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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

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For Thy Soul 1/14 - Boethiah 1/2

[(Anonymous)]

Sadril Delavel did not expect to wake from death with a sword in his hand.

Well, maybe he should have pre-empted it a little. Selling your soul to 14 of the 16 Daedric Princes came under ‘ideas to expect combat from’. In this case, it was a fine, golden katana, balanced beautifully in his hands. He didn’t have to look to see that he was clad in the Ebony mail. So, it seemed that he was in Boethiah’s realm first. Honestly, he would have preferred a little respite – he’d just died in battle, after all – before the Daedric Prince shoved him into another scuffle. He was in some kind of cage, a thundery sky overhead, and as he stood, waiting for the door to open, a voice wafted into his ears.

“Sadril Delavel, you consigned your soul to me when you accepted my Mail,” Boethiah stated. “And now you and my other champions will fight. It is the will of Boethiah. Do you have the will to survive?”

“What happens if I fail?” the Dunmer asked bluntly.

“Nothingness,” the Daedra replied. “Your soul will be destroyed.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Sadril mumbled. “Then yes, I have the will.”

“Battle is a blessing,” Boethiah reminded him, and the cage door swung open.

Sadril stepped out onto a raised platform of tarnished red metal, a ramp directly in front of him that led down to a sandy circle with high metal walls all around it. You jumped in via a five foot drop and you didn’t get out again without help. He shuddered. He hated enclosed spaces like that one down there. Gods, was Boethiah going to send him down there first? He looked around to see that around him were nine others, one of each of the ten sentient races of Tamriel. He swallowed. Boethiah had an almost sick idea of a contest. There was a Breton girl not far off who looked far too young and frail to be here. A Nord woman stood opposite him, clad in heavy Imperial armour with red warpaint smeared across her face. At her side was a deadly, scratched and notched ebony war axe. She stared through him like she intended to kill him violently. Dunmer and Nords had never seemed to get along and her gaze spoke of the desire to continue that feud. Next to her, a proud-looking Orc stood regally in polished green Orsimer armour. A large Orc warhammer was strapped to his back and he was eyeing Sadril like he wasn’t sure the Dunmer was truly a threat.

To the right of the Orc was an Imperial woman in glass armour, wielding two glowing glass daggers, a splash of green warpaint over her eyes. Directly next to Sadril himself, on his left, was an Argonian lass in a hefty Dwarven getup, armed with a solid Dwarven mace. Between the Argonian and the Imperial stood a bored-looking Bosmer man, wearing leather with an elven bow on his back and full quiver of elven arrows. He didn’t seem to be looking at anyone. On Sadril’s right was a Khajiit woman, wearing robes and steel boots and gauntlets. There was a Dwarven crossbow on her back, and like the Bosmer her quiver was full of short, deadly bolts. Next to the Khajiit was a haughty Altmer man in robes and elven boots and gauntlets, several staves in his back. He looked right through everyone. There were several burns on his face and he seemed trying to conceal them. Of course. Typical Altmer supremacy. Next to the Altmer was the frail Breton mage, her boots and gauntlets leather, accompanied by a set of Master robes. So, not really one to be trifled with. And finally, on the Nord’s left was a Redguard, in full Dragonscale with a scimitar at his hip. He didn’t move an inch.

“Sadril Delavel, I command you to face Arya Snow-Cap.”

The Nord woman stepped forward, The way she picked the axe up from her belt spoke of years of experience. He hefted his sword – it was Goldbrand, it must be. Arya Snow-Cap looked at him determinedly. This wasn’t just death, this was the threat of total destruction. There was no peaceful sleep at the end of this fight. Sadril headed down the ramp with a rising pulse, his feet clanking on the metal until he could hear them padding over sand.

For Thy Soul 1/14 - Boethiah 2/2

[(Anonymous)]

“Death is an inevitability,” Boethiah boomed. “Now, FIGHT!”

Arya charged first and Sadril jumped out of her way. He summoned the air to breathe and a Shout stormed its way out of his lungs, slamming Snow-Cap against the opposite wall with a cry of pain. Arya growled as she quickly got up, raising her axe to slice it down on Sadril’s spot. The Dunmer realised with a growing sense of power that in Boethiah’s realm there was no need to wait before he Shouted again. He bawled out Elemental Fury and watched Arya’s face quickly turn from angry to terrified as the Dunmer’s lightning-fast strikes got past every defence she tried to make. Raising her axe once more, the Nord charged with all her strength. Goldbrand took her out before she knew it, and the screaming Nord disappeared into nothing.

“So ends my Nord Champion. Admet, I command you to face Sadril Delavel.”

The Redguard headed down the ramp and into the sandy ring, his hand on the hilt of his scimitar. He stood opposite the Dunmer and drew it, planting his feet firmly in the ground, knees ready to spring. Sadril watched him. Admet was now wary of the Mer’s Shouts. He doubted he could take him out the same way he’d defeated Arya.

“Know that you are dust in the eyes of Boethiah. Now, FIGHT!”

Sure enough, as Sadril loosed the Unrelenting Force from his mouth Admet vanished to his right, unaffected by the Dragon magic and bearing down on him quickly. The Dunmer quickly used Disarm and the scimitar flew out of the Redguard’s hand, and before the man could do anything, Sadril had used Drain Vitality and Marked For Death. Staggering back, Admet was encased in Sadril’s Ice Form Shout, and, helpless to fight back, the Reguard managed to scream as Sadril unleashed an almighty Fire Breath. Admet disappeared to find Arya’s soul in the nothingness.

By now Boethiah’s other champions were starting to look shifty and nervous, particularly the frail looking Breton, whom Sadril realised was his next opponent. He had killed a fair number of Bretons in his time but to kill one that looked so convincingly like a kicked puppy was just cruel. Nobody in the arena looked particularly thrilled as they eyed up the Orc. Each was wondering who would be able to match his strength now that Arya had gone. Perhaps each would prefer to die by Sadril’s blade than face him. The Breton kept fiddling with her fingers, a nervous tic that Sadril would soon, sadly get rid of.

“So ends my Redguard Champion. Avril Moranne, I command you to face Sadril Delavel.”

Avril nervously toed down the ramp, flames flickering weakly in her fingers. Flames? Sadril wanted to snort. The poor girl. His skin would break up the fire long before it hurt him.

“Look upon the face of Boethiah and wonder. Now, FIGHT!”

And as Boethiah spoke, Sadril saw a flicker of something curling and writhing behind Avril. When the fighting started, that momentary distraction was enough to give the Breton an edge. Steel entered her weak eyes, and a Silence spell hit him before he could open his mouth. Choked, Sadril coughed and levelled his sword but she was on the offensive, throwing ice spells at him with all her might. His joints seemed to freeze and he tried to summon Ancestor’s Wrath, but every bolt of frozen magic she tossed at him dampened his fire, sticking him into place the way he had with Admet. The writhing distraction loomed behind Avril again, and before she struck, an Icy Spear in her palm, darkness closed over him, and he knew no more.