#boulderfall

[roakkaliha]

branchclan monarchs

[holydramon]

cursed by an idea of a warrior cats oc story that could be told via a series of pmvs

[sothasil]

for @boulderfall-cave

pumpin iron dwemer metal

[cater-the-diamond]

he's a sort of robin hood thief

Aren’t you happy?

This is your home. This is where you grew up.

These dusty roads are still the same. These dilapidated houses are still the same. These weary townsfolk are still the same. You are the only thing that is different. Yet you aren’t happy.

Therion tugged his scarf over his nose to keep the dust out. These old roads were still the same. These old houses were still the same. These old people were still the same.

No wonder he hadn’t liked it here.

It wasn’t just the precarious position the town of Boulderfall had placed itself in, carved into the side of a cliff, but it was also the blatant separation of people.

Those rich nobles at the top wanted everyone to be unhappy and isolated. They wanted people at the bottom to stay at the bottom.

How had he managed to stay in this place as long as he did?

As he wandered the familiar streets, he saw a few familiar faces. They all greeted him like they knew him personally, and he greeted them back like he knew them.

In a way, they did know each other. Whenever he had managed to get a good steal, he would share some of it with the people at the bottom. He would divvy it up and give it to them, and they would look at him like he was a saviour.

In a way, he was.

He remembered when they had all shown him kindness after he stumbled into their town, bleeding and shaken and disoriented. They had healed him to the best of their ability, done their best to make sure none of his wounds were infected.

He would forever be grateful to the people of Boulderfall.

As such, he stopped by their houses, greeted all of them by name, and shared with them. He gave them little expensive trinkets with the explicit consent to sell them. “Sell them,” he said. “Give them away. Do whatever you want with them. If it helps, take more. I have plenty.”

And he did. He had entire pouches full of things to help them. He supposed he could have brought food, but there was the risk of it spoiling in the heat of the Clifflands, and he would rather offer no food than rotten food.

He had also brought books. They were ‘borrowed’ from Cyrus, but he wouldn’t miss these ones. They had been collecting dust on his shelf, clearly only read once before being tucked away as a trinket to show off.

Professor Albright wouldn’t miss these books.

He read to them, chapters out of every book he had brought. He gave them to the ones that could read, so they could share with the ones that couldn’t.

He gave them books to burn, to read, to sell. He gave them what they needed to survive for even just a little bit longer in this dystopian town.

Aren’t you happy?

This is your home. This is where you grew up.

These dusty roads are still the same. These dilapidated houses are still the same. These weary townsfolk are still the same. You are the only thing that is different. Yet you aren’t happy.

But he was. These dusty roads had warped and shifted with the kicking of feet. These dilapidated houses had moved and adjusted to the ground beneath them. These weary townsfolk had adapted to their environment, and were doing everything they could to stay alive.

And he was happy. He had shared with them as he once had, he had given what he could to those who needed it more than he did. He shared and gave and took nothing.

He would forever be grateful to the people of Boulderfall. To the people who had been his saviours, who now looked to him as their saviour in turn.

He hated it here.

But it would forever be home to him.

theri helping the people staying in the lower level of boulderfall after his journey is SUCH a lovely concept for a fic and this is SO!!!!!!!!!!! AA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU DID A VERY GOOD JOB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[umbra74]

Forgot to post is here. My attacks on ArtFight 2024. Have enjoy doing that and fight the artblock in process (and being distracted by other things XD).

All attacks are for @falmerbrook, @captainkingsley, @boulderfall-cave and @curiouscucumberart

All OC's belongs to their respective owners.

[ravenwatches]

I was tagged by @illusivesoul to make some OCs in this picrew, thank you for the tag!

I went with Rhovan (BG3, my first Tav), Faolan (Skyrim, Last Dragonborn), and Elendar (BG3, protagonist of this fic series)

I'll tag uhh @boulderfall-cave and @sengawolf

[falmerbrook]

I think this is my last ArtFight dump

Cupistine for Elvenspiritz

Luk'sa for lycancthropy

Mirni for @snowy-weather

Servyn for @icicleteeth

Serynth for @alding-art

Skarotaavi for @boulderfall-cave

Sage and Sweetroll for Gold_Pup

[cgtg]

I LOOKED AT TWO KNIGHTS, HOLY SHIT. THIS IS THE EPITOME OF WHAT MY FAVORITE KIND OF MUSIC IS, VERY EMOTIONALLY INTENSE AND ""IMPERFECT"" FROM WHAT IVE LISTENED TO, MY FAVORITES ARE; "IT SUCKS WHEN YOU HATE EVERYONE" "TITAN A.F." AND "IT DOESNT MATTER MATT, IM GOING TO CAST BOULDERFALL"

