling as she closed her eyes and leaned in for the touch of his lips. They shared a sweet, tender kiss, then Miranja told him, “I love that you’re assertive yet gentle at the same time. You’ve obviously gotten more confident, and you’re going to make a wonderful husband and lover to some lucky woman one of these days. And – you’re a very good kisser.”

Erik grinned bashfully and leaned his forehead against Miranja’s. “I had a very good teacher.”

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday

For Chapter 18 of Best-Laid Plans. Just doing some good works around Windhelm and showing sweet Erik around the less-fortunate parts of town. Miranja's take on the Aventus Aretino situation. Could damn near be a chapter in itself.

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @guarmommy @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @sunny-d-anomaly @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter

^0^0^0^0^0^

Miranja hugged Quintus tightly for a long moment. “Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do. I mean that. And if his condition changes. I would like to try to be present for his funeral when the time comes.”

Quintus nodded, following his guests to the door, and closing it behind them as they exited.

Miranja was somber as they took the way back through the cemetery toward the docks. Before Erik could speak to her, a passing guard commented about the Aretino boy. Miranja’s mood shifted visibly, and a determined look came into her eyes.

“I’ve been hearing about this kid since the day I came to Skyrim. It’s odd that after months, no one’s done anything to help this kid. We’re about to go right by his house. Maybe I’ll check in on him.” Although Erik had claimed to be open-minded, he obviously retained some of that Nord superstition. He tried to protest, but Miranja had made up her mind. “You don’t have to go in with me if you don’t want to,” she told him.

“I’m not letting you go into a potentially dangerous situation by yourself, Miss Miranja. I’ll do what you’re paying me for. I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”

She had to pick the lock to get into the house, and as soon as she opened the door, their nostrils were assailed by the smell of decomposing flesh. But it wasn’t the boy; they could hear his frustrated chanting and cursing from where they stood. Miranja gagged and turned away toward the outside, sucking in a deep breath of fresh, cold air.

“Die, Grelod! Die!” Miranja nearly jumped out of her skin at the shout, and she took another deep breath and held it before hurrying up the stairs.

“I’m… so tired…” the boy whimpered to himself. “How long do I have to pray?”

It was quite chilly in the house, and Miranja dared not wonder how bad it would smell if it had been warm. Surely the jarl’s people would have tended to the boy’s mother’s body after she died, right? What was this nauseating smell?

“Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me, for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear.” The bloodchilling prayer was accompanied by repeated thunking sounds, and when the pair finally reached the room where Aventus was performing his ritual, Miranja was stunned. Here was the source of the rotting smell: decaying human body parts. It was warmer in this room because of the circle of candles, and the scent of the hot wax did nothing to detract from the stench. The thunk was the sound of Aventus wearily stabbing the disintegrating flesh, the tip of his blade catching slightly in the floorboards with each blow. Aventus was tearfully complaining to himself now about how tired he was, asking why the Night Mother wasn’t answering him.

Miranja nearly wept at the thought of some stranger doing this ritual with the intention of having her life snuffed. To see this child performing the ritual… what sort of horror must he have endured at that orphanage? Where and how did he get the body parts? This was serious, gruesome business.

“By the Nine…” Miranja murmured in horror. Behind her, she could hear Erik vomiting into – well, hopefully into something. When she tried to take another breath, the smell was so bad that she gagged again, but the boy was on his feet as soon as he heard her voice, jumping for joy as if he hadn’t just been on the verge of collapse a moment ago.

“Are you okay?” Miranja choked out, trying to take shallow breaths.

“You came! An assassin from the Dark Brotherhood! I did the Black Sacrament with the body and the… the things. I prayed and prayed, and the Night Mother finally answered me!”

“Oh, no, no, no, I’m not who you think I am, young man.”

“Of course you are! I prayed, and you came, and now you’ll accept my contract.”

