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[jorgaskr]

A Message from Farkas

Attention all strong and manly Nords! If you're tired of being surrounded by weak, milk-drinking pansies, then come join us at Jorgaskr! We don't accept any of that sissy stuff here, only the strongest and most fearsome warriors need apply. And don't even think about bringing those Silver Hands around here, they're not welcome. I've got five rules you better follow if you want to survive here at Jorrvaskr:

Rule number one: never, ever, disrespect me or any of the other veterans. If you do, I'll make you regret it. You'll be on the receiving end of my famous fart treatment, and trust me, that's not something you want to experience.

Rule number two: always follow orders. If I give you a task, you better do it to the best of your ability. No excuses, no delays. If you don't, I'll make sure you suffer the consequences.

Rule number three: keep your quarters clean. If I find even a speck of dirt in your room, you'll be scrubbing the entire compound from top to bottom. That includes the stables (I hope you love manure).

Rule number four: never backtalk or argue with me. I'm in charge here, and you'll do as I say. If you don't, I'll put you in your place.

Rule number five: always be ready for a fight. Whether it's training or a real battle, you need to be prepared. If you're not, I'll make sure you are by putting you through the toughest training regimen you can imagine.

So, recruits, if you want to make it here at Jorgaskr, you better follow these rules. And remember, if you don't, you'll be facing the wrath of Farkas and my legendary farts.

So if you've got what it takes, post below and let us know you're ready to join the ranks of the greatest warriors in all of Tamriel. Just be warned, if you're sensitive to smell, you might struggle a bit with us. But if you're a real Nord, you'll embrace it! For Ysgramor!"

[jorgaskr]

Joining the Companions Day 1

A new recruit joins the Companions. Unlucky for him he is assigned as a ward of Farkas, the best, but smelliest, of companions

Farkas sat on the edge of his bed, his massive frame taking up most of the space in the small room. Across from him, Sven stood nervously, his eyes darting around as he took in the cramped quarters.

"So, this is where you'll be staying," Farkas said gruffly, gesturing to the empty space on the floor next to his bed. "It's not much, but it'll have to do for now."

Sven nodded, trying to hide his disappointment at the cramped quarters. He had always dreamed of joining the Companions, but he had never imagined he would be sleeping on the floor of someone else's room.

"Don't worry," Farkas said, noticing the look on Sven's face. "You'll get your own room soon enough. Right now, we're just short on space at Jorrvaskr. But you'll have to earn it, just like the rest of us."

Sven nodded again, determination flashing in his eyes. He was determined to prove himself worthy of a place in the Companions, no matter how uncomfortable his living arrangements might be.

"By the way," Farkas added, "you might have noticed that my brother Vilkas seemed a bit apologetic when he said you would be my charge, and sleeping in here. That's because he knows how much I fart in my sleep."

Sven couldn't help but laugh at the blunt admission. "I was trying to be polite and not say anything, but to be honest, the room did smell a bit musky when I first came in."

Farkas chuckled and shrugged. "Like I said, it's just the way I am. You'll get used to it."

Sven cocked his head to the side, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. "What if I don't?"

Farkas waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it. You'll be fine. Just hold your breath and you'll be fine."

But Sven was insistent. "Can't you just not fart in here, and use the bathroom instead?"

Farkas's face darkened at the suggestion. "Excuse me? I don't take orders from new recruits on their first day in my own room. I'll do as I please."

Sven held up his hands in surrender. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I was just trying to be considerate."

Farkas huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Fine. But don't expect me to change my ways just because you're here. You should be lucky I'm not farting in your face. You should thank me for letting you sleep in the same room as a true son of Skyrim."

Sven couldn't help but laugh at Farkas's prideful declaration. "I'll make sure to thank you every morning for the privilege," he said with a chuckle.

Farkas shot him a sly grin, then grabbed a pillow from his bed. He sat on it, letting out a long, deep fart into it before tossing it to Sven. "That's going to be your pillow tonight, recruit," Farkas said with a grin. "You know, to keep you in line."

Sven caught the pillow, but couldn't help but groan and recoil at the smell. "Farkas, did you really have to do that?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Farkas chuckled and nodded. "Yeah, I did. You complained about my odor, so I figured I'd give you a little something to remember me by. Now go on, smell it and thank me for the gift."