VERY GOOD ARTIST, THANK YOU FOR THE MUTUAL REC.

fuck yeah, im hapy u liked it! i luv two knights a lot, its actually just a side project of parker lawson & michael debruin who ... just do a fuck ton of side projects. they got some other projects eg whimper, here's a song from that that i like a lot (very karkat coded 2 me)

theres a lot btwn these two i havent explored yet, basically all of it hahah, but meby u would enjoy checking em out :J !

u shud send me more recs some time. i like ur music taste

[katastronoot]

First art fight piece done!! Lanskr :) @boulderfall-cave

[popsartattic]

art done during artfight 2023 of @boulderfall-cave 's character Dubhyn Hlarys

[vinegar-on-main]

This one's from September I think. It's the one Alfion fic I've written

The dragonstones had all been returned to their rightful owner. Along the way, Therion had encountered a ghost from his past. With some blood, sweat and lots of tears, that was dealt with. Well, his friends also helped.

Alfyn had been more than happy to be a shoulder to cry on when Darius reared his ugly head. He was surprised such an encounter had affected Therion so much, but he didn't judge him. Therion needed support and he would provide it.

The thief watched intently as the butler removed the fool's bangle from his wrist. He rubbed his wrist as Cordelia began speaking.

"I know our deal is over, but you're welcome to visit whenever you want to," she smiled.

Therion hardly heard a word of what she said over the excitement of his newfound freedom. His arm was so light without that accursed chain. The sore, red indent it created was free to heal.

"I'll think about it," he lied, his attention was still fixed on his wrist.

They exchanged shallow farewells before Therion left. He didn't return to the inn, he had to be alone. The others must not see him cry again.

Boulderfall fortunately had several nooks and crannies to hide in. It took no time to find one on a cliff high above town. Therion could look down at the citizens as they went about their day, unaware of the great relief he currently felt. To them all, it was another boring day. He sat on a rock and looked up at the sky.

Clouds rushed by in the strong wind. How light they must be. The heavy weight on Therion's wrist was gone, now as light as the fluffy clouds looked.

When he shed the fool's bangle, every memory with it no longer meant anything. They shouldn't. That chapter of his life was behind him now, and he could move onto something new.

But he thought of Darius. How that man terrified him. He always thought he could kill him if they met again, but when they did, he could hardly fight. He had to rely on his friends to kill that bastard as he stood frozen in terror.

Alfyn had been the one to drag him out when Darius fell. He rushed Therion to the inn and held him as he cried. He stayed with him for hours, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek till he had worn himself down and could cry no more.

The memories of burdening Alfyn could go too. They were unpleasant. He didn't want to rely on anyone, especially not him. Such a sweet man deserved to love someone just as good as himself.

"Finally found you! We were starting to get worried," that oh so beloved voice said.

Therion looked to his side at the cheerful Alfyn who approached. He sat beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder.

"It's nice up here," he smiled.

Instinctively, he leaned on his lover. He was exhausted, Alfyn's chest was his favorite pillow.

"So you got the band off?" he asked.

Therion nodded and lifted his hand which Alfyn took. He carefully held it as he examined the mark. Alfyn's hands were a bit softer than his, more gentle and quite a bit bigger. Therion's hands looked tiny in his.

"The mark'll go away soon," Alfyn said.

Gods, he really was the sweetest.

"Are you sure you like being with me?" Therion muttered.

The question worried Alfyn more everytime he was asked. Therion was perfect but couldn't see it himself.

"Why wouldn't I? You stole back three dragonstones! You know how awesome that is!?" Alfyn smiled like a child.

"I guess it is."

...Perhaps not all fool's bangle memories were bad. Lots of them had Alfyn. He would laugh with and kiss and hold Therion with the biggest smile on his face. Those memories were precious.

Awwwwwwww

[gutterclan]

Moon One - Thawcreep

Sedgeclan has no deputy! Sedgeclan has no medicine cat!

Coniferstar journeys north alone, into the tundras, and finds Sedgeclan’s future camp, the Boulderfall.

Coniferstar - Male - 20 moons Leader - Remaining lives: 9 Charismatic Clever & a great hunter

Coniferstar’s paws ache. The ground this far north is frozen-hard, even late into newleaf, and scrapes his pawpads raw. Wind howls like a hungry animal across the open plain, with no trees to break it. The prey- tough and tricky as the tundra itself- evades Coniferstar’s claws, and his stomach growls. But the air is fresh and clean here, fragrant with sedge and heather. And the days are longer than they had been, to the south; even into evening, the sun is golden, and stretches out long claws out across the landscape. Coniferstar springs up a fallen rock, scraping away the greyish, clinging lichen. He takes a deep breath, and lets it out again with a purr.

