Canid

The Fall Rated R :Fuzzy::Fuzzy: This film is visually striking, but its real winning point is the acting. Romanian actress Catinca Untaru's performance as 5 year old, Alexandria was unerringly genuine. The story is a simple one, set in a Los Angeles hospital in the 1920s. Alexandria, who broke her arm picking oranges in the groves is persuaded to come and listen to a story told by Roy (Lee Pace) an injured and suicidal stunt man. The story, as imagined by Alexandria, changes with the girl's input and Roy's mood, but is filmed beautifully and with a dream-like quality to the visuals. The film bears a visual resemblance to The Cell, and shares the same director and several producers. The story, however is superior. Filmed in 29 locations around the globe and using no CGI, it is worth watching just for the visuals (Can anyone say "swimming elephant"?) and the visuals are trumped by Catinca Untaru. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The Purple Fuzzy Rating Scale = No redeeming features. 1 = Had potential. Ruined it. 2 = Average entertainment level. Mediocre. 3 = Worth renting. Solid movie. 4 = Faultless. An excellent watch. 5 = An all time great.

Well, how could I resist? In typical Canid style, I present you with some animal songs in the form of: Metazoa - Mighty Pen Muxtapes vol. 2 http://canid.muxtape.com/

If there is any room left on your sign-up Venefyxatu, I'd like to do this. I'd like to describe the Pen Chat-Room, river and surrounding country-side if I may, but if that's not what you had in mind, Canid is up for re-building her fortress.

I have one comment, after voting which is that the default feedback level ought to be left blank until specified, for lack of this option I voted for "Critical is acceptable" as this is what feedback is (to me at least) and I think that most people are careful enough when giving criticism that they aren't going to hurt feelings. Myself, I always try to end a critique on a positive note so the recipient will not feel bad about any criticism I may have offered - I try to start with a complement too for that matter.

I saw the Prestige first I believe, and I really didn't like it. Like Wyvern, I expected much more from the cast. The Illusionist on the other hand, I quite enjoyed. The two movies may be similar atmospherically. Both somewhat slow paces and set in roughly the same era. Both involve fantastic illusions, and concentrate on showmanship. BUT Those are mere trappings... they are entirely different films. The Illusionist, while not perfect, was far more an intellectual thriller. It plays on your sympathy for the characters, and your willingness to be 'taken in' by a magic show. The Prestige had a comparatively messy plot, and was less about the magic than the relationship between these two men. Both of the gentleman magicians had a nasty streak bordering on stupidity. I enjoyed it in bits, but was left displeased with the shape of the thing. Well, now that I have reviewed it, I might as well rate it. The Prestige PG-13 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The Purple Fuzzy Rating Scale = No redeeming features. 1 = Had potential. Ruined it. 2 = Average entertainment level. Mediocre. 3 = Worth renting. Solid movie. 4 = Faultless. An excellent watch. 5 = An all time great.

Otesánek (Little Otik) :Fuzzy::Fuzzy: One almost wants to rate this movie on a different scale from regular cinema. I have only seen one other movie by director, Jan Svankmajer, (The other being "Neco z Alenky" or "Alice") but I want to see more. "Otesánek" is supposed to be the most conventional of his films, and I can believe it. They are works of surrealism, using stop motion animation (no CG) and imagery more than words to tell their stories. "Otesánek" differs in that much of the story is revealed in dialogue, but it maintains the dark and disturbing atmosphere of his other films. It is a Czech fairy tale, about a childless couple, who in their desperation, see a vaguely baby-shaped tree stump as real. The wood baby, Otik, is real enough, and soon develops an appetite that cannot be stopped by mere broth. The film is quiet. Not pretty by any means: it is not meant to be. The characters are compelling and very real. I appreciate it especially for how unusual it is, but even if the style were a popular one, this would still stand out for its quality storytelling.

Cherish Rated R :Fuzzy: Despite the awful title, and despite the awful cover, this is a very good movie. Zoe Adler (Robin Tunney) is placed under house arrest to await her trial for the murder of a policeman while driving under the influence. The truth is that she was forced into the driver's seat by a stalker, who hit the accelerator in panic when it looked like he was about to be revealed; but there is no evidence to support her wild claim and her situation looks hopeless. The climax, with her dramatic escape and the exposure of the true criminal is, I admit, contrived; as is the all-too-convenient romance between Zoe and the officer responsible for checking her bracelet, Daly (Tim Blake Nelson). But accepting that the plot is not poetic perfection, it still comes out a satisfying story, with interesting, well developed characters and a premise that hasn't been used a thousand times before. Also in its favour is the casting of Tim Blake Nelson as one of the leads. Even after his success in "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" as Delmar, he hasn't played many. He is an excellent actor, and well suited to this role. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The Purple Fuzzy Rating Scale = No redeeming features. 1 = Had potential. Ruined it. 2 = Average entertainment level. Mediocre. 3 = Worth renting. Solid movie. 4 = Faultless. An excellent watch. 5 = An all time great.

