skyrimkinkmeme | Meme Announcements!

Meme Announcements!

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

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People reeled away from the sudden circle of destruction in blind panic. A basket of bread at a market-stall was knocked over, a cask of wine, and a bloody rack of ribs. The murderer whirled round, brandishing a stubby iron dagger of all things. He was hardly a trained assassin but no one wanted to get near to the wild, furious zealot. Viola couldn't help but freeze up, for all her training and honed instinct. She was astounded at the clumsy fury and passion in the killer's movements. Had he not just murdered a woman in cold blood, before her eyes, she would have mistaken him for a dull, backwards civilian and nothing more. He turned his hateful gaze to her, the nearest person to his victim. He staggered forwards, dagger aloft.

"Die, Imperial!" he growled. Viola blinked dumbly in confusion, wondering what she had done to provoke such hatred in a stranger. He was obviously deranged.

Several guards circled the Forsworn, but still hang back. None of them wanted to get any closer to such a frenzied display of violence. The woman looked like a mercenary, surely she could defend herself? A girl screamed uselessly in the background.

Viola found it surprisingly hard to draw her sword and face the Breton...? Nord? with the pinched face and crazy glare. This man was not a bandit, or even an opponent she could ever feel was worth facing. He swung his hand towards her and she ducked left, kicking her foot out to trip the killer over. His knees hit the ground, but did little to slow him down. Kicking him, it seemed, was akin to poking a wasp's nest with a stick.

Viola relaxed into a fighting stance, fairly sure she'd be able to wrench the dagger from the Forsworn's grasp and then leave him to the mercy of the guards. Behind her she was vaguely aware of a gasp, a door opening and a swish of blue robes in the corner of her eye. She dodged another crazed lunge, heard the marching feet of the guards, and the sound of bow-string being pulled tight. What's happening? A voice demanded. A lot of people seemed to be asking the same thing.

How slow a few crucial seconds seemed to go. The distraction broke Viola's concentration, and suddenly the Forsworn was upon her. She did an unforgivably stupid thing and winced, clamping her eyes shut as the madman came within arms-length of her and raised his weapon again with crazed triumph. Some still unaffected part of her was dryly commenting: 'So this is how the Dragonborn dies is it? Disappointing.'

But no such death-blow came.

Viola heard a cracking sound, followed by several loud shrieks. They were explained by the sudden powerful surge of magic; so violent that even she, who possessed as much magical potential as a mudcrab, could feel it ripple over the crowd. Nord's hated magic and their panic was evident. She felt a sudden wave of icy cold only for it to be swallowed up by the warmer Markarth air. Things came to her in trickles of sound: A wet gurgle. A collective gasp-cum-sigh of relief and shock.

When Viola opened her eyes the Forsworn agent was twitching on the ground. She came to her senses and backed several paces away, until she was almost pressed up against the huge doors of the city gate. Then, she turned away from him, feeling weak and nauseous but his dying throes were imprinted against her mind's eye.

A splash of blood coating his chin. Wide staring gaze that saw nothing. A spiky pillar of ice impaled the Forsworn's chest the way a needle might pin down a butterfly. The sudden burst of cold became became explained to Viola. Destruction magic, shot at close range.

"I die..." she heard the zealot gibbering to himself, "for... for..." He was dead before the end of his sentence. Someone screamed again, the idiot. But was that a scream of grief, rather than panic?

Viola forced her gaze past the two corpses and looked for a mage to label as her rescuer. A pair of pale gold eyes regarded her for a moment, then looked through her, then away. Among the bystanders and guards there was only one figure in the entire milling crowd who looked even remotely magical and the pair of eyes belonged to him.

The realisation left a very bad taste in Viola mouth.

Thalmor.

The word ripped through her pride like a cannon through a sail. Did she owe her life to a Thalmor agent?

"Ogmund," a dark-skinned woman whispered. Viola could only just hear her. "Look. It's Ogmund..."

"Forget about him," Viola saw her husband reply. "Kerah, are you hurt at all?"

"I can't believe the Jarl's allowed this..."

She followed the gaze of the two Redguards to a bound figure that stood next to her rescuer. He stood tall, in a manner that reminded her of a long-gone day in Helgen where Ulfric Stormcloak had waited proudly in line for execution. Only this man was older... and weaker.