Sven hesitated for a moment, then hesitantly brought the pillow to his nose. He took a deep breath and immediately recoiled, his face contorting in disgust.

"Farkas, that's gross," he exclaimed.

Farkas chuckled and shrugged. "It's just a little fart, Sven. We'll not little. I don't do anything little. You'll get used to it. Now go on, thank me for the gift."

Sven groaned, but knew he had no choice. He forced a smile and said, "Thank you, Farkas, for the fart. It's truly a gift."

Farkas chuckled and settled back onto his bed. "That's the spirit. But remember, if you aren't the best recruit and you make me look bad, the next fart's going to be in your face."

Sven went pale at the thought, but nodded determinedly. "I'll make sure to make you proud, Farkas. I'll be the best recruit the Companions have ever seen."

Farkas's expression darkened at Sven's words. "It's good to see you're going to try," he said gruffly. "But I'll be pushing you hard. I expect nothing less than perfection from you, recruit. And tonight's dinner is wild onion stew, so you better prepare yourself for a lot of sleep farts tonight."

Sven groaned at the thought but knew he had no choice. He was in this for the long haul, and if that meant dealing with Farkas's farts, then so be it. He couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and camaraderie with his new companion. He knew it was going to be a long and difficult journey, but with Farkas by his side, he was ready for whatever came their way.

[jorgaskr]

The smell of glory (part 1)

You wake in a dark and cold environment. Your back and neck aching. After scanning the room with your eyes and focusing your ears, you realize you’re in a basement. Your hands chained in iron cuffs to the big stone wall. And your feet bound by matching iron cuffs. You attempt to sit up, but you realize your head too is held in place in an iron bond, against a wooden plank on the floor.  You panic sets in, as you hear the sound of a heavy wooden door open, and see a faint light from the corner of the room. Heavy feet begin to tread down the stairs, as you attempt to wiggle in your chains. As the heavy door slams shut, and the light fades, the sound of mortal commotion of voices and laughter fades. You’re in the basement of a tavern and inn

The footsteps approach, as you finally make eye contact, and your heart drops. A tall blonde Nord stands above you, adorned in leather armor, with the stormcloack bear symbol etched into the heavy armor. 

He smirks followed by a laugh. “Good afternoon imperial. Welcome to the newly liberated Skyrim. You’ve been out for almost two days. Ulfric stormcloak has been crowned, and now sits upon the throne of a new Skyrim. Isn’t this glorious”? He scoffs. 

You attempt to speak, and curse at the almost 7ft nord. But then you realize, your mouth is gagged shut with tightly packed cloth. “Yes that’s what I thought. Along with our newly crowned King, we as well have had some new laws passed. Most of the surviving imperial dogs, will face court, according to their treason. Executions, imprisonments, deportations, and much is to come. However, after the fall of Solitude, and the execution of general Tulius, His Grace King Stormcloack has decided to allow some of us higher officials to….keep, the generals and higher ranks of your collapsing imperial army. So, I am glad to let you know, that from this day on”, *He lifts an iron contraption, that seems to be shaped like a penis* •oh gods, what could that be?• you think to yourself….he continues, “you will henceforth be known as Ash. For you no greater than the ash of the burnt imperial strongholds. You are now officially my property, on legal paper. And I am going to make sure that you spend the rest of your days, working to build back the true Skyrim. But before the construction projects begin, and in between your work, you will serve another purpose, imperial swine. Do you remember when general tulius said in his speech of war declaration, that we stormcloaks are worth that of a Cow’s ass? And that we smell of such? Well, you’re going to be remembering those words of your now executed general, for the rest of your life, scum”.

With that statement, he swiftly walks to the corner of the room, in which you can’t turn your head to see, and walks towards you with what seems to look like a wooden stool, with a hole in the middle. He then lowers it onto your face, and locks it into place with the wooden plank below your head. By the gods, you begin to notice where this is going. 

He then at the speed of light with no hesitation, removes his lower hide armor, and steps over you, his massive muscular back, and large muscular ass, looking over you. “Here’s to your new life, ash. If you behave, maybe you’ll be allowed some dignity…..if you prove to me you’ve learned the true place of an imperial in this world”. 