You did a fantastic job selecting and editing Wyvern - it does indeed flow perfectly. I did as recommended and listened to the whole thing head to foot without a pause... which meant I had to choose between paying complete attention to the lyrics or reading the comments in conjunction with the songs, so it will have to have another run for me to appreciate all it has to offer - but I followed it and enjoyed it none the less. It was also interesting hearing the sorts of tracks selected by my fellow Pennites... I know it was narrowed down, but I was surprised by the style and tone chosen in places. ...and I'd really love to hear some of the tracks that were passed up some time. Oh, and I'm a sucker for horns too, by the way. (<- Get it? It has a horn! Har de har har har!)

Thank-you muchly Wyvern. Yes, I had quite a good day. I feasted on raw fish (Oh how I love sushi), but thank-you for the offering. You seem intent on returning him to his flock anyway, so I'll let you.

“…and ‘ee didn’ even wake up…” Lord Adulade bent over the table, wheezing, “until the devul,” he made a sweeping gesture, first with the left, and then the right, nearly clobbering the sotted guests to each side, “knocked the legs,” wheeze, “off’f’is bed!” He bent with laughter. Lord Brizzeby observed the man’s beard dragging in the fish. He drained and refilled his goblet without a word. Adulade recovered from his fit long enough to pour half the tankard of ale down his front. The empty vessel was cast aside and he looked up in feigned surprise. “Herald, my tapestries are fallen. What happened to the walls?” Lord Brizzeby stared at the drink and answered acidly, “Those are not Dominique’s words. It is hollow humour if you must make up faults for which to insult a man.” Adulade raised his messy eyebrows and stared across the table at his host. “I’ll haf you know… I heard it, from the herald ‘imself.” The man nodded and grabbed his neighbour’s drink. Lord Brizzeby drained his own goblet again and got shakily to his feet. “You’ve… have been telling that cretinous story for twenty years and the oney truth that’sever been in it is that his bashing castle was flattened.” “By my command!” “You command only stories!” “I command the arcane! I command the Purple!” “Your plane-shifty is haf dead and you’ve commanded nothing greaterer than wurms since Dominique fled here.” Adulade blinked in surprise. “Fled here? Why the ‘ell did he fled here?” Brizzeby stiffened. In vino veritas. Curse the drink. “He happens to be my cousin. I entertained him for two months while your buffoons searched for his body.” “You ‘id that traitor here and played friendly neighbour with me for twenty years?” “Speak carefully neighbour.” Adulade turned red. “You filthy, shceaming, bl- blue, kniving-“ Adulade attempted to rise but fell back promptly.” “Guards. Shee Lord Adulade out.” Brizzeby turned carefully around and stumbled towards the stairs. Adulade pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his plate, lobbing it at his departing host, missing by some considerable degree. Brizzeby gestured obscenely as he leaned on the wall and Adulade was dragged out, struggling with his retainers, most of them nearly as drunk as their master. They were simultaneously flung out the door, and brought their horses. It took Adulade several minutes and several falls to mount. Clutching hard to the horse for balance, he raised his fist to the tower window. “A plague upon thee!” ~***************************~ Anverp the Guard shuffled from foot to foot. Plane-shifters made him uneasy. It wasn't that they could disappear right in front of your eyes, only to reappear behind you three seconds earlier, so that by the time you noticed they were gone, they had already tied your hair in a pony tail. In fact, there was only one recorded incident of that ever happening, and it was almost 100 years ago. No. Such antics were beneath modern plane-shifters and didn’t concern him. It was that craftiness in their eyes. That intelligence about their manner that really unnerved him, because everyone in the realm knew they were all quite insane. They didn’t start out insane, it developed and festered over the years. Old shifters like Enguda here were the worst. Completely mad... but clever, very clever. Anverp’s hand strayed upwards to finger his curly hair. Lord Adulade stood a couple feet to his left, watching passively as the plane-shifter circled the stable boy, looking over his hands, sniffing him like a dog. Enguda was clothed in the garments of the high court. He was clean and sported a tidy beard, but even so, managed to look dishevelled and dirty. Were it not for the bright, shimmering purple cape, tied like a sash about his waist, he might have passed as a common merchant. Enguda plucked a hair from the boy’s head, and after careful inspection, ate it. He turned around with a flourish and a half grin. “The force is strong with this one.” He grabbed his cane and started dancing wildly about the room with it, whistling some bizarre tune. “He is a shifter, then?” Adulade didn’t flinch as the guard to the right parried off a swing of the cane. “Yes, sir. And it will be my pleasure to guide him to the Purple.” Lord Adulade’s mouth twitched with satisfaction. “Good.”

