#boldur

Please reblog for a larger sample size.

Aaah The Algorithm... brings back so many memories

TESO nord squad c: ft. @sihari-arts girl and more…

(ill mess around with boldur another time)

btw I post these first on my twitter and then on tumblrblrblr

BOLDUR ARRIVES for Inktober Day 18

“Boldur big and strong like ox, Boldur chooses not to wear socks, Boldur sharpens axe all day, Boldur kills scalewolves all day-” “Boldur, you can’t rhyme day with day.” Shayne looked up from their scribble-covered notepad with questions written in their features. They weren’t a poetry expert, but they were pretty sure this wasn’t what Alani had in mind when she’d suggested a poetry slam. A new idea that had gotten off the ground running, but hadn’t had much planning behind it. Having too many differing opinions amongst their group on which book they should read next, the healer decided to break the ice a little and put forth a new idea to get the creative juices flowing. That had been three weeks ago, and no one had taken the reins on how this was all supposed to work. No rules meant no organization, and that left the chaotic mess they now faced. Boldur had been adamant about going first. Twenty minutes had passed with him rattling off line after line of a long list of exploits and adventures... including a list of his favourite foods. “Day rhymes with day, how is that breaking the rule?” His nostrils flared at the interruption, and Shayne swore they saw a few centipedes wriggling around in his beard to get away from his fuming. “I guess it doesn’t, but that’s not how...” their mumbling faded into silence. They weren’t faring any better as they stared down at the sheet of paper covered in scrawls and crossed out words. They’d been working on it all night, and still had nothing solid to present. Did it seem too emo? Would anyone even get it? “Then Boldur will continue.” He cleared his throat, and was about to start again before Thorn pulled the mic away. The scowl on her face said that he was done, and as he shuffled off the stage, dejected, she looked to the room for the next volunteer. Alani sat near the back looking perturbed, the waters of her bracelets swelling and bubbling. Montana sat on the floor next to her, looking as excited as a child ready to play with their first lump of Play-doh. Shayne was the only one near the front, but shrank when Thorn’s gaze fell on them in encouragement to take the stage. “I-I-I... someone else should...” “Nonsense. You’ve been working on that all day. Show us your efforts,” Thorn commanded with her heavy accent, and dragged the teenager up from their seat. “You seemed so adamant about this weeks ago.” “That was before I realized I had to stand up there and read it out loud.” Shayne braced against her pull, but they were no match for the tall Aelfrin. Soon enough, they found themselves on stage before the microphone. “And like a summer’s breeze, I find-” “We can’t hear you!” Montana yelled, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Lower the mic.” “What?!” “I said lower the mic!” “Oh...” Shayne glanced up at the seemingly harmless device hovering near their forehead, and with some effort, managed to get it down to an appropriate level. “This good?” “Perfect!” The large shirtless man gave her the thumbs up. “Uh... where was I?” “Summer’s breeze,” Alani chimed in. Soon enough it would be her turn, and nothing would make her ready for it. “Right. Uh. And like a summer’s breeze, I find you between my breaths. In with all the warm and good and out with all the bad. The bad I wish I didn’t have, the thoughts that run amok. You take them away like... uh... dandelion fluffs on a... breeze and cast them where I cannot see.” Shayne squinted at their chicken scratch, trying to decipher what had been crossed out and replaced with what came next, growing redder and redder by the second. A flip of the page didn’t help either, as it was covered in a myriad of doodles that had nothing to do with writing a poem. “Uh... the end. Thank you.” With a bow, they collided forehead first into the mic and sent it toppling off the edge of the small stage to the ground. The resulting whining and squeals forced everyone to cover their ears. “S-sorry.” “Good use of metaphor. It came from the heart,” Thorn offered with a pat of their shoulder. “There was no wrestling of scalewolves,” Boldur offered with a huff and arms crossed over his chest. “I think it was very poetic. Lots of... breeze. With some work, it could be good. Better. I meant to say better.” Montana wasn’t sure how, but it was the best advice he could offer. “Is it about someone?” Alani queried as her hands troubled her large braid. Shayne averted their gaze in response and took their seat. Maybe going up there and reading hadn’t been so bad, but they weren’t sure they’d want to go through that again. They weren’t quite clear on who went next, their thoughts lost on the pencilled words across the page. It could definitely be better, they just weren’t sure how. Maybe Kelvin would have some advice... he was always pretty good with words... “Crimson life, it bleeds My arrows, sharp as temper Steel against your throat.” Thorn gazed about the room to judge their reaction. No one had expected she would participate, or that her presentation would be so... “... it was short?” Montana offered with shrugged shoulders. “It is a haiku. Three lines with numbered syllables for each line. I figured it was the easiest medium to work with. Makes the point without all the flowery language.” Shayne shrank a little lower in their seat. The last two presentations were even more abstract: Montana basically took the tune of his own song and added different words to it, while Alani’s “poem”, set in native Emulan, sounded more like whale song. Which wasn’t entirely bad, Montana defended. A translation or some accompanying music would have made it... less whale-y. “And this concludes this week’s book club. Next week, we’ll be looking at the relationship between Kierban and Somiel in “The Chipping Sparrow’s Lament.” Do we want to make this poetry slam a regular thing?” Thorn asked while rearranging the chairs . The collective groan of everyone else, save for Boldur, gave her her answer. “Boldur didn’t get to finish. Boldur had five more pages left of poem to read.”

Boldur Taunt - Death is Hilarious