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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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Both Nords warriors kept silence for a while after. Vilkas left his eyes drift on the Reach landscapes. It has to be a dozen of moons since he didn’t come here. It wasn’t so different though. The air was still carrying this particular smell of juniper and blood. The mountains were still as deadly and silent as the last time he came here. But the more they walked, the less rocks they encountered on their way. The craggy relief of Druadach Mountains was gradually giving up its place to the tundra of Whiterun hold. Vilkas sighed. His journey to the Reach had been very short. The distinct scent of lavender and cotton had already replaced the exalting musk of the most savage hold of Skyrim. He would have gladly stake a claim here but the thought of having his head impaled at the entrance of a Forsworn camp was quite dissuasive. He wanted to have his own territory but... Aside from Falkreath woods, thus woods had already been claimed by another man-beast, the other holds were too cold, too hot, too humid or too far, the Reach being just too dangerous for a werewolf. As a consequence, Vilkas was sharing a piece of land in Whiterun hold along with the rest of the Circle. A thing his beast despised.

The sudden smell of smoke drew his attention on the horizon. Uncoiled in the air at Kyne’s mercy, the black fold was tearing the burning skies apart above the Moldering ruins. So there was a camp here now. The wind blew through the red fields, carrying various scents on its breeze. Shutting his eyes, Vilkas started to decrypt the odours that lay in the air. Men. Dogs. No. Yes? Yes. Dogs. Red flowers. Venison. Smoke. Fire. Burnt flesh. Blood.

He opened his eyes. Blood. The beast yapped inside. Blood. Yes, blood. Oh, how he wanted to unleash his inner self! To run on the burned grass, to go and see and lap up the blood! To hunt the preys, to tear their flesh with his claws and fangs then to howl to the moons along a pack of wild wolves as the children of the night they were... But he couldn’t. Skjoll was there. And Skjoll didn’t know about what Vilkas was. No, he couldn’t do that. The beast will wait until the next moon. Then the beast will be.

But now, he had to think to something else, or his blood will break his skin and the beast will be unleashed. The Moldering ruins were a bit far from them now and the wind dragged a hint of magicka in its race. Vilkas’s eyes went to his shield-brother. It had been more than an hour that their last words were exchanged.

“Hey Skjoll...” called out Vilkas. “Can I ask you a question?”

Pulled out from his thoughts, Skjoll turned his eyes on him, a bit surprised.

“Yes. Of course you can.” He answered after a moment, settling his eyes on the paved road again.

Vilkas remained quiet for some minutes. Maybe his question was stupid. Wasn’t he being too curious by asking this? And if - Oh, to Oblivion the doubts.

“Why do you hate magicka so much?...Skjoll?”
His comrade had stopped.

“Why did you stop Skjoll?”

“What is this?”

The remains of what had to be a carriage were resting on the side of the road. The wood was burned as if it had been taken in an explosion. But it wasn’t that thing that caught Vilkas attention, no. It was the kneeling black form leant over the body of a man, a hundred meters away from them. And the smell of blood surrounding them.

*

“Vilkas-”

“Hush!” cut Vilkas in a hiss, putting his hand on Skjoll’s mouth. “It’s going to hear us!” he whispered.

“What do we do then? What is this?” asked Skjoll in a breath. “There is a body under this thing.”

Vilkas could hear the sound of suction. He took a few step, trying to be as quiet as possible.

“Stay here Skjoll.” His voice was low, almost like a growl. He didn’t know what it was. He didn’t know the smell of that thing. It was too coated by the smell of blood. A hint of human perhaps? But definitely no human would do something like that.

Vilkas drew discreetly his great-sword out.

“Vilkas!” whispered Skjoll.

Or he thought he had been discreet. The thing had its eyes on him. Red. Vilkas remained still, holding his breath. Above them, Masser and Secunda just started their ascension in the sky, the light of their robes slowly descending on Nirn. That’s when the wolf’s eyes saw it. The blood around its mouth, soaking its lips like a macabre make-up. The sharp fangs. The strong gleam of its eyes.

“Vampire...” Vilkas breathed out in shock.

The creature had to hear him because it was quickly on its feet. Its hood was shadowing its face, but the black rags that covered its body revealed that it was a female. Vilkas’s eyes went to the body at her feet. It was a farmer. His throat had been slit, his ribcage pulverised. The beast roared inside and without a thought, Vilkas ran with cry, his greatsword out, his spirit focalised on one thing: killing the thing. He wanted to end the fight as soon as possible. It wasn’t a good thing to engage a close combat with a vampire. He didn’t care if he was bitten, the beast blood immunizing him from sanguinare vampiris, but vampires were sly, perverted creatures... and he didn’t want Skjoll to be harmed.