He then begins to squat, as you watch the massive and VERY HAIRY Nord’s ass consuming the opening in the chair in which you’re encased, and eventually blocking out most of the light. As you fight and struggle, and attempt to hold back tears, you feel the hairs of the ass cheeks tickle your nose, as your nose’s frame is glided into place between the massive hairy cheeks. You try to hold your breath for as long as you can, but eventually you break. The smell of weeks worth of ubathed sweat, fills your lungs. The air is hot, and smells of a ripe man.  Your hear him laughing faintly as he shifts, and let’s out a long, loud, and warm fart right up into your nose. Your lungs are filled  completely with the Nord’s ripe farts and ass sweat. As you squirm and attempt to scream. “Welcome to Skyrim imperial dog. This is your life’s purpose from now on. I want to hear you sniffing deep, and maybe I’ll let you out. I’ve got some book records to read. But because you are shaking so, you’ve just added 3 hours for yourself. Get to sniffing imperial slave. You have no other choice”

Will you ever be freed? Will you ever escape this hairy sweaty Nordic hell? 

Maybe so…..

[jorgaskr]

Don't Wake Tibor

Tibor Mammothborn was a double Nord. Double tall, double wide, double hungry, double filthy. Legend say his father had gotten drunk, climbed a ladder and made the back end of a bull mammoth his lover one night and that the next morning the beast dropped it's morning manure load and baby Tibor was in it, full beard and chest hair.

While that couldn't have possibly been true, he did work on a mammoth ranch with his father.

He sat passed out in two stools, head laying on the tavern bench. His trousers had come loose and the crack of his arse was on full display. The younger boys had made a game of this. The idea was to take a septim and drop it in Tibors coin slot. The last man to put a coin in and not get noticed it wake him up won all the coins. Getting them out was easy, Tibor would stand and they'd fall out. Normally he was too drunk to notice.

You took your turn. You were down to your last septim. If the guy after you failed, then it would all be yours. Tibor was pretty full. You reached out and placed the coin at the top of his ass. It rolled in, wedging between the fleshy mounds before it was slurped up by his hungry cheeks. You turned and cheered silently. The other guys were not happy though, and you were just a out to find out why. Tibor reached behind you and wrapped his hand across your head. It was big enough that he could use two fingers to keep your mouth shut. He spared your nose so you could still breeze.

"I told you that hanging around my ass was gonna start having consequences" he said groggily.

Your friends watched as he leaned to the side, his cheeks parting with a soft puff of a fart, as his hand pulled you between the two stools. He sank his weight and your head was engulfed between his ass. The weight alone was enough to keep you in place. His guts flexed as another fart erupted from his ass. "By the gods, whatever they use to spice this mead does a number on my guts. I could rival a dragonborn. Fus roh.." he sighed again and let out another sloppy blast. It smelled like a fresh pile of mammoth shit. "Alright I think you've had enough. Just let me rest my eyes a second and ill let you out." Tibor went silent

"Tibor? "You say. All you hear though is soft snoring "Guys, some one help me. Guys?" Your eyes were covered by ass flesh, and you were pinned by Mammothborns hefty weight so you couldn't see your friends. You did however hear foot steps and the tavern door open. "Anyone?" You were alone.

Tibor let out another sloppy fart. It was a pants moistener. He mumbled in his sleep. "....just some mud. Its fine. These pants have seen worse" then returned to snoring "come on...anyone?" You cried. But no one was going to help you any time soon.

[jorgaskr]

The Shake Down

Russ 'Little Troll' Fenrenson was the Nord you hired when you wanted to send a message.

"I hear you've worked up quite the bill at the Ragged Flagon" Russ said as he leaned in on the smaller imperial. His red hair was grungy from traveling. He had skipped bath day intentionally. The brick shit house of a Nord was more intimidating when he was radiating a potent stench.

"It can't be that high" The imperial said. He had his back to the wall. The stormcloaks had won the civil war, and all over Skyrim his kind had to put up with this.

"It's gotta be pretty high if they sent me to make you pay up." Russ leaned over the smaller man. He rest his left forearm on the wall behind him while keeping his clenched right fist on the other side of the imperials head. His skin was light, but with all the dirt in his skin you may have thought he was a tall red guard from a distance. He was wearing his troll leather vest. Nothing was under it. The cold never bothered him, and he loved to show off his arms. For the imperial this meant that on one side of his head was a clenched fist, and on the other Russ' ripe and furry pit. The winters chill was in the air, but it could have been the middle of a blizzard and Russ' pits would still be as juicy as a rotten snow melon.

