Finnius

I come on strings now? Well, maybe in some cases.

Ack! I knew that 5 for 1 thing sounded familiar... *le sob* Congrats 'Shela and 'Laeha! Enjoy yer well-deserved geld, and don't spend it all in one place. Or do. Whichever strikes you, really.

Wheeeeeeeee! Congrats!

Filk hung tightly to Gandalf's cloak, forgetting for the moment how far away he was from the ground in the pure joyous speed of Shadowfax. Unfortunately, while Shadowfax may have been joyous, Filk most definitely was not. He was pondering, as the ground sped by in a green blur, just how this had gone so horribly wrong. Stoomp had died, and Jin, and then Yeager had gone missing in Lothlorien... and now Irvin was dead too, beyond even Gandalf's help. And Filk was the last of the small folk, and he felt very small indeed, and afraid. It crossed his mind that, despite their capture by the Uruk-hai, neither himself nor Irvin had been too badly injured until after they rejoined the Company. The big folks. The hobbit stole a glance back, looking at what remained of the Company. The elves had been a bit distant, yes, but aside from the one who'd been mean to poor Stoomp, they didn't seem very aggressive. Sure, they'd fought when the wargs and the orcs had been upon the party, but neither seemed to be bloodthirsty. Both were good with animals, at that, and in Filk's book, anyone who liked animals couldn't be all bad. And, Filk thought, that counted the Rohirrim as well. Which left only Garnorn... ~PETA Votes for Panther/Garnorn ( )~

Filk bounced against an Uruk-hai's shoulder, getting the wind knocked out of him at every possible chance. The foul-smelling brutes talked among themselves as they marched, stomping down grass and beating at branches as they passed by instead of just ducking under like any hobbit would. Beside him, he saw Irvin being likewise tussled, and offered him a small, if somewhat hopeless smile. The Company would come after them... they were friends, after all. Except, Filk thought, maybe some of them weren't. A rocky outcropping signalled a drop, as the Uruk-hai carrying Filk hopped down, letting the hobbit jerk up and then down harshly as the horrid creature landed. Filk gasped and retched dryly on the Uruk-hai's shoulder. He tried to shift, but the two hobbits had had their hands tied behind their backs, and then a rope had been run from their feet around their necks, making it very hard to breath if they moved very much at all. And so Filk resigned himself to a long, hard march, until at last they stopped to make camp. The Uruk-hai threw Filk and Irvin roughly to the ground, and then went about skinning rabbits they had caught during the day. Filk turned away when they began to eat the poor things raw. He slept fitfully for nearly an hour, and then he found himself being hoisted like a side of beef back onto the shoulder of one of the Uruk-hai. The brute banged Filk's head on a twisted piece of metal that likely served as a shield on the way up, and shortly after, the hobbit's vision went dark with equal parts fatigue, pain, and worry. His last thought before passing out was a desperate hope that help would come soon.

And then all the Dwarves were gone. Filk wandered the paths of Lothlorien, letting the beauty of the forest ease some of the loss and loneliness in his heart. He thought about finding his fellow hobbits, maybe sit down to a nice four-square meal while they had the chance, and then put it off for later. Right now, he needed to think. He'd wanted to think the best of the Company, and had tried not to have suspicions. But Jin... Filk had stayed near the dwarf for a long leg of the trip, and had huddled near him often in Moria, both because he always had a lantern, and because Jin's balance had been nearly as good as a hobbit's. He wouldn't have just slipped in a river, even one as deep (to a hobbit, anyway) as the Nimrodel. But who could have done it? Filk wasn't well-versed enough in the Wide World to be more suspicious of an elf than a ranger, or to know the difference between a Man of Gondor and a Rohirrim, but he was hobbit enough to be slightly distrustful of the big folk. The elves, for the most part, had been courtious enough, if a bit distant... but could that distance be a sign that they were secretly plotting against the rest of the party? The men were... well, men. Stalwart, ready to fight, and a little bit rough around the edges. Maybe more viscerally inclined towards violence than the elves, but then the recent deaths hadn't been violent as such. They'd been subtle. Filk shivered despite the warm, and finally contemplated what had been tickling in the back of his mind since Moria. Who knew more about subtlety than a hobbit? Even a child could hide so well one of the big folks would never find them at the drop of a hat. And one hobbit in particular had made a point of stressing those skills... Filk shook his head again. He just didn't know. Couldn't, really. But he had his doubts, and he was learning to trust the instinct that told him to be careful of everyone, even his own. Horrid thoughts, anyway... and this really wasn't a place where you could be sad for long. Putting a smile back on his face, Filk went off to seek out Irvin, and maybe share a meal with him. Or two. ~~Doubtful Vote for Vahktang/Yeager~~

