Meme Announcements!

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ANNOUNCEMENTS: UPDATED 12/16/2017

Happy Holidays, fellow Kinkmemers! I have returned and have no reasonable excuse for my absence except LIFE. I will be working on updating the archives. If anyone sees anything amiss, please let me know.

I am also hoping to find another Mod and an Archivist.

The more dedicated people we have in this Meme the less chance of it dying. I admit that being the sole keeper of the Meme is not great for the fandom. If something were to happen to me, for good, this place would go the way of the Fallout Kink Meme. Let's not let that happen! If anyone would be interested in Modding/Archiving, please drop me a line. Thanks! <3

Comments

Re: Fire and Potions - 79/?

[(Anonymous)]

Melaran swallowed, debating whether to shout for the guards.

“I’m sorry, to tell you - and every other Nord in the city - but I’m not Thalmor. Just Altmer.”

Ondolemar seemed to ignore him.

“As… displeased as I am to find you’ve abducted my fool cousin, I am quite elated that you can point me toward my unit. I’ve had enough of this city- of this country. I’ve been dragged in chains for a week, and I haven’t slept in days, so-”

“I understand, but I’m not Thalmor!” Melaran interrupted, cutting him off with an irritated sigh.

Ondolemar frowned at him impatiently.

“Come now. I’m head Justicar. I know which cities have sleepers, even if I’m not privy to their identities. Not that it’s very hard to guess, now is it?” he said, drumming his fingers on Melaran’s desk.

“Ask Viarmo at the Bard’s College or Taarie or any of the other Altmer living here then! I’m not Thalmor!” he yelled angrily, pointing a finger at him. “I do not suffer fools gladly. Your ilk nearly turned me to charcoal last night, so I’d hardly be loyal even if I were-”

He was so focused on Ondolemar’s even, drumming fingers on his desk, that he didn’t notice his other hand move until he was pressed against the wall by his throat.

“I tire of this,” he said simply. “Your family name is Graybinder. You’ve lived in Solitude for five years. Before that, no one knows where you came from. Indeed, I could ask Viarmo where to find my brethren if he were still alive. Tragically, the master of the Bard’s College died in last night’s attack. Taarie would have been a possibility, had the good tailor not broken her leg. Therion is many things, but easy to subdue, is not one. I required five men, invisible, with the element of surprise, while he was inebriated, and still had a difficult time of it myself. I am fascinated how you achieved it, truly.”

Ondolemar dropped him, gasping for air and sat down at his desk, leaning back and folding his arms.

Melaran frowned thoughtfully and sighed.

“Blackreach. Beneath the ruins of Mzinchaleft,” he muttered. “If you were anyone other than Head Justicar-”

“Of course. I know your oath to secrecy,” Ondolemar replied smoothly. “But I have urgent information I must report, and you’ve done well by directing me. Now. How did you capture my cousin?”

Melaran smiled slyly.

“A daedric artifact; a dagger. I liberated it from my former employer, Erikur. The fool had no idea of its enchantment. When it penetrates the skin, it renders a man temporarily in a death like state. Useful for transporting someone. They have no need for food, water - barely even air.”

“Hm. Still,” Ondolemar said thoughtfully. “I trained Therion with a blade. He’s not easy to stab.”

“On the contrary. It was pitifully easy,” Melaran said with a self satisfied smile at Ondolemar's surprised expression. “He’s a romantic. In love. One kiss and a few words of affection disguised as the ‘High Wizard’ Secret-Fire...” Melaran laughed. “The look in his eyes!” he exclaimed.

He was still laughing when a blur of blue robes suddenly appeared before him, revealing Farengar, his expression making Melaran flinch. The mage had been invisible the entire time. And, he realized too late, it had only fallen off because the Nord was swinging a hard fist at his face. Melaran staggered back, stunned and dazed, clutching his jaw, as Farengar grabbed the front of his robes.

-----------------------

“He might be dead,” Ondolemar pointed out, as Farengar paused for breath.

The Nord was drenched in sweat, blood covering his knuckles.

He peered up at Ondolemar, his breathing heavy.

“I only point it out,” Ondolemar said politely. “Because he may have lied to me about Blackreach. In which case I would need to ask him again where they took Therion. And I don’t know any necromancers in the vicinity.”

Farengar unceremoniously dropped Melaran, and moved to stand at the window. Ondolemar picked him up and tied him to his chair, healing the unconscious mer to a stable condition.

“How did you follow me?” Ondolemar asked, glancing over at Farengar's back as he worked.

Farengar said nothing.