The vampire roared in return, her burning eyes being the only thing that disassociated her from shadows as the night fell on them. Vilkas struck her with quick blows, aiming for her head or her arms: dressed in rags, her skin won’t resist to his Skyforge Steel Greatsword. But she avoided his strokes, moving to a side or another, flexing her back to dodge his horizontal strikes. Vilkas grunted in challenge. The beast grunted too. They wanted her to fight for her life.

He pushed her with an arm. She staggered. The beast howled.

Now!

With a cry of victory, Vilkas knock his greatsword down on her. With this blow, he will slit her skull.

klang!

Ah, the delicious sound of a broken skull! ...Wait...Klang?! Instead of a low crack, the vampire skull resonated with a metallic sound. And her skull was not broken. Vilkas stepped back.

“How is it possible... I just...”

“Vilkas! Watch out!”

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He didn’t have the time to see it but Skjoll interposed himself between his chest and the vampire, blocking the undead’s blade with his battleaxe. But she had another blade.

“Skjoll! Move!” cried out Vilkas, pushing his comrade behind him.
She didn’t have weapons earlier! His eyes wandered to her naked arms. She wasn’t holding any weapons.

“What in Oblivion are you?” he breathed out, taking a step back to avoid her strike.

Her arms were</em her weapons. It was like if she had changed her flesh into swords. She cried, her strident scream paralyzing Vilkas. He felt his legs gave up, but Skjoll took him by the arm.
“What are you doing?!”

The ears of the beast were bleeding. She was strong, to hurt his inner wolf like that.

“Stand up, shield brother! We’re not going to Sovngarde tonight!” shouted Skjoll, protecting him from the vampire’s blow. “Stand up, brother! I won’t-“

The cut on his cheek interrupted him. She had extended her blade to touch him! She missed him, hopefully... Or was it a warning? The smell of Skjoll’s blood pulled Vilkas out of his torpor, and his stood up in a second before charging her with a roar of anger. This time, he thought, <emthis time I won’t miss your goddamned head! He hit her with all his strength.

A wolf howled in the distance, soon followed by its pack. A soft breeze blew. Under the moons’s light Vilkas caught the gleam of a platinum strand of hair before it sank through a cloud of hundreds white bats. The wind created by the flap of their wings was so strong that his dark hair rose. He felt his skin being cut. He heard the metal of his armour shriek. A hundred cuts and a hundred shrieks, as numerous as the white bats flew away. Disoriented, he let his greatsword fall on the ground. He felt his skin shiver, the blood leaking out from his face. What did just happen?

Then he heard the cries of Skjoll. And he saw it. His blood boiled in both fear and excitement. He didn’t know what it was, but it excited the beast inside of him.

Skjoll didn’t seem to be afraid by it. His battleaxe was ripping through the air as it avoided his blow, and he burst into a Nord chant of battle.

“Fighting on as one as the ghosts of our fallen brothers sing! Fighting in our darkest hours as their faces haunt our dreams! Like one heart we will send our enemy to his end!"

“Shor don’t open your gates” shouted Vilkas, joining him in battle.

Their foe struck them with a spell and Vilkas felt the blood that was pouring out of his wounds being sucked through the air.

“FUCKING-LICH!” roared Skjoll.

Their veins were bubbling, blowing up their skin, before splintering up because of the spell. The renewed of her forces seemed to delight the vampire – although Vilkas really doubted that it was really the same creature they were fighting earlier.

“ ‘cause we will vanquish the enemy!” shouted Skjoll, his battleaxe viciously ripping her body.

It skin very pale, of a grey nearly white. Curved horns, similar to a buck one grew out on the side of her head. Huge black wings could be seen on her back, but he doubt she could really used them to fly: their leather was shredded and odd enough, black feathers fell from them too.

“Tonight Sovngarde can still wait for me!” Growled the two Companions, striking her arms.

Her fingers ended in long, black claws that made Vilkas think about his own. Her face was still human though, her features slightly sharper and her fangs more visible.

“The golden fields of the end “ His greatsword just missed her head.

He recognised the platinum colour of her mane as he cut a lock in their previous fight.

“We’ll see them another day!”

She reminded him of that statue of a daedra lord with wings he saw long time ago, in a perverted, evil form of course.

“ ‘cause tonight we won’t die!”

“Sovngarde can still wait for me!”