"I'll pay. I'm getting my coins together. First thing this week I'll do is pay." The imperial tried to duck under Russ' fist, but when the meaty Nord punched the bricks, he juked the other way into Russ' pit; getting a full sniff of the pungent bouquet wafting from the gnarled patch of red and orange hair, and wincing a bit from the smell.

Russ saw the man's unfortunate position and grinded. He had two long braids in his beard, and when he smiled wide they made for the perfect frame for his yellow teeth. "You like that?" He said, his tongue running across his teeth. "Take a good long drink of what a real Nord smells like." The imperial paused, but when Russ locked his piercing hazel eyes on him, the imperial knew it was no jest. "Do it" he said, leaving no room for bargain.

The imperial closed his eyes and drank deep of the Nord's revolting odor. He could taste it more than he could smell it. It was salty and sour. There was a subtly heat behind it, like an compost heap in the height of summer— so many unidentifiable stenches, and not a single one pleasing.

"Like it?" Russ said.

"It's very," The imperial said. "Very strong. Just like you natives"

Russ bent his arm in and smeared his Pitt drippings on the man's face. He laughed loudly. "Nice way of putting it. I think it smells like a dead horkers arsehole myself. But if you love it then consider that some free perfume." He laughed again, inadvertently flecking the imperials face with spit. "Sorry. Here let me dry that off for you." He pulled down his head and summoned a deep belch from the darkest pit of his guts. He puckered his lips and blew it slowly into the imperials face, the deep bellowing rumble, like distant thunder, rolling just inside his throat. He had stopped at a shady ale hall— The Giant's Scraps— and had his fill of curried goat legs and sour brew. Add that to his stale onion loaf rations and you had yourself some punishingly offensive breath. The imperials eyes watered. Russ pressed his forehead in on the man's. "You should be thanking the nine that I had just let rip my afternoon beefer a few moments before I saw you, or else it wouldn't be my breath you're choking on cow-chucker."

Russ reached down and grabbed the Imperial by the groin and squeezed. The man gave out an audible, and high-pitched eek.

"You have till noon tomorrow to pay back everything you owe to the Ragged Flagon, plus a hefty bonus to them for picking such a fine and upstanding Nord like myself to deliver the message. Understood?"

The imperial nodded.

"If I hear that you didn't pay back every last Talos' forsaken septim: one night I'm going to appear at the foot of your bed and I'm going to spend do long popping your little snowberries between my finger that you'll think I'm making it a career" He squeezed his grip tighter.

"Yes. Very. Very clear." The imperial was on his tip toes now, his voice so high pitched that only dogs and wolves could hear the sheer terror in his voice.

Thankfully Russ was enough of a dog himself. He let the man go. He dusted off the Imperial shoulders a d straightened his collar. When he was satisfied with his work he leaned in close, putting his mouth to one of the imperials ears: "Run." He said softly.

The imperial took off like an imp out of oblivion.

"I fucking love this job" Russ said. He pulled out a flask of fermented mammoth milk and rinsed his mouth out. He let out a belch. The imperial was yards away, but Russ knew he heard it. Hell, he could probably smell it.

[jorgaskr]

Scene Preview:

The Shake Down

It's all fun and games till someone hires the companions to make you pay your bar tab.

Featuring: Belching,armpits,body odor, and implied violence

[jorgaskr]

Brawns and Smarts, Brains and Farts

A repost for you old wolves; but here’s something for you new milksops to read to get a taste of what you might be in for.

The sweaty Nord pressed his meaty hand into your shoulder as his leg sweeper underneath you. You toppled backwards. His knee pressed into your chest. You were both in your small clothes, bare chested. Despite the bitter snowstorm outside the flickering hearthfire kept you both glistening with sweat.

"Don't worry, everyone loses to me the first dozen times" Farkas said, his shoulder length black hair falling down his face like shadowy waterfalls. His breath smelled heavily of meat and mead.

"There's always a first time for everything" you said. You pushed back and toppled him to the side. He was on all fours like an animal. You seized the opportunity and grappled his back.