You confuse me sometimes Quincunx.... ...well, frequently. *Canid sits agitatedly behind her Egad!ib, wondering if she's done something wrong.*

Madlib Formula #323 Silver - 'Egad!ib' 1) [A Vehicle] chariot 2) [Verb, Past Tense] smited 3) [Plural Noun] worshippers 4) [Verb, Past Tense] feasted 5) [Adjective Ending in "-like"] mountain-like 6) [A Number] one 7) [Plural Noun] temples [Feature of Said Plural Noun (7)] sacrificial altar 9) [Article of Clothing] sandal 10) [Adverb] skillfully 11) [Adjective] evil 12) [A Hair Accessory] wreath 13) [Adjective] golden 14) [Part of Body] hand 15) [An Artifact] sceptre 16) [Noun] Apollo 17) [Plural Noun] frogs 18) [superlative Adjective (i.e longest, lowest, etc.)] highest 19) [Formal Title for a Person] Caesar 20) [Adjective Ending in “-like”] ruby-like

Valdar, clutching his approached the tired wolf and tugged on her tail. Canid turned around and smiled at him. He pointed longingly up at the skylight and muttered something. "Puppy mffle mff shiny mmmfle mmmf painting." She frowned. "I'm not a puppy Valdar." The little boy grinned. "Puppy." "Wolfy, Valdar." "Puppy." "Say 'wolfy' and I'll paint you your very own." Lil' Valdar's eyes went wide. "Wolfy." he said, appeasingly." "Very good." Canid took out some more paper, and proceeded to paint the stars.... View all against black and tan here: http://www.angelfire.com/80s/Canid/images/...es/BlackBG.html

I can't do precise movements I've tried and I've failed. The pen won't move smoothly my hand's looking ailed. There are more lines than letters on the pages before me and all of them wonky uneven and poorly. I've tried scoring the page to at least maintain size but the ink fills the lines and it doesn't disguise all the pen strokes that simply refuse to line up - and I'm forced to stop now for my hand's given up. Ow. I shall return!

"You're sitting on my dinner" said I. The man looked uncomprehending and stared at me with amazement. I suppressed the urge to bite him. "You're sitting on my dinner" I repeated. He raised a hand slowly, pointing at my mouth and spoke in a soft tone of awe. "Vol tonal egret?" I knew what he was saying; I have heard "You can talk?" uttered in all the languages of Terra, and a few more besides. I nodded. Then, putting my head against the man's side I gave him a shove. He stumbled to his feet and after a moment of confusion, spotted the rabbit. "Gah!" He twisted around, looking at the ruined seat of his garment and momentarily forgot his shock at meeting a talking wolf, in favour of trying to clean his robe off in the snow. I took the opportunity to wolf down the remainder of my long awaited rabbit before anything else 'foom'ed into existence on top of it, before the weasel noticed it, and before any more starving puppies showed up. The man was finished cleaning his robe and turned back to me, wonder again filling his eyes and broke into a long stream of incomprehensible dialogue. Normally I would have understood it, despite the tongue being entirely alien - mind reading was one of the first mage-skills I ever possessed, but now I could feel the fur on my back begin to stand on end as the air buzzed with the creation of magic sparks around the spot where the man had appeared, and self preservation forbade me from calling on even such minor magic in their vicinity. I backed away from the disturbance. The man babbled on, oblivious to danger and slowed in his speech only as the magic became visible. The sparks were all clustered in the air where he had lain, like some miniature, man shaped galaxy; not the odd one or two of these previous weeks, but thousands of them. I swore. The man looked down at me curiously. The sparks began to spread out. I danced backward and the human had the sense to do the same. Cuan had stopped nuzzling the weasel and was staring rapturously at the mass of bright magic. I grabbed the puppy by his scruff. "Wait! I want to watch it!" he protested, squirming. I took a few steps out, and turned giving the man a look that said, as clearly as I could say it with a look, "follow me," then pivoted in the snow and ran for my life. ~***************************~ "Canid, you break my heart." I shook off the snow in the great entrance hall of The Pen and replied with a distracted "what?" Cuan curled up on the rug where I had released him and shivered violently from the cold run. "Here I thought you had no mate, and now you have a puppy." Prospero was grinning at me.

"It would be an honour." replied the wolf, bowing slightly. She dragged a coffee table infront of Zool's Portrait and pinned down another of the tiny parchments. Dipping her claw in the inkpot she squinted up at Matt. It looked rather smug, rather like it should have a tail, and if it did, it would be wagging. Canid started to scratch out the miniature. Just then a very wet purple fuzzy thing jumped on the table. The mouse sized creature marched forward in a fury, squeaking madly and failing to look down as it trod across the wolf's picture. It gestured wildly to Canid. "Meep! Squeak! Meepa meep meep. Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!" It shook itself off and bristled. "What is it saying?" Zool leaned in, in his portrait, staring at the thing as it drizzled water onto the table. "I'm not really sure," replied Canid, "it's speaking rather more rapidly than I am used to." The purple fuzzy thing pulled out what looked like a very wet shower cap. It shook the edge of the cap with a tiny clenched purple fist and continued to squeak. The wolf nodded slightly. "I think it tried to hide in that cap when the wave hit...." She lifted up the shower cap with one paw. It was someone's old handkerchief, sewn into a hat-shape and elasticated around the bottom. She could still see the monogram sewn into the cloth. There was also a sticker peeling off from the inside. " Almost Dragonic Brand February Shower Cams - not guaranteed effective after 1/31/07 Made at The Pen 2/01/07" "Ah." Said the wolf. She set aside the hankie and pointed the fuzzy thing toward a stack of towels that had been brought into the room for the clean up. Canid disposed of the ruined parchment, wiped off the table and pinned down another one to try again. "Okay Matt, pose for the cameras..." the wolf muttered. The toupee seemed to puff up slightly. Canid opened her mouth to say something and closed it again. She dipped a claw in the ink and started again.