Aventus told her about his mother’s illness and death, and how he was sent to the orphanage in Riften, and how cruel Grelod had been. Miranja agreed that someone who could be so inhumane to children who had already lost their parents and had no one to love and care for them deserved a terrible punishment, but she was not an assassin and wasn’t sure that she could kill someone who wasn’t actively threatening her life. But Aventus wouldn’t take no for an answer, so she agreed.

“Please hurry,” he begged. “It’s lonely here, and even though I hated Grelod, I really miss my friends there.”

Before she left, she had Erik open some windows and helped Aventus fill a burlap produce bag with the grisly items from his ritual. She found Aventus’s mother’s cleaning supplies and cleaned up the blood stains from the floor. Reminding the boy to close the windows again in half an hour or so, she took the bag with her and put it in a large trash receptacle down at the docks, where it and all the other trash would be taken by ship to be dumped far out in the Sea of Ghosts. Erik took the whole bucket, keeping it upright even when he added it to the trash bin, knowing the cold weather would freeze it solid. They were both relieved to have that experience behind them.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (2/7/24)

A secret someone far in an older, wiser Miranja's future...

@dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter

They talked of cooking, oohing and ahhing at each other's descriptions of recipes and the delicious outcomes. Miranja could imagine cooking together with him in a real kitchen, stuffing little samples into one another's mouths, joking, elbowing, stealing the occasional kiss or touch, creating something marvelous as a team of two. The yearning began in her heart. Sharing food was intimate to her, of course, but so too was creating together, working toward a common goal and sharing ideas. More than the intimacy of the body, she craved intimacy of the mind and soul. After all her trials and errors, she finally knew with certainty that once the mind and soul are joined, the pleasure of joining bodies was nothing short of divine. Lusting after and sharing physical pleasure with an attractive someone was well and good, but the true joy of the heart and soul lay in a much deeper, more personal and vulnerable intimacy.

Lost in her reverie, she didn't realize she'd gone quiet until he spoke up.

"Septim for your thoughts."

She glanced at him, unsure whether to reveal to him that she had just realized she had more than friendly feelings for him. Butterflies fluttered in her belly when she saw the tenderness in his expression. Had he looked at her that way before now? She didn't think so. If he had, he must have done it when she wasn't looking back at him. Was it time, finally? She had to know for certain what was going on in his mind.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, feeling uncharacteristically shy.

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (10/25)

From Chapter 28 of "Out of the Ashes." Argis is concerned about how Miranja has changed since coming home and she's trying to explain it.

@dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @mareenavee @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thechaosdragoness @thequeenofthewinter No obligation to produce something - just sharing!

“I guess it’s like when someone is gentle with me, if feels more like they really care about me. And with all the pain I’ve been through lately, the last place I want to feel pain is in someone’s arms, you know? I’m not the girl I was when I left my parents’ home. I’ve done a lot of things with a lot of people and my curiosity has mostly been satisfied. What’s left undone doesn’t really matter to me anymore. Now what’s important to me is to have that one special person, to know each other better than anyone else knows us, to be there for each other through good and bad, to be confident in each other’s love. No jealousy, no possessiveness, knowing our hearts belong to each other always. That was what Talvas and I started to have before…” She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t want to, but she didn’t have to. Argis knew. She smiled a little sadly to herself at the irony. Argis knew her better than most, but she just wasn’t attracted to him romantically, and he had Bralsa now, anyway.

"You’ll have it again, Little Bigpants, I know it. You’re a strong, talented, loving, gorgeous young woman, and you still have a lot of life ahead of you. Just keep being you.”

“That’s the hard part, Argis. I’m not sure who I am or what sort of person I really am anymore.” She rolled back her sleeve and showed him the scars and crusty scabs on her still-healing cuts. “Look at this. Every mark is a family I made grieve. Every mark is someone who was probably a good person who was just fighting for what they believed in. Every short mark is someone I killed without knowing a damned thing about them, other than they were trying to kill me. No better than bandits or thugs. But the big mark…” She went silent.