She avoided their strikes by vanishing in a storm of bats again. Vilkas felt an unrelenting force pushing him away making him drop his greatsword. He fell heavily on the ground and the adrenaline started to disperse in his body. It was at this moment that he felt how bad his injures were. Despite his heavy armour and his Nordic resistance to magic, the spell had worked on him and he could feel his blood leaking inside of armour.

Unleash it. Unleash the beast if you want to live. It was his wolf who talked to him. But he couldn’t. Skjoll...Skjoll don’t know that I am a werewolf...

The wolf yelled in pain. The vampire had taken back her human form and her foot was on his hand, crushing it. Aside from her hood, the black rags that covered had been torn apart and she was nearly naked, even though her skin was coating with blood. Their blood. Vilkas’s eyes widened.

Skjoll!

He could hear the erratic beat of his arm. He was badly injured too.

You must unleash the beast if you want to save you... To save him!

“But... I can’t! If I do that he’ll... Sk-Skjoll will...” he babbled out.

The vampire tilted his head his monstrous eyes staring at Vilkas like if she could read through him.

“What...What in Oblivion are you....You fucking monster!”

He spat on her. Blood. It dropped on her cheek. He thought she would have licked it but she didn’t. He wondered why. Without a blink of eyes, he felt a sudden pain in his shoulder. Then he saw his greatsword stuck in. He yelled again.

“Vilkas!”

Skjoll. Oh no she-

“Skjoll! Run!” he cried out. “Leave me!”

She watched him then turned to face Skjoll, the moons revealing the paleness of her bare backside with their lights.

“Leave me and run!”

Skjoll didn’t listen to him. He charged at the undead. She avoided him easily and pinned him to the ground, mounting him.
“SKJOLL!” screamed Vilkas.

Under his skin, the wolf scratched, bitted. I can’t. Skjoll don’t know.

Vilkas tried to stand up but he couldn’t. He had bled too much. He couldn’t watch it. I can’t watch my friend being killed under my eyes.

He wanted to close his eyes. To turn away from the scene. But his eyes were locked on hers, on her terrible red eyes. The shrieking wind blew and her ripped cloak cracked in the cold air. Vilkas shivered. It looked like the huge, onyx wings she had before.
The vampire tore the slabs of Skjoll orcish armour with her bare hands. She bared his neck, touching it almost gently.
“Don’t touch him! Skjoll!” screamed Vilkas.

She locked his eyes on him for a moment. He continued to scream
“Don’t touch him! If you’ll do, I’ll rip you apart, can you hear me?!” his voice was raspy and he spat more blood. “Don’t touch him! Skjoll! SKJOLL!”

Skjoll didn’t even look at him. He was looking at her and held his breath. Vilkas could feel his heart. It was growing weak. He did loose lots of blood too.

“Skjoll!”

Unleash the beast.

“No... Please...No!” screamed Vilkas.

The tip of her tongue rolled over his neck.
“Skjoll!!”

She revealed her fangs.

“He saved you from me.” Was all she said to him before sinking her fangs into Skjoll’s neck.

“SKJOLL!”

He heard it. The carotid that breaks under the canines. The sound of the pouring blood inside the throat of the one who drinks like if he was thirsting.

He felt it. The heart that beats the pace of the caught prey. The predator’s noises of delight.

He saw it. The way the predator devours. The way the prey shivers.

And then he heard no more. Felt no more. Saw more. The predator vanished in the night and the prey laid one the stone. Agonizing, with two holes in its neck.

Unleash the beast.

And so he did. The skin tore apart and the limbs extended, smashing his wolf armour apart. The fur grew on his body, covering his skin. Nails to claws, teeth to fangs, man to wolf. Vilkas threw himself on Skjoll and quickly bite his paw to let his blood spill to Skjoll’s open mouth.

“Drrrrrink Skjoll...”

Few minutes after, a storm of black fur rose then ravaged its way to Whiterun under the lunar gazes of Masser and Secunda.

*

Nailing the last black shield on Jorrvaskr façade, Kodlak wiped out the sweat on his forehead. He felt it. His body getting old and... Weak. Nonetheless, it was his duty as a Harbinger. Today was a black day after all. When he went down the scales, he saw that more bouquets had been dropped on the last steps of the stairs to Jorrvaskr. He smiled sadly at the sight of them and entered the Mead Hall. The room was empty.

He sighed. He rested his head on the wooden door. The fire was dying in the hearth.

“Why, Shor...”

A tear fell down on his black gloves. He hit the door in rage.
“Why did you take him to your Hall?”

His question remained unanswered just like the last time he asked it. It had been a long time since he wore mourner’s clothes. He didn’t miss them.