"Canid, wake up!" Wyvern poked the sleeping wolf with his foot. Canid's eyes remained sealed. She snored meaningfully, though slowly became aware of an almost dragonic prattling beside her. "...so we can do away with it.... That, or we could forcefeed it to Rubber Chicken as a form of punishment." The wolf reached out a paw and placed it on the fish painting, drawing it closer. Canid's eyelids flickered and she caught a glimpse of a large red stinger headed towards her shoulder. A very deep, very low rumble rent the air around the wolf. Wyvern froze. Canid kept growling. He slowly withdrew his tail. Canid stopped. Wyvern looked at the carp tucked securely against Canid's chest and a smile spread slowly across his face. He shuffled out of the room to make friends with a fishing gnome. Canid opened her eyes. "Alright, I'm up." She placed a pillow under Lil Morgy's head and set about making a new sign for the table. "NOW TAKING REQUESTS." A moment latter, Appy bounced in on her Canid rubbed her paws together and mixed some pink paint.

The Illusionist PG-13 :Fuzzy: What's real and what isn't? You can have a lot of fun analyzing this movie, not only with arguments for and against what is really real, but with respect to the very interesting moral element that arises when you look at what crimes were really committed. If you were on a jury, how would you rule? Edward Norton, as always personifies his character, and pitted against the other leads of Paul Giamatti & Rufus Sewell who do credit to their roles in different ways, the range of characters and methods is as varied as in real life. And the facts as uncertain. Actors performed their own slight of hand, all the tricks were based on ones really done in that era and most were done - at least partly - how they originally would have been. Unfortunately this halfway effort at authenticity is one of the sticking points for me. If you are going to really do it, then really do it properly, and stay away from the CG. Most movies based on literature are cut down. The Illusionist, as I understand it, was built up. The original was a short stories, and thus the filmmakers were able to embellish the tale rather than cut it. I would not call the pacing perfect. But I was certainly able to watch it twice through (initial viewing immediately followed by the commentary - worth watching by the way) without getting bored. Prepare to be taken in.

Kinky Boots PG-13 :Fuzzy::Fuzzy: The critics accused it of being a tame and formulaic chip off the Full Monty block, but I think they missed the subtleties that made this such a well constructed story. The tale is based on the true story of an old fashioned shoe company going under in the wave a cheap imports. To save it, the owner decides to move into a niche market. His choice: Transvestite boots. The film is excellently cast with Chjwetel Ejiofor playing the arresting "Lola" (aka Simon) with not only respect but beauty and heart. Well paced and with a perfect mix of humour and thought, as well as music (always a plus for me) this movie is definitely going down as one of my favourites. Though I do not believe the one is in any was connected to the other, Kinky Boots reminded me strongly of an older Anthony Hopkins movie called The Efficiency Expert in terms of theme. Whether or not you like Kinky Boots, I also recommend watching it as an interesting comparison and a good movie in its own right. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - The Purple Fuzzy Rating Scale = No redeeming features. 1 = Had potential. Ruined it. 2 = Average entertainment level. Mediocre. 3 = Worth renting. Solid movie. 4 = Faultless. An excellent watch. 5 = An all time great.