*nodnod* Actually, I was thinking that too until I looked back over it. (And really, I'm serious, sometimes I have no idea where this stuff comes from.) But then I realized face doesn't actually refer to a person's face, but to FACE, the memory tool taught to a lot of beginning musicians. (And also that a lot of the time, learning that kind of stuff leaves you less interested, or at least did for me. I'd rather think of it as notes than as a face.) Anyway, F,A,C,E are the open spaces on a musical staff. It's a coincident that it can be read that way, and I like to think a nice double image. The loss of beat was just a happy accident. Hope that helps with the clearing-upping, anyway.

I am covered in sound - In audible distractions, In musical frustrations, In fractious speech, In sorrowful silence. And this noise is layered - Has wonderful depth, Has blissful tonality, Has perfect pitch, Has no meaning. It is just an echo - A repeated disonance, A harsh reminder, An evil face, A hollow refrain. And as I sink deeper - I hear my heartbeat, I see my chest rise, I know my own tempo, I feel my own truth. That the world is covered - In light facing the sun, In darkness facing the moon, With meaning in silence, But always with sound. The world is covered in sound, But there is only one sound. The world has no greater meaning, Than the song you play it, Than the sound you give it. ~~~ Yeah, I have no idea where that came from. Edit: Also, I somehow managed to misspell my subtitle. Eesh.

Filk drudged along beside Jin, his head hung down nearly to his chest. The dwarf had a light, at least, and he was good company when he said anything, which wasn't much. That fit the hobbit's mood in this place though. The outside had been at least open and there was a wind that could help carry your thoughts somewhere else... Moria was dead and still. More a grave now than when the Company had entered, it seemed... Filk had thought bad things about Jagk, especially in the wake of Stoomp's demise, but hadn't she been killed scouting out their enemies? The hobbit shook his head and stared at the floor as they walked. Filk's feet were covered in dust, he noticed. He'd have to clean them at some point, but it would be after they were out of Moria. He looked up as Linador caught Jin's arm, really noticing the bridge for the first time. It filled him with a sense of foreboding. Filk had never really been afraid of heights, but that was because usually you could see the depths... this chasm had no bottom, or so it seemed. The hobbit huddled closer to Jin, staying in the circle of light. He gave a brief look around the Company, wondering if any of them were really out to get him, or if it was all a trick of the Ring, which waited somewhere in their midst, corrupting by its very prescence. If Filk had it, he could just throw it down a hole, or in a river, somewhere nobody would ever look for - The hobbit shook his head, breaking out of his dream and looking around again. No, no more suspicions, he wouldn't think bad thoughts about anyone else. At least not without a gol-durn good reason. ~~No Vote for this Hobbit!~~