"That was a mistake" Farkas said. He had hoped you took such an easy bait. He moved like slippery fire. One instant you were clutching his back, and in the next his feet were tossing you upwards. You slid between his legs and his massive thighs. He gripped your neck like a vice, leaving the supple haunches of his buttocks staring you unpleasantly close in the face. The dark earthy notes of the hairy man underneath the small shorts were punctuated by the salty and spurt wafts of sweat.

Your hands instinctively went to your throat as you tried to pry yourself free from his grip. You pulled, but the keg like legs may as well have been wrapped with steel cables.

"Don't bother. Your not gonna get out. You know what they say about me and my brother.." He said.

"I know I know" you squeezed out. Everyone knew. They said it whenever you'd walk past: "You we're blessed with Ysgramor's brawn, but Vilkas got his smarts."

"That's the polite version," Farkas said. He squeezed you tighter. "My brother Villas got Ysgramor's brains while I got his.."

You didn't have to put it together. You knew what he was going to say—and more regrettably what he was about to do. "Farkas, don't you dare!" You becried to no avail. The thick Nord squat back, pressing his backside onto your face. You were smothered between the two cheeks. You could feel his body quiver and tense. You pulled back but you couldn't escape it.

Farkas had farted.

It wasn't particularly loud, but it was as violent as a giant, and as dense as the misty fog of Markarth. He held you there long enough to run out of breath and be forced into breathing it in. The fumes were indescribably noxious. You recall once, on a hunting excursion, you had stepped in a fresh and ripe mound of troll dung. Prior to this that had been the worst smell you had experienced. Now, thinking on it, you would gladly have buried your face in that pile of dung than spend another moment smelling the stomach souring, mind melting gas cloud Farkas had birthed.

He let you lose, but only enough to barely free your face from his ass. From the corner of your eye you saw Vilkas enter with a scroll of parchment in front of his face.

"We have three new requests this wee--" he stopped mod sentence when the smell hit him. "Talos' hairy balls. Farkas did you fart?" He looked and saw you and the position he was in.

Farkas was laughing silently. Vilkas' grimacing face slowly drew into a wicked grin. "Hold. Stop right there. Heel '' He bade Farkas to halt. This would end. The smarter brother would be your savior this night.

Vilkas made for the feast table and poured himself a mug of mead and grabbed a carrot. Pulling a bench up, he sat and watched. "Alright, you can continue"

Farkas laughed a hearty belly laugh.

"Vilkas get him off me" you protested.

"You're the wrestler, you get him off you."

You struggled to get free but Farkas was still holding you in place. You tapped his side.

"You're tapping out?" Farkas said.

Vilkas snorted some mead out his nose.

"This isn't Cyrodill Rules. You don't tap out. Skyrim Rules say you get out, or I let you out." Farkas said.

Vilkas was laughing.

"This isn't funny" you say, a mouth half full of Nord arse.

"Course it's not, for you. I'm just glad I'm not the one Farkas is farting on. Growing up I called him Fart-kas, as he was so gods damn gassy all the time."

"I preferred Fark-ass, but people didn't get it unless I spelled it out.”

"Hit him again brother, so I can see it first hand"

Farkas obliged. He pressed your face deep into his crevice. He leaned to one side and put all of his thunder into this blast. Considerably louder—if not muffled by your face— and hall shakingly violent, the blast went on for some time. To think a Nords innards could hold such endless and pungent gas.

"Ahhh...now that one felt great." Farkas said.

With a flip and twist, Farkas was able to reverse position. He now sat on your head like the Jarl of Farts.

"Get me a mug"

Vilkas handed him a mug of mead.

"To Brawns and Smarts" Vilkas said, holding up his glass.

"To Brains and Farts!" Farkas said.

They downed their glasses.

Outside the cold and indifferent moon shone through on the walls of Jorgaskr. Gods help you now.

[jorgaskr]

You think you’re worthy milksops?

Welcome to the legendary halls of Jorgaskr. If you think you have what it takes to spend time with the true Nord sons of Skyrim, and can handle the nasty things that might come our way then fill this out: https://forms.gle/vSRDWCSy8HyYtcmP6  Once you’re in you may find yourself the subject of one of our tales! No promises though.