I don't usually date files on my computer, and unfortunately the old Archmage UBB is long dead, so I cannot tell you exactly when this was written. It was probably written around 2000 give or take a couple years. I seem to recall this was inspired by something Gyrfalcon had written. Dawn of a New Mage The sun loomed dimly over the horizon, morning’s mist dulling it out slightly, but the two shadows were still cast vaguely out on the forest soil. “If you are taking me there, why am I leading?” protested the frustrated goblin. “Because I am taking you there.” Replied the other one, with a forced smile that still fooled his companion. The second one pushed the other onwards and went back to his former nervous expression and heavy breathing. They were about two miles off from the camp now, well into territory belonging to elves. The second one pulled his thick cloak up further and looked around, wary. The other one trotted on without concern, merely with an expression of annoyance on his face. They had a battle tomorrow and he had been keen on sleeping in quite late this morning (not that he ever did differently) but his odd little cousin had literally dragged him out into the woods, claiming to have a surprise. He stumbled over a root and swore loudly, sitting down to nurse a hurt toe. The goblin in the rear flattened himself to the ground as the other yelled. “I wish you’d be a bit more quiet Acel…” Acel stood up and scowled down on his cousin. “Quiet? Hansel, you drag me into the bloody forest before the sun is up and now you are asking favors?!” Acel stared a moment longer, then sat down and started singing. He was by no means a good singer and it was in no way a quiet song. “Please Acel…?” The other protested. Acel sang still louder… “And all the pigs will die! And all the ducks will die! And let’s not forget the elves, The elves will all die! And my…” Hansel was feeling extremely panicky. If the elves had not noticed them before, they would notice now. He had no chance of making it to the fairies at this point. His plan was ruined, he couldn’t talk to Acel like he had planned, he’d have to skip to the end and find another way… He whipped out his knife and with as swift-a motion that he could muster he sent it through his cousin’s back. He released the blade from his hand and watched the other goblin keel over. He stepped back and took a huge breath. How would he tell the information now, his excuse was dead… “I…” he stammered, “the, ah..” he stuck his somewhat pudgy finger into his shirt neck and pulled, gulping furiously, “the, er, we, um…. goblins, us, they, we, …. we are attacking the south border tomorrow!” He finally yelled. Hansel pivoted on his feet, turning towards the camp and ran. In just over an hour he was back at the camp. Hansel climbed into bed; the tent fluttering roughly over his head. Acel would not be missed for long; too many goblins were killed too often for anyone to be truly mourned. ~------------------------------------------------~ “Please Sir?” Pleaded Hansel, hopping from side to side desperately, “It is an ancient suit of armor belonging to centuries of goblins by my families’ name! I don’t want to soil it!” The guard looked at the moth eaten piece of pitiful leather through squinted eyes. The crest imprinted on it was barely visible and it stunk to high heaven. The picky little creature had been begging to use the dung-hole for fifteen minutes and was getting on the guard’s nerves. “I hope an elf kills you!” He said and stepped noisily out of Hansel’s path. Hansel ran, hopping towards the ‘dung-hole’, the more polite of the many names given by the goblins to the large hole in the ground that served as a sanitation facility. He stopped hopping once he was around a corner, out of the guard’s sight and hurried instead to his tent. What am I doing? He thought hopelessly to himself. Hansel had always been considerably smarter than anyone he knew, but he had never been all that different. He had watched his companions stick pieces of hot metal into an elf’s eyes and laughed at its screaming like the rest of them. Why had this sudden pang of compassion struck him now? Didn’t he enjoy the carnage? He was leaving because he didn’t want to be there anymore, he knew that, but he could have left without helping the elves. Hansel cursed inwardly at his brain, why did he feel shame at the memory of torturing an elf? He had never felt shame before…. Hansel slipped on the thick cloak and went towards the north exit of the camp. He moved as quietly as he could, which wasn’t very, keeping his eyes wide open as he neared the north guards. There was a convenient clutter of objects in this particular alley approaching the exit and Hansel slipped easily behind each. The clutter had actually been created by him two nights ago. He smiled at his cleverness. The smile faded as he approached the guard line. The large apple barrel he had placed there was missing. He didn’t think and plunged between the goblin guards in the line, in plain view of all of them. It wasn’t a big gap, but it was very unlikely that no one would see him. The closest goblin looked straight at him as he dived, and his stomach began to feel very light. He slipped in behind the box on the other end and started tying his cloak tighter, it wouldn’t be much of an excuse but it was better that coming out and saying he was trying to escape. No one came. The guard had stared straight at him, he had seen, but no one came. Was this some sort of sick joke? What was going on? Hansel cleared the camp completely and now walked free of goblin lands. Behind him, a young elf followed. She had been there the previous night when he had killed his cousin. She had thought it was a set up, a sacrifice of two goblins in return for giving the elves a false lead; a very clever plan considering that these were goblins; it hadn’t been. They had prepared for an attack on the south border just incase, but hadn’t moved until they saw it was real. She had been sent to follow the messenger and had done so, watching as he returned home and as he escaped. She had seen one thing in particular that made her jump, as he had passed through the guards he had disappeared. It was only for a moment, just long enough to get him through, but he had turned invisible; she was sure of it. ~------------------------------------------------~ Hansel was on international Terran land now. He had spent two nights travel to get out of goblin territory. He looked around at the plain and undistinguished trees, the soil growing small shrubs perfectly naturally. He had set foot on these grounds many times during hunts for elves or and food, but it was always really weird. The difference between the lands of the different species came as rather fascinating to Hansel, now that he was by himself. The earthy but not lush feel of this ground was strange in comparison to the wilted and dry appearance of goblin campsites, and dull in comparison to the rich colors of elven plants. Hansel had stopped walking in his newfound interest in plant life and soil and the elf, still following in behind, became very curious as to why. She decided to play a game with this oddity, who seemed to want nothing to do with his own species, she selected an apple, climbed a tree, let it drop and hid. Hansel was examining a mushroom and wondering if he could eat it when he met the apple. The apple made its presence known with a small thump and a resulting bruise on Hansel’s head and Hansel made it clear that he had met the apple via a noise far louder and more insulting that the quiet thump of the apple. The elf had not intended that her presence be known at all, but she was a young elf, in her twenties in-fact and had not made very many expeditions beyond her own land and also was subject to an easily provoked laugh. It was a short laugh, but Hansel’s head flew up at the sound of it and pointed itself at the tree. Hansel had not ever heard an elf laugh, he was far more used to silence, crying or screaming, but he could tell that it was not that of a goblin, especially