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 - 29/?

[(Anonymous)]

Author's Note: Dragon language translation at the end (in case like me, you have to stop what you're doing and look up Dragon when you see it!)
-----------
Farengar awoke the next morning to find some dried meat and bread sitting on his bedside table. Glad to fill his stomach with something other than mead, he ate the food quickly, eager to leave Riverwood. Although the terrible lute music was no longer playing, he could find no peace of mind. In its stead was the much louder roar of a crowd, noisily discussing things in near pandemonium, their booming voices intruding through the thin walls of his room. He did not bother trying to determine the source of their discontent, uninterested in discerning of the opinions the loud and inebriated.

Finished with his breakfast and bracing himself mentally, he emerged into the great room of the Sleeping Giant Inn. The cacophony of voices was worse than he had anticipated, making the corner of his mouth twitch at the assault. His sea green eyes swept through the inn, searching for any sign of the Dragonborn.

As his eyes fell on the Innkeeper, Orgnar met his gaze, waving him over. The surly man jerked a thumb toward the exit, shouting to be heard above the din, “The Dragonborn said to tell you he’d be at the blacksmith!”

Farengar needed no further prompting and quickly left, inhaling deeply once he was standing outside in the clear morning air. The sun was already high in the sky, casting warm light over the small Nord settlement. An insistent bark caught his attention, and he turned to see a dog grinning happily at him from beneath a bench, on which sat a young boy in a brown tunic with platinum blonde hair. The child, presumably the dog’s owner, examined him, or more precisely his blue and gold robes, with a haughty sneer.

“Pa says magic’s for milk drinkers,” the boy taunted, giving Farengar an insolent stare as he waited for the adult to react with sputtered indignation.

Farengar answered swiftly with practiced ease. “He sounds like a modest man with much to be modest about,” the wizard said, turning an impassive gaze on the boy, still puzzling over Farengar’s remark. “Do you have any insults that weren’t thought up by a goat brained farmer?”

His mouth hung open while his dog barked happily, wanting to be a part of the conversation.

“I didn’t think so. Well then, keep working on it, maybe someday with enough practice you might even surpass your father and come up with something better than a rot brained Draugr could,” Farengar said pleasantly, as he walked down the stairs to the main road.

“You…! You’re… You’re a snow-back!” Frodnar shouted after the mage.

“I think the dog could have done better than that. Keep trying, lad!” Farengar said with an indifferent wave, not even turning around as he left the boy glaring after him, red faced.

A brown chicken ran across his path, making Farengar miss Dragonsreach all the more. He felt out of sorts, being away from his research and his home. He preferred to spend his time reading; not surrounded by loud crowds, wandering livestock, and insolent children.

The Divines must have heard his thoughts, he guessed, as he came upon another child at the blacksmith’s - the little girl with brown hair from the previous day who had latched onto his robe.

Dorthe looked up from her anvil where she was shaping a horseshoe, and frowned disapprovingly at Farengar as he paused in front of her porch.

Splendid. She remembers me too, it would seem, Farengar thought cynically.