“Ulfric?” Argis asked quietly.

“I murdered a Jarl, Argis. It doesn’t matter that he asked for me to do it. It doesn’t matter that I did it just because I didn’t want Tullius to take pleasure in it. I never told even you, Argis, but I even slept with him once. I didn’t agree with him, but I didn’t hate him. He was still very sexy to me, with his looks and his …” She sought for the word, couldn’t grasp it, shook her head and settled for the next-best word. “His unapproachable charisma. Talvas was the only one who knew. I knew his name, I knew his body. I even kind of knew his heart a little. I can still feel and hear my sword going through his ribs and organs. I can still see the bloody bubbles between his lips, the light fading from his eyes as he stared at me and his flesh mottled. I made myself watch him die. I hated myself at that moment.” She squeezed her eyes closed and shuddered, and Argis could see the hairs stand up on her arm.

“Do you still hate yourself, sweetheart?”

Miranja’s heart was warmed just a little; Argis rarely used terms of endearment with her. “Sometimes. I wish there had been another way, but I know there wasn’t. Ulfric was stubborn and had narrow vision. At least he’ll get his praise in Sovngarde. And both my father and Tullius told me that bad things have to happen sometimes to make good things, better things, happen. I still believe that, but I still can’t help wishing I hadn’t gotten involved. If Aval hadn’t been wrongfully imprisoned… I guess I knew it had to happen eventually. My getting involved, I mean.”

Argis gently tugged her sleeve back in place and pulled her to his side again. “But you’ve made a better future for a lot of people, too. It’s a trade-off. Is it an even trade? Who knows? You did what you thought was best. That’s all any of us can do. It doesn’t make you a bad person.”

“I guess you’re right. But I know I’ll feel like human garbage the first time some grieving mother spits in my face.”

[ladytanithia]

WIP Wednesday

Toying with an idea for Miranja's future... not sure if I want to go this route, and not sure whether Faendal would react this way after a long friendship, lots of adventures together, and serving as her steward for a few years, but my mind likes to fixate on horribly sad things sometimes. Working title is Losing Faendal.

@dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter @thechaosdragoness @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @mareenavee

The sight that met Miranja's eyes was distressing. Camilla lay in a heap on the floor, and Faendal hung by his wrists, locked in shackles on the wall, dull-eyed and despondent.

Pulling out the key she'd taken from the bandit chief, she rushed to Faendal. "I came as fast as I could, as soon as I got Endur's message." She unlocked the shackles and let him down, then she turned to Camilla to check her.

"Don't bother; she's dead," Faendal spat bitterly, sitting on his knees, rubbing life back into his arms. "She's been lying there for hours."

An invisible fist clenched around Miranja's heart. "Oh, Faendal... I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I was too late to save both of you." Her throat clenched up along with her heart, and she fell to her knees next to him, sobbing, reaching for his arm to help him massage the blood back into the numb limb.

But Faendal pulled away with a hateful grimace, and Miranja retracted her hand as if he'd slapped it, her mouth an O of surprise. Her heart stopped altogether for a moment in her bewilderment. She took a breath to ask him why, but he spoke before she could, his tone venomous.

"Don't touch me. You want to do something for me? Then go to the nearest town and send a cart for Camilla. And don't come back. I don't want to see you again. I'm going back to Riverwood, and you can find yourself another steward."

"Faendal..." she squeaked out weakly, choking on her sobs.

"I'm sorry I ever got involved with you. This only happened because some sick Blood Horker bastards wanted revenge against you. My wife is a casualty because of what you've done. My son is motherless." His voice cracked on the last word, and he crawled over to Camilla's body, bending over her with his back to Miranja and sobbing.

All Miranja wanted to do was throw herself on the floor and weep and beg Faendal to have mercy, but she knew all that would do was antagonize him. She got to her feet and ran, blind with tears, back to the cave entrance. Back outside, she screamed her despair to the heavens until her voice was ragged.