since goblins didn’t climb trees. “Come down!” He decided to try, sensibly. Silence. Hansel picked up the apple with a scowl. He looked at the ground, held it up and made an unsuccessful attempt at keeping the resentment out of his voice as he said, “You dropped your apple.” The fact that he had not thrown the thing into the tree to try and get back at its owner had impressed the elf but his attempt at polite inquiry was too much for the elf girl to ignore completely, she decided that she would either burst out laughing or oblige the pitiful creature. Pulling her face into one of pleasant greeting (with much effort), she climbed slowly down from the tree, making her way down the opposite side so he could only see that someone was coming down. Hansel waited for the person to emerge into view, when she did, he let out a yelp of terror, dropped the apple and dived into some thick bushes. The elf, however only saw half of this, she saw him yelp and drop the apple, but only heard his dive; he had disappeared again. An elf? It could have killed me, why didn’t it? Hansel’s mind worked in a panic. The elf picked up her apple, rather surprised and sat down in front of the bush. She had been watching him; he had not eaten for at least two days. She sniffed at the fruit. She took a loud bite and chewed, letting the sound of its juice infiltrate the air. “Want some?” She asked casually. The bush stirred. The elf worked hard to keep the smile off her face. “There are tons of them up there, I really don’t mind if you have this one.” If it had wanted to kill me it would have done so already, Hansel reasoned and emerged, a terrified expression on his face, from the bush. The elf smiled pleasantly. “I am Entria, a scout for the Ignessil elves.” She held out the apple. Hansel stared at her, frozen in place. “How did you disappear just now?” She asks, ending her game. Hansel looks confused. “Disappear…. Entria was it?” The elf laughs. “Yes, Entria! You disappeared when you jumped into the bush just now. You didn’t know?” Hansel shakes his head slowly… The elf tosses him the apple. He catches it jumpily and sits there looking at it. “What is wrong?” Entria questions. “Just frightened.” He answers without thinking and takes a bite. ~------------------------------------------------~ “Had you decided where you were going to reside?” Entria inquires as they walk through the forest at a comfortable pace, full of apple, root and some rather tasty provisions the elf had brought with her. Hansel looks up at his tall companion. “Not really, it was something I thought I could find. I can’t really go to a town after all, no one trusts goblins. I don’t blame them, but they don’t.” “Why don’t you come see the elves? If you are with me they won’t attack you!” Hansel nods and looks again at the elegant figure of the elf. “How old do elves get?” “Six-hundred years if we are lucky. I’m only twenty-two.” She grins. “How long do goblins live while we’re on the topic?” “They don’t.” Hansel grins evilly. “They just breed fast. I’ve never seen an old one.” They walk along in silence for a minute. Entria starts up again. “How can you not realize that you were invisible?” Hansel frowns. How I got invisible in the first place is a mystery to me and.… grr. “You can manage it when you have no idea that you even could.” He says, somewhat irritably. Entria looks at the small, living contradiction, sighs, shakes her head and keeps walking. The sun starts to set. “We should set camp.” Says Hansel roughly and flops onto the ground beside a leafy bush. Within moments he is snoring. Entria stares, that must be incredibly uncomfortable… She settles on a comfortable patch at the base of a large tree, touches the ground, watching as a fair covering of moss grows as bedding. Hansel opened his eyes as she did this. New life from the power of a creature that he would have killed without a second thought before. He closed his eyes again, the newfound guilt not something he wanted to ponder on. ~------------------------------------------------~ Hansel opened his eyes. Two gorgeous eyes stared at him from a figure crouched a few feet away. As he sat up, a smile crossed the elf’s bright face. “It is mostly backtracking today if we want to get to my people.” She leapt out of the crouch and began springing southward. Hansel curiously got up and followed the cheerful figure. He began asking about the elves and their way of life. In the camps of war, nothing was taught to a goblin except how to fight and that was not taught well. “Why do you keep staring at me?” He demands after about two hours. She had been looking down at him occasionally and looking away when he saw for quite a while now and it was starting to get on his nerves. Entria looked surprised and turned a little red. “No reason.” Hansel felt very uncomfortable around one elf. He used to slaughter then with relish when he had the chance and now the guilt was becoming sickening. She was a very beautiful creature, very smart, more so than himself. His pride in his intelligence had worn off quite substantially while talking to the elf. That trick with the moss had fascinated him too… How would he stand against a whole village? She was staring again. Hansel looked up, she turned away. Hansel sighed. ~------------------------------------------------~ A loud rustle disturbed the night’s peace and brought both elf and goblin to consciousness. Entria looked toward a tree, but instead turned and stood in front of Hansel. Several trolls barged into the clearing. One looked right at Hansel. It then charged toward Entria. Entria ducked and whipped out a knife. She began a dance-like fight with the trolls. She looked over at where Hansel had been and seemed momentarily confused, but she grinned after a moment and continued to fight. They can’t see me, Hansel realized. He whipped out his knife and rushed toward the trolls, slashing furiously at them. A troll kicks Hansel off his leg and turns his attention back to the elf as the invisible goblin rolls backwards. Another troll broke into the clearing and managed to seize Entria. A moment later Hansel hears a snapping sound echo through the forest and Entria is thrown down only a couple feet away from him. He instinctively moves toward her. The trolls gasp and start running towards them. They are looking at me…. I’m not invisible…. Hansel panics and turns to flee but an elven hand is clasping his arm, it feels weird…. A moment later it drops and Hansel runs. The trolls are left behind. Hansel stops running after only a couple of minutes and drops to the ground, for some reason crying. Hansel had never cried before, not since he was a baby. Goblins died all the time and nothing seemed bad. Now he felt he had committed a crime. Entria was dead, he couldn’t have helped that but he still left her before she died. The goblin found something strange in the way he was thinking. Something odd. What was it? He thought of the camp for a moment, they would have killed some elves, not many; elves never die to them in huge numbers; goblins were too poor at fighting. He was still thinking oddly. It seemed different. Different… it was a different language. He had heard it before, not many times, but he had heard it yelled once when his army was in battle against a mage, the mage had yelled it…. Mage… he was speaking like a mage. Half the army was burned that day, he remembered…. There was “fire”. Hansel didn’t realize he had said it but the next moment, the ground in front of him was burning. Hansel jumped forward and put out the fire…. Entria had grabbed him. Hansel remembered how she had made moss grow on the ground by touching it. “She made me a mage...” Hansel gasped. ~------------------------------------------------~ The trolls ate their stew. Elf boiled with some tree bark. They were greatly enjoying it. One started yelling. The others all stared over and watched as he tried desperately to put out a fire on his foot. Within an hour they were cinders. An odd goblin walked away from the piles of ashes and walked out of the clearing.