Here, after days of wandering–  here is a good place. The sky is blue, above, the sun bright. A tumble of massive stones lie scattered, broken off from the cliff-face above, and in their shade; a shelter from the elements. Coniferstar hops from his perch, to the lee-side of his boulder, and the tearing wind cuts off abruptly; a silence more welcome than even hot, fresh prey would be.

He paces a tight circle- once, twice- before settling down, back pressed to one of the sun-warmed stones. In the morning, he will begin the work. For now; a rest. He’s surely earned it.

[beantothemax]

I hate him.

The first feelings Therion had towards Alfyn Greengrass were hatred and bitterness.

How could this yokel country boy have so much optimism about everything? Even that kid, Tressa, knew that not everything was fine and dandy in the world, and she had dreams of becoming a merchant, of all things.

But this overly-generous grass-stained bumpkin insisted on being grossly positive about everything, even going so far as to refuse payment for his services.

It was infuriating.

Yet, as the days passed, that overly cheerful demeanour began to grow on him.

Alfyn's smiles and bad jokes were commonplace, and eventually a welcome thing in the group. Even H'aanit joined in the joking. If the stoic, righteous do-good hunter could appreciate Alfyn's humour, why the hell couldn’t he?

Then something shifted. Therion couldn’t even pinpoint when.

Maybe it was when he gave Alfyn his shawl in Stillsnow. At the time, Therion had brushed off the tender moment as him trying to keep the resident Medicine Man alive since he seemed incapable of self-preservation.

But had that really been true...?

Therion remembered their time in Wellspring, when the heat grew unbearable and he’d had to take his shawl and scarf off. Until that time, he had kept them on stubbornly, even in Sunshade when they found Primrose. Now, he knew he had to take them off lest he die of overheating.

He had heard enough horror stories (and complaints about his choice of garment) from the local apothecary in Boulderfall to know that overheating meant a slow, painful death was guaranteed. So, he (albeit reluctantly) took off his precious purple shawl and scarf, and tied them both around his waist.

Therion remembered the look Alfyn had given him. Automatically assessing all the scars that littered his forearms and neck, and furrowing his brow when he saw the more gnarly ones, the frustrating ones that hadn’t healed right or had gone untreated after an infection. It was really a miracle Therion hadn’t died yet, in all honesty.

Therion would never forget the way Alfyn had sat down in their room at the inn and asked if he had any injuries that needed tending to. He would never forget the feeling of Alfyn’s surprisingly gentle fingers working at a cut he’d sustained from a Ratking. He’d nevee forget the warmth that bloomed in the cold pit of his chest for the first time since-

....Green was starting to change for him.

What had really changed Therion’s view of Alfyn, though, was after the fight with Darius in Northreach. The thief was shivering from the cold and his own tears freezing on his cheeks, when he felt an added warmth on his shoulders, and smelled a familiar scent. Grass and herbs.

Therion looked up from the ground at Alfyn’s face, concern and kindness etched deep into his eyes.

“...Really...? You’re giving a thief your mantle, a symbol of trust?” He’d asked.

Without missing a beat, Alfyn had replied with: “I trust you.”

“...Oh.”

Oh.

That night, Alfyn had held him close and let him sob until he could cry no longer, Alfyn had messed up his hair and traced the scar on his face and kissed it and suddenly Therion knew exactly what that warmth was in his chest.

Love. Love, love, love, love. He loved Alfyn. Aeber help him, he had fallen in love with Alfyn and Alfyn loved him too.

And now here they were, years and months later, back in Alfyn’s little town of Clearbrooke. Therion wore green and had the Riverlands' drawl and clipped his hair out of his face while he concoted tinctures and salves with the man he loved so dearly. Now here he was, with sleeves rolled up to reveal gnarly scars long since healed, however incorrectly.

Now here he was, not quite a faded scar, but healed in all the right ways.

And all the thoughts and emotions Therion had towards Alfyn were as different as he himself was from the beginning of his journey.

I love him.

MAV YOU CAN’T JUST HIT ME WITH THE FIRST AND LAST SENTENCE CONTRAST!!!!!!!!!!! GAH!!!!!!!!!

[whowaswillow]

Naming Schemes In Boulderfall

Bullywugs:

They pass their job title and the street they live one (if they move to a different street the street gets renamed) . However they only pass their job title if it was connected to the local ruler. Example: Slop of Festerblight the Royal Tailor is the father of WillowDart of Festerblight the Royal Tailor

[haaaaaaaaaaaave-you-met-ted]

Boulderfall by Ralph Horsley

[ravenwatches]

@boulderfall-cave