She staggered, exhausted, into Rorikstead, heading straight to Sissel's farm, where she pressed a coin purse into Sissel's hand without counting the gold, begging her to take a produce cart to Orotheim as soon as possible, telling her that a woman had been killed and needed the appropriate preparation for burial. She knew that under Bosmer beliefs, Faendal was supposed to consume his dead wife, take her essence into himself, but Camilla's brother was still nearby and would want to inter her in Imperial fashion. Faendal would be sick with the thought of Camilla's body rotting in a grave, but they weren't in Valenwood, and he had to abide by the law of the land.

Throughout everything, she'd never stopped loving him. She had been both happy for him and sick for herself when he and Camilla had married, when they had announced Camilla's pregnancy, when they had announced the birth of their son. She had showered them with gifts, made sure they had everything they needed. They had all loved each other, and Miranja had loved Faendal's son as if he was her own. She was beside herself with disbelief that it could have all gone up in smoke with one horrific event.

Faendal had married Camilla because she was "safe" and he'd never have to worry about her - yet because they were associated with Miranja, neither he nor Camilla had ever really been safe. It was her fault. Never before had she so resented being the "heroine" everyone had made her out to be.

[ladytanithia]

My friend @mareenavee gave a little discourse on seeing improvements in our writing, and in it, she mentioned that she'd been writing since childhood. I, too, have been writing stories and poems since maybe even before kindergarten (I was the only one in my kindergarten class who could read, and at first my teacher thought I was faking it).

I don't have any of the earliest stories or poems handy, but I still have this old notebook I started in 1980, probably before most of you were born - haha! I was in 6th grade, I believe. Thought I'd share for the fun of it, cos I illustrated it, too, and obviously, I've come a VERY long way, with both my writing AND my art, since then!

Have a good laugh, y'all!

(Tagging all my friends who I thought would get a kick: @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter @thechaosdragoness @thana-topsy @dirty-bosmer

[ladytanithia]

Writing WIP Wednesday (2/14/24)

Working on the next chapter of Best-Laid Plans. Miranja gets a letter from her parents back in Bruma, Flavio and Hjalda (though Hjalda is doing the writing), after she's become thane in the Rift. (I imagine Miranja's mother with the same voice as Mjoll.) Nope, sorry, nothing mushy for VD Day. lol

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @lillxart @skyrim-forever @thana-topsy @thequeenofthewinter

“Hey, why don’t we sit down over there just long enough for you to read that,” he suggested. “The ground is too uneven to not pay attention to where you’re going.”

“Okay,” Miranja agreed. She was in a hurry, but not so much of one that she couldn’t take time to really absorb what her parents had to say.

Of course, it started off with praise and congratulations on being honored with the title Thane of Riften. Miranja could hear her mother’s sing-song voice in her head as she read.

Dearest Miranja,

Your father and I can’t believe how much you have done in just a couple of months. We are very proud of you and the good you have done for my homeland so far. When I was a little girl playing on my parents’ farm in the Rift, I never would have imagined that one day my own daughter would become a Thane. (Or that she would be the Dragonborn, for that matter.) Just don’t let your new power and influence go to your pretty head, my sweet daughter. Stay true to yourself and your upbringing, and don’t get too big for your breeches.

Your father wants to know which way the civil war there is going, and whether you’re going to join the Legion. I just want to know when you’ve gotten yourself enrolled at the college.”

Miranja slapped the letter into her lap and groaned in irritation.

“What is it?” Erik asked.

Miranja waved her free arm for emphasis as she replied. “Mama wants to know if I’ve enrolled at the college yet, and I got so busy with the Saarthal thing, and the books, and Enthir’s stupid staff, and the White Phial, and helping Balgruuf with his angry son, and joining the Companions – I’ve been overextending myself and I’ve completely forgotten to write and tell Ma and Da that I did make it to the college but I couldn’t stay. I have to remember to write them as soon as I have a moment to breath and relax.”