A few hours of work found a total of six of the tiny pages filled in, and Canid in a lump under the table sleeping soundly. A little sign was now set up in the middle of a large ink puddle (fortunately a couple feet away from the drying parchments). It was soaking up the ink and rapidly becoming illegible, but for now it read: "PLEASE FEEL FREE TO MAKE YOUR OWN. LOTS MORE PARCHMENTS IN THE BAG. USE MY PAINTS. CHEERS, CANI" OOC: This post was broken up due to the posting restriction of five images per. These smilies can also be seen with unmutilated filenames, but also alas with a banner add here: Stupid Angelfire doesn't like remote linking to the images, so I have to use this ad-riddled webpage

The Cabaret room was almost empty. The fire was dead. Only a few candles remained lit as early morning readers bent attentively over their studies in the dark room. Books taken down from the top shelves, so they could be cleaned lay stacked in piles beside the chairs, and fresh spiderwebs had been spun against the plaster where it was now exposed. The bar was untended, and the stage at the end of the room was played upon by the castle mice, scampering about to consume the remains of the tomatoes and other vegetables thrown the previous evening. Canid seemed to add only to the silence as she padded her way down the great hallway and into the room. Paintbrushes and fine inks added a subtle perfume to the air as she unpacked them at one of the heavy oak tables with a thousand cup rings on it. Not really the work space for fine art, but that wasn't after all what she had come to create. She carefully pinned down about a dozen tiny parchments, as wide as postage stamps to the table and unstopped a jar of black ink. Smiling, she dipped her claw in and carefully touched the first little page with its tip. "Damn." One or two of the other readers looked up. Canid pulled out a scrap of blotting paper and tried again, this time wiping claw off on the paper first. She traced out two little circles. One of the early birds came over to stare over the wolf's shoulder. The picture was familiar. He remembered seeing it at the Pen before, but it hadn't been around for a while. The wolf mixed up a little bit of brown paint and gripped a specially designed paintbrush between her toes. She filled in the circles with tiny strokes. Little number ones just barely visible in the centres, painted in with a lighter brown. The wolf nodded with satisfaction and turned to the third parchment.

