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: Misfire: Welcome Returns, sequel to 'All creatures great and small' 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

This Dragonborn lark wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. Or so Nibenor had decided when he had hit the ground. Hard.

Just a week ago he had been in Whiterun, climbing onto Odahviing’s back to be ferried over to Skuldafn. It was probably the worst thing he had ever done, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he really, really had to see this through, he would’ve attempted to turn back a long time ago. Though in reality, a long time was in fact, seven days. Or at least, he thought it was. He’d lost accurate count of the days shortly after arriving at the temple.

Odahviing’s flight had taken at least one day, and Nibenor had been so tired from clinging to the dragon’s spine for most of it, that he’d had to rest before he could even think of entering the temple. And when he’d tried there had been dragons. Two, to begin with. Dragonborn or not, there were times when just one dragon could easily kill him. Two was just unfair. But he’d manage to kill them both, somehow.

He thought that that, maybe, had taken the best part of his second day since leaving Whiterun, after all the hiding and dodging and shooting and running and screaming. And resting and eating.
When he had recovered enough to continue, his concept of timing had gone somewhat askew. He couldn’t begin to judge how long he had slept, for the sky around Skuldafn seemed perpetually dark. He had risen, eaten and made his way forwards, only to be confronted by wave upon wave of draugr. It seemed to have taken forever to get inside and by the time he managed to yank the heavy iron door open and tumble inside, he’d already been bone weary from fighting.
Melee was hardly his forte. Nibenor thrived by sneaking, slashing, stabbing or shooting. Not shouting himself hoarse to repel five draugr at once. He wasn’t built for enduring heavy blows again and again.

Eventually he had managed to drag and fight his way through dank halls filled with draugr and deathlords and skeevers and dragon priests.

His reward? Learning how to summon storms and falling through a portal to be dumped unceremoniously on the ground of Sovngarde.

Now, he didn’t want to be ungrateful to the powers that be, but he felt that perhaps he deserved a little more...not that he wasn’t aware that he had to kill Alduin first. Oh no, that little task hung before him like an irritating spider, always just a bit too far out of reach to bat away.

He shook his head, trying to rid the image of tiny spiders bouncing on webs. Perhaps he had hit his head and was suffering from concussion? He wasn’t sure. In all honesty, the only thing he was sure of now was that he wanted to kill Alduin and get back to Farkas as soon as was elvenly possible.

He staggered to his feet, wincing at a spike of pain that lanced through his temple, touching fingertips to the pulsing point. Blood smeared beneath them and he grit his teeth, wiping the warm liquid away before staggering forwards. He knew he needed to stop and rest, that his body was bordering on exhaustion, that the multiple lacerations and bruises and potentially cracked bones needed attention. His heart argued that he needed Farkas more.

All he had to do was find his way through the mist and kill an evil dragon and he could return to Skyrim to fall into the arms of his lover.

The mist turned out to be a problem, all but blinding him and he took every step carefully, eyes scouring the ground for the dirt track path beneath his feet. Behind him, the soul of a Nord he encountered followed eagerly, the ghostly hand a cool presence on his back, chilling through his armour.

The man had been distraught with grief and fear, arriving in Sovngarde expecting the afterlife the stories had promised...mead and meat and mates. Not mist and the threat of Alduin.

Re: Misfire: Welcome Returns, sequel to 'All creatures great and small' 2a/?

[(Anonymous)]

It was all Nibenor could do to try and lead the soul through the mist, his own eyes seeing more clearly than the fallen man’s. The cold hand on his back disturbed him, but there was no other way to help him, practically blind as he was in the mist.

A roar from above halted the elf steps and the soul swallowed thickly. Nibenor cast a glance to him, watching him searching desperately in the fog. His own eyes narrowed as he looked up and around. It was impossible to find Alduin by sight and the mist only distorted the sound of his roars, confusing the direction it came from.

“He’s here...he’s coming for me...Dragonborn please...”

“It’s ok, he’s not going to get you,” the hand dropped from his back, even as he attempted to convince the man, “we just have to keep moving. If we stop, then he’ll find us. And I’m sure it’s not far now.”

He took a few steps forwards, stopping to look up when a roar sounded again, closer now. Jaws snapped. Nibenor turned, finding only swirling mist where the soul had been, gone in Alduin’s wake.

He swallowed thickly. The man had been too scared, too grief stricken to even give his name and he could only feel shame that he had not tried harder to get it out of him. When he returned, he knew people would ask about Sovngarde and he would tell them what he saw and what he did...how he met a Nord soul quaking in fear, snapped up by Alduin minutes after he found him, and not a name to remember him by.

It was only the will to not let it happen to another that forced him on, sorrow raging through his chest at the thought that there was nothing left of the man anymore. Around him, roars echoed and he wondered how many souls were wandering out here, lost and blind and frightened, how many were being snapped up. And with every one, Alduin’s power grew.

The sorrow changed, curling in his chest, the chill of it fading as something hotter took its place. His steps quickened, his eyes keener now as he stalked through the mist and it seemed to only take moments to break through the final curtain of it, to where the air was clear and bright.

The Hall of Valour loomed before him, grand and bright, its braziers warming sending the air above the curling and shimmering. The whalebone bridge that he had been told about gleamed white against the darkness of the chasm below.

It was only the figure standing before it that stopped him from rushing to it, and he stepped carefully instead, approaching the figure cautiously.

He was bigger than any Nord he’d ever seen before, broad and barrel chested, bigger even than his own Farkas who dwarfed most others. The giant axe across his back longer than Nibenor was tall. He must have appeared a mere child to the man, but he stepped forward regardless.

The man looked down as he approached, a look of curiosity on his bearded face. Thick arms crossed over his bare chest.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here in Sovngarde Souls-End, Shor’s gift to the honoured dead?”

Nibenor blinked, listening as the resonance of the man’s voice faded, lingering in the air. The tones were as deep as befitted a man of his bulk, low as Paarthurnax’s own notes.

Re: Misfire: Welcome Returns, sequel to 'All creatures great and small' 2b/?

[(Anonymous)]

“I pursue Alduin, the World Eater.”

The man’s eyebrows lifted at that, no doubt surprised by the bold statement coming from so small a person as Nibenor.

“A fateful errand,” he mused “No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde’s threshold. But Shor restrained out wrathful onslaught, perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw.”

Nibenor blinked. The man spoke like a bard reciting ancient verses and it took him a moment to understand his words.

“Can I enter the hall of valour?”

“No shade are you, as usually here passes, but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?"

“By right of birth. I am Dragonborn.”

“Ahh,” the response surprised Nibenor as joy fell across the huge man’s face “It’s been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. But living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge ‘til I judge them worthy by the warrior’s test.”

That much Nibenor understood. A fight. Typical of a Nord, he thought and yet his hand fell to his blade regardless. He had guessed it might come to this all along and he wished he had been wrong about that. He was hardly in any condition to fight, his body exhausted and aching from the days that had come before.
Wounds beneath his armour that twinged every time he moved, splitting open as he jumped away from the man’s attacks.
Bruises ached, more forming as the blunt side of the axe made contact with his left shoulder, stiff muscles creaking as he darted in to land his own blows. His speed was his strength and even that was dwindling.

He didn’t know whether it was through luck or skill that the man decided he was worthy, the wounds that Nibenor had inflicted fading away as soon as he called an end to their fight. Dried blood marked the wounds and the elf frowned as he backed away, racing over the bridge towards the hall of valour.

He was close now, so close to defeating Alduin for good, and he was damned if he was going to fall now.