Filk tossed in a restless sleep, vaguely remembering that it had been darker before he closed his eyes than after. He rolled over, bumping into cold, hard stone and nearly waking. Filk hadn't had occasion to try and sleep on cold stone before, and in the part of his mind that was more awake than asleep, he hoped never to have to again. Flitting dreams cascaded across his dreaming vision. Home in the Shire, a dry, cozy hobbit hole waited for him, he was sure, and he could almost see it, could almost taste hot tea and fresh biscuits. Rivendell passed before his eyes, a woodcarver who'd been lost in an avalanche and a dwarf who'd called him Kormoose walking and talking happily. Still alive, not sucked into a lake by... something. Even the trip so far, up until Caradhras, had been pleasant enough, in a bleak sort of way. And now two of their party were gone, one surely dead, the other most likely so. Filk shivered, dimly aware that someone was shaking him, but not wanting to wake up. There was something tickling at the back of his mind, a feeling that Stoomp hadn't just gotten caught by whatever was in that water, but that he had turned back at the last moment. Lured in, like a fish on a hook. But who could have done something like that? Stoomp was a bit of a clutz, yes, but he'd been a very nice Dwarf, even if he had broken all those dishes and spilled food all over- Filk sat up in a rush of nerves to see Magwyn putting a finger to her mouth. Or at least he thought it was Magwyn, the light down here wasn't very good. She leaned in close and whispered in the hobbit's ear. "Get yourself hidden, halfling... there might be trouble soon. Go on now." And then she was off, shaking others awake and whispering to them. Filk rubbed his eyes blearily, remembering what he'd been dreaming, and it filled him with a sense of dread. Stoomp had caused trouble for one of the Company, and now he was gone... ~~Dreadful Vote for Jagkatha~~ Edit for spelling. Ach.

Filk was spared a grisly demise by Warg-bite by Turin's timely intervention, and regretted having thought ill of the big folk. After all, hadn't Garnorn had the absolutely wonderful idea to stop climbing that frozen slope? And now here was another of the Men saving his life from a- Filk was snapped from his thoughts by a low growling at his side, and dove behind a tree just as the Warg snapped its jaws shut around the air where the hobbit used to be. It pressed forwards menacingly, lunging into the tree and tearing off great lumps of bark. Filk circled carefully, keeping the tree between him and the Warg's teeth, and was about to make a break for it when a second wolf crashed towards him. The hobbit scampered up the tree quite faster than he'd imagined he could, and stuck his tongue out at the two Wargs at the base of the tree, scrambling to try and climb with their stubby claws. Then Filk realised he was stuck, and began screaming for help.

The hobbit took a very small taste of Jin's wine, grimacing but instantly feeling warmed down to the tips of his toes, which he rather hadn't been able to feel for a while. He bobbed a thanks to the dwarf and offered to help haul some of Jin's load. After a few minutes, they both agreed that it would be best to let the dwarf handle it himself. Filk walked alongside the dwarf for a few moments, idly chattering in his hobbitish way, and then drifted back along the line. Turin took a piece of candy and offered help, and the hobbit grinned nervously and nodded with a happy smile. The dwarves weren't so bad, and the elves were generally all right, if a bit... snooty at times, but the big people gave Filk a small touch of the cobwebs. For that matter, the walking tree, which Filk had mistaken for a nonwalking tree, wasn't exactly the most ordinary thing about this party. Drifting further back along the line, Filk came on Yeager, one of his fellow hobbits and apparently some sort of scout. Filk hadn't known the Shire even had those, though he'd learned a lot during his time away from home. Could another hobbit have done it? No... hobbits could be uppity and cranky and occasionally even snarky, but murderous? It had to have been one of the big people. Filk looked up at his companions, bravely travelling knee, waist, or in some cases, shoulder-deep in the snow, hauling the things they would need on what was already turning out to be a longer and more arduous journey than the hobbit had thought when he'd agreed to it. Who knew the world was so... big? He shook his head, clearing the suspicious thoughts out in a heady rush of chill air and dwarven wine. No, it couldn't have been any of them. He'd rather believe that they were being trailed by an invisible, silent, mule-hating orc than any of the Fellowship turning on their own. But if it was one of them... that ranger did seem a bit distant, almost like he wasn't a part of the Fellowship at all... Hesitant Vote for Panther/Garnorn.

