Meme Announcements!

[skyrimkinkmeme]

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 - 93/?

[(Anonymous)]

There was a look of mild disbelief in his visitor’s eyes. A moment later, the corners of his mouth began twitching in the beginnings of a playful grin.

“Oh, my mistake. That will be 10 septims then, sir,” he said, taking the frost salts.

Farengar almost smiled despite himself.

“You can see yourself out then? I don’t have time for the tedious questions of adventurers. I have important research to be getting back to.”

“Oh?” the elf asked, looking intrigued. “What research is that?”

Farengar sighed.

“Yes, that is the perfect example of what I meant,” he said, already sounding distracted as he got caught up in his work once more. “I’m sure you’d be more entertained hacking something to death with that sword of yours. The Higher Art is very intricate - best left to scholars and thinkers.”

There was an almost imperceptible twitch above the elf’s left eye, but he smiled back, this time with an unreadable emotion instead of all of the charm Farengar had come to dislike.

“Of course, forgive my intrusion,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to distract you from all of that intricate ‘magic’. Or whatever you wizards call it. In fact, I really only wandered over here in the first place to inform you of one thing.”

“Oh?” Farengar asked, grabbing a stack of scrolls and walking briskly toward his enchanting station. “And what is-” he let out a sharp, sudden cry, dropping his papers as electricity coursed through his body, causing him to drop to one knee.

“You’re about to step in your own Shock Rune,” the elf said disinterestedly, casually leaned back against the desk, reading one of Farengar’s books. “Oh, and I brought you this,” he added offhandedly.

Setting the book down, he placed the Dragonstone — the missing cornerstone of Farengar’s research — atop an artist’s likeness of the fabled tablet.

“Nice meeting you,” the elf said, flashing Farengar a gallingly cocky grin as he walked away, pausing momentarily at the door.

“My name is Therion, by the way.”


-----------


Ondolemar’s thin lips twisted into a thoughtful smile.

“Not everyone can appreciate Therion’s unique sense of humor,” he said, stroking his chin. “Did you resent him, for letting you walk into your rune?”

“My own sense of humor is also somewhat questionable,” Farengar said, arching a brow in consideration. “But, I found it amusing. In an infuriating sort of way.”

Ondolemar watched the Nord wizard begin idly tracing a pattern in the air before the fire, the gesture curiously familiar. The mer’s eyes widened as the fire began to sway in rhythm with Farengar’s hand movements.

“No one in Whiterun — maybe even Skyrim — keeps pace with me. Narcissistic, I’m well aware, but completely true. Every day, I am wretchedly bored,” he said with a deep, loathsome sigh. “Cleverness and wit are not just undervalued in my country; they’re treated as weakness or cowardice. A cultural attitude which, to a wizard, is aggravating to say the least.”

Moving his hand with artful grace, Farengar began to weave the fire to and fro; forming a difficult pattern that Ondolemar had taught Therion over a century ago, perfectly mimicking his cousin’s hand movements.

“Therion was not the first person to keep up with me,” Farengar said, delicately balancing the flickering design in his hand, the fire casting a red glow across his face and hood. “But he was the first to surprise me. And once he appeared… well, let’s just say I haven’t been bored."

The pattern was snuffed out into black wisps of smoke as abruptly the ground began to shake violently. Thrown from his seat, Ondolemar tried to find his feet, watching the small bandit camp fall apart. Helplessly tossed from side to side, he had a distorted vision of bookcases, weapons, and bobbles falling down, while the thunderous commotion deafened his sense of hearing.

The tumultuous shaking ended as quickly as it had begun, allowing him to struggle to his feet, while the rumbling earthquake fading away.

“Are you alright?” he asked Farengar, watching the Nord push his way free from beneath a pile of crates, channeling a shimmering, white ward.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed by magic,” Farengar replied, dropping the spell shield and wiping a trail of blood from the side of his face.