The Harbinger left the banquet room and headed to his quarters. He listened carefully when he passed near Vilkas’s room, trying to hear any noises coming from it. But there was nothing to hear. A deathly silence had fell upon Jorrvaskr.

Kodlak laid on his bed, his limbs sore and his mind weakened by his insomnia. The old wolf inside has never slept. He closed his eyes, tried to sleep. His thoughts wandered to here and there.

“Someone! Help me! Please!”

He groaned. He didn’t want to remember. He buried his head in his pillow. He didn’t want to remember Vilkas’s scream.

”Vilkas? Gods, what-“

“KODLAK! Help me! Please!”

He turned to a side and to another, closing his eyes as if he tried to shut his own memories. But he couldn’t erase this scene from his mind. The wolf remembered the whole scene perfectly. Vilkas, half naked and covered in blood and rags holding Skjoll. Pale and bruised, the heart nearly muted.

”You have to save him Kodlak!

The Harbinger felt himself crying. Vilkas had cried too. He remembered sending Aela to the Temple of Kynareth. Skjoll’s breathes were but a breeze then instead of the blast Kyne gives to every Nord. It was at this moment that Kodlak knew Skjoll was going to die.

“Please, save him! Don’t let him die! Look there, there’s a healer! You’re going to feel better soon Skjoll! Hold on!”

Foolish hopes of the cub. Danica had made all she could but Skjoll was already walking Sovngarde shores when she entered Jorrvaskr.

”What’s happening?...Skjoll! Answer me Skjoll! Danica-”

“I’m sorry. He... He is dead.”

The howls of the young wolf, mourning. Vilkas had fainted in Farkas’s arms as he had tried to calm him. He was badly injured too, but the adrenaline of the beast-blood had seemed to immunize him to pain. Danica had taken him to his room to heal him. This might be the beginning of the heavy silence that floated upon Jorrvaskr.

*

A day had passed since Skjoll’s death in Vilkas’s arms. They took his body to the Hall of the Dead so that Andurs could prepare him for his burial. They will lit his pyre in two more days. Until then, Skjoll was resting in the tombs. The single thought sickened Vilkas. He was lying in his bed in foetal position. Farkas had stayed with him since Danica left him, holding him in his arms. He knew he could feel his sorrow.

*

When he finally went to the Mead Hall to eat, all eyes were on him. But none of them spoke to him. Vilkas sat in a corner with a tankard of mead and a piece of bread. Skjor approached him.
“Never befriend with the whelps. I’ve told you this before Vilkas. They get killed so easily. The pack doesn’t need weaklings.”
Vilkas jumped at his throat.

*

“It’s tomorrow that we will bury him.”

Vilkas said nothing and stayed curled inside his brother’s arms. He couldn’t believe it.

Skjoll is dead.

He missed him.

He thought of what happened.

“I should have transformed. I should have saved him.”

He hid his tears in Farkas’s chest.

He thought of her platinum curls in the air. He shivered.

Skjoll is dead.

He should’ve listened to Skjor.

*

Andurs went down the crypt. Today was the burial day of the last whelp that joined the Companion. He died 3 days ago, at Jorrvaskr. It had been a really hard thing that to prepare his body. The priest had rarely seen a body with such damages. Lots of deep cuts and bruises all over the Nord’s body. Mark of claws, of bites.

Kodlak told him the man met his end in the jaws of a saber cat after cleaning Soljund’s Sinkhole of its draugr.

“Now that I think about it...” he said to himself, opening the gates to the Catacombs “There was an elf who cleaned our Catacombs some time ago. What was her name?...”

It had been month ago, few hours before one of the fabled dragon attacked the city. The elf in her shiny armour offered to help him retrieve his Amulet in this cursed place.

“Ah, I can’t remember her name...”

He walked toward the preparation room where the body was waiting.

“Bah, it’s not important...”

Andurs opened the room.

Skjoll’s body had disappeared.

-

A!A quick notes:

- Skjoll is a deformation of Skoll, the wolf that chases the sun in norse mythology. But it’s also the name of a disgusting beer and I didn’t want my OC to be associated with it.

- “Until the Light takes us” is Mallari’s series. “A Dream of Wolf in the Snow” is Skjoll’s one, even though I haven’t got any idea of fics for him at the moment.

- The vampire described here is my Ayleid OC, Mallari. She can hardened her bones and skin and model her body thanks to her ancestral power, “Moving flesh”. I'll explain it in another fic. I think.

- I didn’t want to write any Vilkas/Farkas/Companion stuff. But this just popped into my head during one of my insomnia so I tried to write it down. It was pretty hard to write these sparing, horror scene things in English but I did my best D:

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