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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

Comments

Re: Fire and Potions - 20/?

[(Anonymous)]

Therion let out a half conscious groan in protest, as he was lifted onto a horse behind Farengar. The wizard stiffened as Brynjolf rested the Dragonborn against his back and went about tying him in place, so as to secure him against falling from the saddle. As the Nightingale tightly cinched the mer’s torso, Farengar heard him utter a low, cry of pain, conjuring to mind his recently healed broken ribs. With only the barest trace of sarcasm, Therion muttered, “Kill me,” into the wizard’s shoulder.

“Though it would make my ride considerably more enjoyable,” Farengar said, craning his head over his shoulder to observe the mer slumped against him, “I suspect your entourage would have some rather strong words with me.”

Therion said nothing back.

Already asleep again, Farengar thought, looking at his closed eyes and even breaths falling against his blue robes.

The wizard shifted uncomfortably under the watchful gaze of what seemed like an absurd amount of people. The 8,000 septims worth of jewels had not been worth so much hassle, that much was certain. However, freeing the Thalmor captives from the keep, and ridding Skyrim of a den of justicars, had made the trip more than worthwhile.

General Tullius rode up beside him on a powerful looking war horse, his unit of soldiers awaiting him by the road, each on their own mounts. The General was a regal looking figure with an air of authority about him. His shortly trimmed, white hair, stood out against his tanned skin and leather armor. Though his face was wrinkled, his muscular physique was unmistakable, leading Farengar to suspect that anyone who fought him with the expectation that he was past his prime, would have a rude awakening in store.

“Where are you heading?” the General asked, addressing Farengar directly for the first time since he had arrived.

“Riverwood,” Farengar replied. The little rural town on the water was not far, making it the logical choice, though Farengar was all but itching to return to Whiterun. Traveling and dealing with people were two of the activities he loathed most.

“We’ll provide an escort for you,” the General said. From his tone, he gathered it was neither a request nor a suggestion. “Running into a pack of bandits on the way would be a terrible way to start your morning.”

“Or Thalmor,” Farengar added pointedly, watching the Imperial’s reaction.

The General glanced back at his soldiers, safely out of hearing, then leaned forward in his saddle, the morning light reflecting the gold trim of his officer’s armor.

“Between you and me,” he said, looking directly into Farengar’s eyes, “I wouldn’t mind having an excuse to kill some Thalmor. Even if it means causing a diplomatic incident.”

“A sentiment I can relate to,” Farengar replied, thinking of the prisoners from the Thalmor keep. His anger brewed, wondering how many more Nords were locked away while he was casually conversing with the general.

“I haven’t put an elf to the sword since the Great War. Twentysix years…” the General said, a hint of longing in his voice. He spared a curious glance at the slumbering Therion. “Where do you suppose he fits into all of this? The Thalmor are his kin.”

“I have never asked, and he has expressed no opinion on the matter, but I would hazard that the Dragonborn is not an enthusiastic admirer of the Thalmor,” Farengar said with obvious sarcasm.

“Remarkable, that of everyone here,” General Tullius said thoughtfully, ignoring the cynical remark. “Therion preferred entrusting you with his safe keeping.”

Farengar was inclined to agree, especially given that the General had an entire army at his command.

“Well, enough talk. Let’s get my Legate to Riverwood,” the General said, turning his horse around.

“Legate?” Farengar echoed.
“Yes,” the General replied, nodding at the Dragonborn. “You didn’t know he was an Imperial Legate?”