Then she turned her gaze to the imperious Altmer, her hero (perish the thought). He was flanked on each side by an altmer guard in shining elven plate. Viola thought it was as if he'd appeared right from the whispered rumours and stories of agents dragging people off for questioning and into her reality.

Here was a tall lean body, encased in midnight blue and persimmon gold. Elegant gloves and a severe hood completed the Thalmor robes, and so did an aura of pulsing, dangerous magic. A Justiciar? No doubt about it.

Her rescuer-- yes rescuer he must have been-- towered over everyone in the swelled ranks of the marketplace. Although people moved for him, distrust and dislike was evident on their faces. Without the two guards-- and gruesome display of magic-- Viola wondered if he would command as much fearful respect.

The agent strode purposefully to the centre of the scene, facing towards her and the Forsworn corpse. For a sudden and silly moment Viola thought he was going to arrest her for being the Dragonborn. It took her a second to realise that the Thalmor wasn't even looking at her. He had turned on his heel to address the milling crowd. Viola imagined that he was looking down his aquiline nose at everyone in obvious distaste.

"Citizens of Markarth," everyone went quiet. The Thalmor addressed them as if it had never crossed his mind that he wouldn't be listened to. "Reminders for all to pay heed to."

A pause that was devoid of whispers and brimming with expectation.

"The Thalmor are not here in Skyrim to perform the duties of your guards," he drawled. Viola didn't have to see his face to know that he was sneering. Every word was sharply enunciated. Every polished syllable dripped with disdain. "The Thalmor are not here in Markarth to solve your Forsworn problem. I am not here to solve your Forsworn problem. Is this understood?"

The Markarth city guards in the background seemed almost statuesque in their tension when the Thalmor mentioned Forsworn. One of them clutched a bow angrily. The Justiciar spoke as if addressing a group of small, unruly children. Viola didn't know whether to laugh at him or scowl with the rest of the crowd. Mostly, she felt a dull sort of panic and something else a bit unknown to her.

"One other thing," and then, the Thalmor inclined his head to his two elven-plated toadies. One of them shouldered the prisoner-- Ogmund?-- and he stumbled forwards. "A friendly reminder, that the worship of Talos is strictly forbidden. The Thalmor are here to enforce that."

Without another word, he swept away and left the guards to try and stem the chaos in his wake. Viola watched him make his slow, deliberate way around the corner of the inn from which he'd come from. She wanted to thank him for rescuing her. She wanted to slap him for rescuing her. Both of those ideas seemed pretty stupid.

Viola felt herself jostled forwards, to another corpse-- this one an Imperial woman that clutched a necklace in her hand.

"I saw someone coming out of Ogmund's house last Tirdas," someone was muttering darkly. "Didn't think anything of it. Dirty thief must have ratted him out."

"No stranger ever brought any good with'em to Markarth," said someone else. Suddenly, Viola felt someone tap on her shoulder. She sincerely hoped she wasn't about to experience a hateful spiel against outsiders. Her first day in Markarth was horrible enough, thank you very much, and it was sort of hard to think and react at the moment. Why did the big things always happen so fast?

Viola turned, and almost cringed at the sight of the heavily-painted face of the man who addressed her. Sheogorath had obviously decided to torment her with madmen for the day. Couldn't he wait until she'd recovered from the first one?

No, it was fine. Despite the intricate war-paint that might have suggested otherwise, the stranger that addressed her seemed quite friendly and polite. Almost to the point that Viola felt suspicious.

"Are you alright?" he asked, taking her hand. Viola felt something, a crumpled piece of paper, be pushed between her fingers. "You dropped this, I think."

"No I didn't," she replied automatically, sense on high alert. Delphine was right. Viola had survived troll-pits less dangerous than this. But something in the stranger's eyes kept her from saying anything else. His hand lingered on hers momentarily, almost pleading.

"You can't have noticed with all that commotion going on," said the stranger. He spoke slow yet light, and watched her very intently. I'm surprised the elf didn't let that Forsworn kill you. He's not known for mercy... I'm Eltrys, by the way."

"Viola," she replied demurely, and if only for propriety's sake took the note. The grip turned into a handshake. "I don't think he even noticed me, to be honest..."