Filk was in an uncharacteristically dark mood as they scaled the pass... for one thing, when they had left Rivendell, he hadn't been exactly sure of where they were going, or why. Having... ah... nodded off during the Council of Elrond, he'd quite missed some important information. Now that he knew, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be here. Still, there were his fellow hobbits to think about, and Stoomp, and, until recently, the poor pack mule. He may not have been made of fluff with a core of iron, but Filk was definitely marshmallow with a core of rock hard caramel. Speaking of which... The hobbit snuck a few candies out of his pocket, making sure the other members of the Fellowship weren't looking (after all, he was generous, but not that generous), popped one in his mouth, and then sidled up beside each of them in turn, offering a bit of sweet to ease the long, tedious climb. As he passed each one, whether they took a piece or not, he gave them a hobbitish smile and a short (haha) pat on the back. Their returning gazes, friendly or otherwise, filled the hobbit with an unplaceable sense of dread. It would be bad, he knew, if one of the new members of their party had fallen to the lure of the Ring, but he was more worried that it had effected those he already knew, and had grown close to. With a shiver, Filk pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and let himself fall back towards the middle of the line.

Filk took a moment to catch his breath, watching the dwarves disappear into the distance, and then turned to head back down the road, only to come face to face with a banana covered Jagkatha. "Oh, ah... you have a spot of something there, didja know?" The hobbit motioned to his nose, grinned widely, took a few steps backwards, and then ran after the dwarves at hobbitish speed. "Wait up Stoomp, I'll help you pack!"

Filk spent the next day packing, unpacking, repacking, unpacking again, checking his packs, and then repacking everything into much smaller bags because he'd overestimated how much he could carry to begin with. After many tedious hours of checking straps and securing belongings, what Filk ended up with was this; a waterbag, a shovel, twenty feet of rope, a bag of potatoes, a change of clothes, a pair of scissors, a flint and steel, and a small sack of sweets. The last was the most important, of course, and Filk made sure to stow those safely in his pocket. Who knows what kind of people these big folk are, after all, might go rooting through a poor hobbit's bag looking for something to nibble on, and then where is poor Filk when he needs a shot of something sweet? Disappointed, that's where. After making sure his possessions were all in order, the hobbit left his room, his home for the last few months in Rivendell, and made his way around the village, saying goodbye to the elves and others he'd come to know and love.

It had been such a nice tree, too, until it had started moving. Filk scrambled his way down the branches, through hair-like twigs and past an ear-shaped knothole, and just like that the tiny, furry-footed Shire-native was dislodged from Rootmaker's head. After a short, bumping tumble, Filk at last found the floor, to the disagreement of his backside. The hobbit stood with a groan, rubbing the afore-mentioned backside, and took in the sight he'd gotten himself stuck in. After a few moments, he considered climbing back into whatever strange moving tree he'd fallen out of. Of course, that would be the hobbitish thing to do, and Filk was trying his hand at being un-hobbitish. And so it was, with a plastered grin and a shaking heart, that Filkiormous Magnanimous Berrison inserted himself into a picture of Dwarf-Elf relations gone horridly awry, thus; "Stoomp! Stoomp, wait! Oh drattit you've made such a mess, here just give me a moment to clear these broken dishes and- oh right, Stoomp, hold on just a moment there!" And so the hobbit bobbled after the errant dwarf, occasionally stopping to pick up a piece of detritus and put it in the growing pile of such.

Jimmy, for his part, is less concerned with what the orc smells like, or whether it might be hostile, as the fact that Betty seems to recognize him. He turns in her general direction, shuffles in his sack-o-mystery for a moment, and emerges with a rolled paper advertising bargain-basement discounts on bulk cookware (only available in Q'x, for a limited time only!) "I take it you know (and are related to) this, er... orc? Well, as next of kin to the only non-dead occupant, I can safely leave these in your keeping... ah, Gurgle, was it? Seems a bit busy at the moment. If you could sign here, here, and initial here?" Jimmy extends a pad, Standard Issue Friendly Helpful Smile firmly in place.

