Meme Announcements!
Oct. 29th, 2011 12:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
skyrimkinkmemeANNOUNCEMENTS: 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
Journal of an old warrior 2/?
Date: 2013-03-07 08:05 pm (UTC)I got ignored by the pup and was stuck with Alea. I had to wait until night to write so she wouldn’t pester me with fifty questions.
Anyway… ah yes, army.
I signed up and got put on patrol in a nomadic group of rotten lucked soldiers that often got sent to the worst places for any patrol. In my first week the patrol was sent troll scouting, wolf slaying, bear hunting and even sent on impossible recon missions that everyone else turned down.
The patrol was weakened by lose after lose, and their moral wasn’t worth the scraps they were paid in. I realized that the group of downtrodden men and women needed a leader and a source of good cheer. So I quite the loner act and started acting like a total goof/part time leader for them and strangely enough… it worked.
When I wasn’t making them laugh and smile I was leading them as effectively as I could through our hellish missions. Strangely enough they started perking up and even started getting through missions without major casualties and losses. Soon we became a bit famous and started getting some of the better paying and safer jobs.
We were doing great… and then the Great War happened. We were broken up into different sections of the Imperial Legion and I was back to being a grunt soldier. And while I admit that I will never willing take a leader position… it was fun being the leader of that little patrol and the source of moral. But there were bigger issues ahead then one man being pissy about being shuffled around.
The Dominion.
A bunch of warriors, not matter what anyone likes to believe, is no match for a group of well trained mages, especially with our drunken leader hollering all sorts of mixed directions at us. There wasn’t a day that went by where we lost a man or someone got critically injured.
Sure, I yelled and barked at the drunken lout every chance I got. But he shot back just as many times that I was lucky that I was in the Legion with my bad eye and the lack of warrior blood in my family. He always made sure to remind me how close to being useless I was.
I guess that’s the reason I get touchy about my age today, because I don’t want to be called useless like my captain did so many years ago.
But I did get a chance to get back at him. The drunken bastard started hitting the heavy stuff and was soon losing his mind. He had us charge into a village of civilian Altmer and gather up all the kids, women and elderly. He told us to kill the kids to make an example to the elves but no one would stoop to his level.
Finally he ordered me to do it. We bickered and fought and finally I just stuck a sword in his gut and killed him and then let the Altmer go.
I was reported in within less than a week. And while what my captain did was totally out of bounds I was still dishonorably discharged for killing him. I told them where to go, took my pay and left.
For a year or so I went around doing merc work, drinking and sleeping around because I was so lost. I couldn’t get over the fact that I had been punished for trying to save a group of wailing kids. Sometimes I drank my miseries away and others I prayed for days at the temples just to get an answer. I got nothing but blank spots and growing whispers in my head.
Then one day I was called back.
They needed experienced soldier and were willing to fight since it seemed like they were losing, they were even willing to ‘turn a blind eye’ to me killing my captain. I told them to piss off because I didn’t appreciate the humor and still thought that the bastard should have died.
And then they mentioned how one of my old patrolmen had been captured by the Altmer, a young lad named Ulfric Stormcloak. They were probably torturing him for information, playing on my emotions.
And I fell for it. I enlisted and went looking for Ulfric.
I’ll write tomorrow. Alea is waking up and I need to hide this journal so it doesn’t ‘disappear’ I swear that the lass goes into heat every time I glance her way. Younglings these days, eh?
Journal of an old warrior 3/?
Date: 2013-03-12 01:32 am (UTC)Right, so Ulfric…
I signed up and immediately went looking for him, hell bound on saving at least one of my old friends, even if it did help the gods damned legion. He was my friend and I wasn’t going to let my stubborn pride get in my way.
I went looking for days, simply trying to track down every and any leads on his location. I chased down rumors, patrol routes, people in his squad, the faintest whispers, and the slightest of signs with the slightest of hopes.
After two weeks I almost gave up and started combing through a forest, getting ready to proclaim that my friend was dead. I miserably looked through bushes and trees until finally I stumbled onto something-
Two Thalmor agents dragging a bloody body towards a river to dump it.
Enraged, I charged them, swinging my sword and roaring my fury. And I was struck down with a simple spell that seized my muscles. They laughed and sneered at me and then dragged me off to a dungeon where they kept other prisoners of war.
I didn’t many familiar faces, only young faces of naïve soldiers that caught and were desperately calling out for loved ones or release. They reached out to touch me, but I was dragged faster than their pale, bloodied fingers could touch me.
Just to see them was too horrific and I sputtered prayer after prayer that we all would be saved or spared. But it seemed that the gods had turned their back to me, because I heard nothing back and I was dragged to a cell.
They tossed me inside, where I cracked my head against a rock and left me and my new cellmate.
After I had cleared the stars from my eyes I saw that I had succeeded in my goal. Sitting there was Ulfric Stormcloak, wrapped in rags, bruises, blood and chains.
But now we were stuck in a Thalmor dungeon with no hope of escape.
The next bits get a bit… hard to write. So they’ll be choppy at best… I’ll try and write more soon but just writing this…
Entry 5
I am plastered right now… so I’m sure you won’t understand a word of what happens next (there’s a wine stain here)
Right, so me and Ulfric were in that cell… can’t remember most of the time we spent there. Just blurs of images, snippets of words, flashes of faces. I think I was getting it on with one of the guards, pretty young thing with just the nicest ass. I do remember Ulfric being only minutely mad at me because the guard was sneaking us extra bits of food and water with each ‘visit’.