"Sounds like a Thalmor. Anyway, there's your note." Eltrys continued quickly, snatching his hand away when a guard came over to clear them from the area. "Best keep a hold of it... looks important, that."

'How transparent,' Viola would have rolled her eyes if it wouldn't have made their exchange anymore obvious. This stranger, Eltrys, was an absolute idiot when it came to intrigue. Still, she doubted anyone would even have noticed their strange interaction among all the other things that were going on.

This Forsworn killer was obviously not a regular occurrence and whoever Ogmund was he had caused quite a scandal. Someone jostled Viola, just as she was about to ask Eltrys for information on the elf and his prisoner. It was a red-eyed, hungry-looking tramp with a filthy rat's nest of a beard.

"I saw that," he growled. "That wasn't your note."

"Is receiving a note illegal, now?" Viola replied tartly. Murder, near-death and now blackmail? She half-expected a dragon to descend from the clouds, just because. Whose stupid idea was it to come to Markarth? Oh, right. Hers. "Hey, doesn't that necklace belong to the dead woman?"

"What necklace? What note? Crazy Imperial," the beggar grumbled back at her. He darted away, slipping the stolen necklace inside his rags. Then, he picked up a fallen rack of ribs and legged it down the grimy path to the Smelter's District.

Viola would have warned herself to be careful, but in her experience it had never helped. The note in her hands begged to be read, and read soon. Quickly, she made up her mind to rent a room in the inn and spend the rest of the day recuperating (read: drinking).

But first... Viola let the guards hustle her away to the corner that that her Thalmor rescuer had disappeared around. She looked up a numberless amount of steps that stretched deep into the city.

As expected, the agent and his prisoner had already disappeared.

A!A got carried away. There is kink, I swear. I figured OP might appreciate plot, so Ondolemar damning it all made more sense...? ><

"Here was a tall lean body, encased in midnight blue and persimmon gold."

So passer!non has no idea what a persimmon is, but I found this one sentence delicious. I liked all the description of Ondolemar at a distance.

Liked how your DB's first time in Markarth differed from in-game! Gonna hunker down for what looks to be a looong fill :)

This anon believes it is a type of yellow?

And this looks very promising! I'll certainly be looking forward to the next chapter. :)

They're this deep orange-gold fruit with a sweet, delicate flavor. I usually find them around late fall at local farmer markets and specialty grocery stores.

Anyway, I just wanna second how delicious this sentence is on many levels and I'm really looking forward to the next update, because this is already really promising.

OP is speechless... I really REALLY DO appreciate plot, and I wish you know I would glomp and kiss you all day if I could. This is amazing.

OMG A!A, this story has made me so happy I re-read it 3 times!!!!! Can't wait for more. I really appreciate your interest! It's so good! I love your description of things, and the whole thing when Ondolemar saved Viola... amazing. Ohhh this is so good! Also, OP would like to let you know, I hope you won't side her with the Imperials? I don't like them and if by any chance that could be left out, I would love you even more (if that's even possible!) Anyway, THANK YOU!!

A!A is glad OP appreciates plot :) your lovely comments warmed my heart ~

Viola wasnt going to have any real loyalty to any side, to be honest :p but in my head!canon she's been slowly sympathising with Skyrim the more time she spends there. And tbh, there wasn't going to be much mention of Imperial or Stormcloak in the entire fill; but I'll make Viola's uneasy neutrality known in the next bit-- unless you'd prefer her outrightly anti-Empire which could also be possible. Am trying to fill quickly, but I have a hectic schedule :(

(thank you other readers for the comments. Btw passer!non: persimmon is a delicate fruit that ranges from pale gold to dark orange)

A!A!! Please don't think of me as a needy-wanty OP! I just got so excited with your story I said that about the Imperial thing XD I actually really truly honestly don't care hahaha! So just keep up your mojo and don't mind this silly OP ;) this silly OP who really appreciates your time. I'd give you cookies if I could!

Yesssss this is awesoooome. I am going to be watching this one SO HARD.

yay Ondolemar, and plot and wow so good so far ^_^

There's never anything wrong with plot before sex! (says the author who's just written a first chapter of a kink meme fill that's as long as some of her complete stories WITH sex - oops).

Waiting impatiently for more!

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