It was rather like a low budget horror flick. The man just appeared there in the middle of the forest and looked slightly dazed for a few minutes. He had the appearance of someone who'd just eaten something unappetizing and who now wanted a nice lay down in rubber ducky land. He was dressed in some manner of shimmery purple cape over a two piece stable-boy affair and wore a pair of nibbled black hide gloves. His pockets were turned out and as blood flowed back into the control room he began doing an excellent impersonation of a haddock. After about five minutes, he spoke. "I will never play with plane shifting again. Never. Not if I live to be a hundred thousand billion million years old and the survival of the dynasty depends on it, I'll never try it again." A small, bright purple bird zipped by infront of him. He hit high C, waved his arms in a confused gesture of magic, and disappeared out of the plane. ~***************************~ I froze as a shrill scream pierced the air and then stopped short. Grit sprayed my face as the blasted rodent resumed its tunnelling and I returned to the vertical chase. my paw hit flesh and I pressed hard. Normally I would not have danced with fate in such a way, but like I said, emptiness of tum and all that. I snapped through the dirt and delivered a fatal bite to the thing before it could sever one of my toes with its own gnashers. I backed out of the dirt covered snow pit with the rabbit dangling from my jaws and came face to face with a puppy. It looked hungry. I stood up straight and made eye contact. It wagged its tail and looked cute. We stood looking at each other for several more seconds. "Fine." I said, tum running claws all the way up my oesophagus in retribution for the word, and I dropped the rabbit. The puppy pranced up to to the animal - plump with early winter fat and gave it an amateur nasal once-over before digging in with enthusiasm. I sat down and watched my first meal in a week as it slid in tiny puppy bites down the throat of this stray. He was very young actually - should still be staying close to the den. "Who are you?" I put forth the question and it looked up from my feast. "Cuan.... and I thought I was following Josephine, who are you?" I winced. Josephine was from Yuld's pack, and they were extremely touchy about interpack communication. I normally gave myself a bit of magical camouflage when passing through their territory, but it seemed to attract the sparks, so I had been unshielded today. They wouldn't like me feeding their puppy though. Ingrates. "Canid." The fuzzball stopped eating again, and looked up at me, eyes the size of cat-heads. "Canid! The wolf-mage? The one who lives under the Pen?" Cuan started bouncing. "Can I follow you for the day? Please, please, please, please, please????" He tumbled over and landed in the rabbit. OOC: it is so hard to remember to stay in first person!

Canid pokes her nose in the door. A word on censorship, if I may... Some censorship is necessary on the Pen. What is really in question every time this topic comes up is the degree to which that needs to take place. The moderators keep our boards free of profanity, rude, distasteful and derogative posts, and spam. It is to that censorship that we owe our clean and friendly boards, as well as the very trusting and open community The Pen has always fostered. That moderation, carefully applied allows us to discuss sensitive issues and personal opinions that many of us Pennites are not comfortable sharing anywhere else on the web. We trust the moderators to remove posts that start offering belittling opinions on other people's opinions.... Someone may dwell on the Pen for years adding to our library and fulfilling the goals of our Standard without ever writing an application. One of the nice things about the Pen is that "guests" are just as free to express themselves as regular members. They can jump right into our community without fear of rejection. For members who are uncomfortable sharing something with the general public, there is a forum in The Courtyard for them to post in, but this is for the privacy of the member, rather than the benefit of the public. Discussion, and even debate, is a form of literature. A high form. It can be eloquent, educational and thought provoking. Unfortunately, it can also get nasty. Even when it doesn't, it often makes people uncomfortable and upset. Allowing it is basically a trade off. Moderation (read censorship) is fully capable of preventing these threads from degenerating into a flame war, but not from making people uncomfortable with the opinions expressed. Changing the author's direction for a thread is just as much censorship as changing the content, it decreases the likelihood of an inflammatory debate, but the topic is what is in question, so should we censor it at all? Taking the view that discussion and debate are indeed forms of literature, it is this Pennite's opinion that if it would be accepted it as a poem, or a theme in a story, we should accept it as a discussion as well. We must be respectful here, as anywhere else in life of other people's opinions and belief's, as strongly as we may disagree with them. I, as always, leave it to the moderator's to make sure any topic, poem or debate, stays in that spirit.

It was with some trepidation that I stuck my head out into the ruthlessly fresh air. The safety of den begged me not to leave it, but stomach and boredom always prevail over good sense on such occasions, and I ambled sunward with barely a glance aft. Snow is not a wolf’s enemy. That is not to say that we like it drifting into our nostrils, but we can generally bear with good spirits a healthy frosting of the stuff. This morning I gained the qualifying features of a wedding cake between home and woods. There were several things concerning me as I ploughed forth. First was the emptiness of tum. Second was the cause of emptiness of tum: little glittering sparks of magic that had been drifting through the air like lost raindrops for the past week and scaring all the fuzzy creatures back into their hidey-holes. Unexplained magic sparks are something every life-loving creature knows instinctively to beware of. Apart from the fact that in other worlds they have been know to precede the ends there-of, they also are liable to occasionally remove a finger, or replace a mole with someone else’s mole, should the mole-bearer happen to be in the way of said spark. Such were my worries as the snow surpassed elbow height around me and I made for a rabbit hole that sounded occupied.