Ulfric was interrogated a bit, he came back fighting and covered in blood and bruises. He couldn’t tell me what they wanted, just grunted and hissed whenever I used Restoration magic on him.
They tried to interrogate me a few times, but mostly I just gave them sass and sarcasm and got tossed around and knocked around a few times and then I laughed at them a bit more which only made them toss me back in my cell. And then I shared my stories of triumph with Ulfric to bolster his moral.
Of course then something happened, there’s about a week of blank space that I can’t quite recall, and suddenly I found myself running after Ulfric as we tore through the forest with Einar my older brother who seemed to pop up out of nowhere, hearing wizards behind us screaming and yelling.
We managed to get away and to a legion camp.
And for some reason I just screamed and hollered at everyone before leaving again, my brother following after me until I calmed down and then leading me all the way back home. Apparently he had caught word of me while he was out studying magic and was there to kick me back in shape.
I agreed to stay, since our parents had wondered off somewhere, and together we lived as priests for a few years.
I was so upset that I stayed there and prayed night and day for a sign of something that I was meant to be. However, I learned all too late, that devoting too much of your time to the gods often garner’s their attention and you don’t want the attention of the gods.
Journal of an old warrior 4/?
Date: 2013-03-15 10:04 pm (UTC)Ugh, my head... Shouldn't have tried to drink Tovar under the table, the man can hold his mead
Anyway, back to the story, we were discussing how I went back to the temple and started praying like a mad man?
Right, but my head hurts too much to think about those dark days so first I'm going to talk about my brother Einar... who isn't really my brother. He's definitely older than me, by a long shot, but a large chunk of his life he had been part of the family and my mother did take him under her wing so I guess you can say that he is my adopted brother.
First, Einar is not a Nord. Einar is in fact, an Altmer and perhaps the reason why no matter what that Thalmor do, I cannot hate high elves. And since in a sense he was raised by Nords, he doesn't act, move, talk or even think like an Altmer though he still is primarily a mage in skill and profession. Einar also speaks with a thick Nordic accent, that’s rather funny to watch people gap at.
Let's see... more about my brother. He's looks like most Altmer in terms of general looks, tall, thin, handsome with noble features, long limbs, pointed ears. But some time ago he dyed his hair a black to match the family's color and is usually seen with Nordic style braids in it. He had a fondness for bold, blue Nordic style war paint and can often be seen wearing it. He does wear mage robes, however he often wears heavy gauntlet's and boots with them, and when he's not in mage clothing he's in full heavy armor.
Einar is a good man, thoughtful, kind, intelligent, gentle. He had a habit of patching me up as a child whenever I did stupid stunts or after a rather harsh day of bullying. He even kept me alive the day I lost my eye to that werewolf, making sure to give me a harsh scolding as he kept me from bleeding out. But he was always there when I needed him, up until I was big enough to handle myself and even then all I needed to do was get in touch. He was probably the best thing to happen to me in my childhood, which is saying something.
My brother taught me a great many things, things that my parents often couldn’t find the time to do, such as Restoration magic, reading, writing, sums, cooking, cleaning, about plants, the races, people, etiquette, what was wrong and what was right and even about lore. He was my mentor in pretty much everything because I wouldn’t go near the village schoolmaster with all the horrible children and since my parents were often too busy with pilgrims and prayers.
I still vividly remember the day that mother brought him into the family fold
I had just gotten home from a rather harsh day outside, still carrying the bruises the other children had given me, and found mother and father yelling and screaming at each other. It was rather frightful to listen too, so I decided to go back outside and play behind the temple, to avoid the children and stay out of the way.
However, as I was slinking through the room to get to the back door, I saw a rather handsome, thin and miserable looking man with pointed ears sitting on the bench closest to the statues for the Nine. His skin, where is wasn’t bruised or cut, was a golden color like the sun and his hair was soft golden blonde, and the strange green-gray robes he wore were tattered and dirty, several cuts revealing more bruised and cut golden skin. And his eyes, a strange yellow-green, were devoid of emotion, like he was sitting there but not really… there.
He looked so miserable sitting there, eyes dead, looking like he hadn’t eaten in weeks, and his pretty face marred by bruises, that I actually pitied him. I went and took a seat next to him and gave him a shy greeting. The man uttered one back. I asked him for his name and he said that he no longer had one.
Being too young I didn’t realize that he’d meant that he had just been disowned by his own family, so I told him that I’d give him one. Thinking for a moment, as the man gave me a very strange look, I declared him Einar sense in my young mind it sounded fitting and had a similar ending as my own.
The man looked at me for a long time… and then smiled a little bit and told me that he liked it. I found out a moment later that we were adopting him.
Re: Journal of an old warrior 4/?
Date: 2013-03-17 02:08 am (UTC)Maybe... maybe you can do something moar about Einar, please?
Re: Journal of an old warrior 4/?
Date: 2013-05-01 06:17 pm (UTC)And I love the occasional " back to life" interludes (pup bruised me, etc) ^^
Great work ,this! :D