Jimmy, who had previously been ticking off lists off deliveries for the day while waiting in line to hand a stack of coupons to whomever might answer to "occupant" at DaVinci's Artistic Bakery, looks up at the racket and nods in Shanai's general direction. "Here here, young, er..." He pauses, noting the pointy ears and cleaning attire. "Janitor... person..." A quick shake of the head gets the delivery-boy back on track. "S'pose he's the occupant now, anyway..." And with that, Jimmy starts forward, Standard Issue Grin and stack of coupons in hand.

Filk the Hobbit, Filkiormous Magnanimous Berrison, Highly Usual Hobbit. Very very short, big hairy feet, would prefer six meals a day, but can make do with four. Filk is one of a very few young (45ish, just off his mam's leading strings) hobbits who heard all about Bilbo's famous journey to the east and encounter with a Horrible Dragon, and instead of giving a proper shudder, said "Oh really?" He immediately packed up his belongings and set off to retrace the famous adventure, although he rather intended to leave the many near-death experiences out of it. Mostly, he just wanted to see the mountain, as there are precious few of those in his cosy Shire. By the time Filk got to Rivendell, he had realised that perhaps he'd made somewhat of a mistake - things are much farther away than they at first seemed, and walking for hours on end is a very un-hobbitish thing to do. Still, the mountains are nice, the elves tell the most hilarious jokes, and so far nobody's been too stingy with the six squares a day. Still, despite the hardship of travel, Filk hasn't *quite* got the adventure bug out of his system. *** So I said I'd update my first post.

Count number 1 corrected, and correct on count number two... s'just that our man Jimmy only *generally* uses it for that purpose, but if the situation arises, ya, he could probably whip something else up.

I am so there. Expect this post to be character updated Tuesday or so. Maybe something Rangery... or possibly Hobbity. Whichever.

Because I should have been doing something constructive, obviously I instead did this... Jimmy, Disciple of Phonnus and Paper Delivery Boy Strength (Mediocre) -1 Dexterity (Good) +1 Constitution (Mediocre) -1 Intelligence (Great) +2 Wisdom (Good) +1 Charisma (Good) +1 Born to two unimaginative working lower class parents, a toddler-like Jimmy was sold to wandering blind monks, because, as Jimmy's father (Gus) put it, "When blind monks ask to buy yer son for a large bag of gold, and you look over and there's yer son, chewing on a dirt clod, you can't really say that's a bad deal." Jimmy argued with the monks often, played loud music at all hours of the night, and moved out shortly after graduating monk school. He has not been back since, and the blind monks often wonder if they bought the wrong child. Gus has refused all requests for a refund. Jimmy, who to his knowledge is the only open acolyte of Phonnus, the God of People Calling You Jimmy, leads a somewhat bewildering life. His day job is to deliver sales papers... to other dimensions. Why someone in another dimension would go to the trouble of finding and paying for dimensional travel just to save a few quid on laundry detergent is entirely beyond Jimmy, and who would send such papers to interdimensional residents is similarly obscure. Nonetheless, it's a steady, if a bit shady, job and Jimmy does have an uncanny knack at popping himself in and out of other dimensions. The only real problem he has with the job is that many of the... er... customers he is charged with delivering sales papers to don't actually want them, and will go to great lengths to get Jimmy off their property. Sometimes yelling is involved, sometimes napalm. It is good then, that Jimmy is quite adept at not getting shot, stabbed, eaten, beaten, crushed, castrated, or decapitated. After all, every day brings paper deliveries to new and excting places... and sometimes airports! Skills - (5)Beseaching Phonnus to Grant Divine Aid to His Poor Disciple, Before I get Eaten or Otherwise Dead (Superb) +3 (5)Leaping Out of the Way of Danger (Superb) +3 (4)Being Charming in Hostile Situations (Great) +2 (1)Being Charming in Non-Hostile Situations (Mediocre) -1 (3)Talking People Into Giving Jimmy Money They Legitimately Owe Him (Good) +1 (4)Foraging for Food (Great) +2 (3)Thrown Weapons - Sales Papers (Good) +1 (5)Tracking... Down 'Customers' (Superb) +3 (2)Knowledge: Orders of Blind Monks (Fair) (3)Knowledge: Deities Who Have At Some Point Been Called Jimmy (Good) +1 (4)Knowledge: Paperwork (Great) +2 Magic- (5)Conjuration, especially of the Interdimensional Sort (Superb) +3 Equipment: 1)Company Uniform consisting of Snazzy Button-Down red shirt, Standard Issue black slacks, and comfortable running shoes (very important in Jimmy's line of work) 2)Photo IDs with the phrase "Hi, I'm Jimmy!" in Large Red Lettering (in case one gets lost) 1)Standard Issue Shoulder-sack full of rolled up sales papers (anywhere between 10 and 20) 1)Photograph of Jimmy posing Dramatically with his arm around a rather Embarrased Looking Individual whom Jimmy claims is Phonnus, but is more likely Willy Nelson A few random coins, just in case someone wants change An embarrasingly slim wallet Secret Monk Decoder Ring

#1 for the win.

Wow, what a turnout... I've been watching these as they came out, and I gotta say, it' been quite the good fortune to be judging this contest. While it would be impossible to comment on everything I liked about all of these, I will take a few moments to comment on a few of the ones I liked best. Just so you know, my criteria runs along similar lines as Tanny's; structure is important (because without it you've just got a weird, free form poem ), and in my understanding, the very soul of a haiku is to take one simple, seemingly mundane idea or image and show the deeper beauty behind it. I'm not very good at that myself, but we had no end of contestants who were *very* good at it. In no particular order - This one was an early favorite, and likely would have been my pick *but* it was one syllable short in the second line. I still wanted to note it, though, as aside from the slightly broken structure, it is exactly what a good haiku should be - evocative. Sometimes the silly, dorky, computer graphic-themed haikus are the ones that surprise you. If only it had been eligible... Another one that just barely slipped under the mark, the problem for me wasn't the beginning (I liked the fact that waves can be read two ways ), but with the end... after such a lovely set up, it drops off into trying to send too many images. If you'd focused on the one image, (the sea of wheat or waving wheat, whichever), or even stuck to two, it would have been much more powerful. As is, it's a good, solid entry, but without the simplicity necessary to convey a strong image in such a short space. Still, really really good. *** Ok, when I finally narrowed it down I had two haikus that stood side by side, and not until late last night could I pick one over the other. The runner up - I really liked this one, and it exemplifies everything a good haiku should be. The image of a quiet forest stream in the middle of a cloudless summer night is clear and appears with no problem at all. No action is needed to keep the mind on this image, the stream itself is the focus even though it appears in the larger context of a forest, and one could even argue, of the entire night sky. Peaceful and elegant, I really can't say anything is lacking in this haiku, and it was very difficult to seperate it from what eventually became my top pick. Sometimes life gives you little gems, and this is one of them. Where Nim's haiku was subtle and worked itself into your mind, this one gives you a sense of granduer right from the first line. The image of the sky on fire, leaves that whisper from on high as if they're talking among themselves, and birds that choral the morning in is one that not only stays in your mind, but takes something that happens every single day (sunrise) and briefly transforms it into something entirely different, almost a religious experience. And that is where I finally had to seperate them - it's nothing against Nim's haiku (if only I had two slots!), but the brief flash of something larger behind common occurence in Regel's puts it just that tiny bit ahead. Good job to everyone who entered, and thank you all for sharing.

Now, Ned, never neglect nefarious neighbors nastily nosing new napkins. (Get them an old one instead.)