DAY 1 – Wast für ein Mensch bint ich? In two separate places in the town of Sandpoint , abandoned lovers sighed. An young Osirion man who once only knew the smell of suffering and sand, inhaled the distinct smell of the woman he loved from a scarf she wore the night before. She had only been gone a few hours but his heart still ached knowing that he didn’t know when she would return – or in what state. Although, Synovia was the strongest, in terms of physical power, of the the Heroes of Sandpoint , she was also the kindest and wisest. Though she spent her entire life in Varisia, the wisdom of the desert burned in the heart of her as true as the magic that also coursed through her veins. Although she claimed to know and understand little of her Suli heritage, she commanded the elements with the same passion with which she loved Imahnee. For that and more, he felt a kind of gratitude that could only come from being loved by someone. He tied the scarf around his scabbard then began the task of armoring himself for his life as a Sandpoint guard. For her, Imahnee would protect this village with his life. He had no other ties to this town beyond Synovia’s undying love for it. If Sandpoint were a man, he couldn’t be sure he could compete with it, though he little understood what she saw in the homely, little village. Of late it had been fraught with trouble that nearly crippled its economy and decimated the surrounding farms. Still, if Synovia was to feel safe leaving it in order to save the world, he gladly pledged to lay down his life to keep it safe. However, he hoped it never came to such dire circumstances, for if he did have to defend the town actually with his life, Synovia would be quite cross with him and he had no doubt she would find him in Pharasma’s arms and demand he explain himself. She might even have a word or two with the goddess of death herself. The thought gave him a smile. Tightening the last strap on his leather armor, Imahnee grabbed his sword as he left their home. The weather was misty and make the chill in the air feel like a tangible thing. Playfully, he carved his hand through the air and froze droplets of water in a wide arc, the sound of their fall tinkling like tiny bells. With a smile, he began to march towards the Garrison. - A goblin queen who once only knew the smell of destruction and chaos, inhaled the distinct smell of the half-elf she loved from his ceremonial cloth. Grosilge did not measure things in time since, for short-lived goblins, time is not worth measuring. However, she did know that her heart missed the golden-haired Vrinn and that she did not know when he would return from wherever he had gone. Vrinn was change. He changed everything he touched. He changed her, he changed the human town, he changed clothes. He was always Vrinn in the way that Vrinn just always… was, and yet nothing stayed what it always was when he changed it. He was… He was… She wrapped her the yellow silk tighter around her. She could feel the thought in her brain, slowly oozing forward, like blood dripping on a cold day… Ah! He was an ImmerbrentFeuer – an ever burning fire. She had only just made the word and it was perfect. Fire changed everything it touched while always being fire. She nodded at this revelation and the sound of the glassworks fires seemed to pop into the front of her mind as though summoned by her thought. Chuffy was also an ImmerbrentFeuer – a more controlled Immerbrentfeuer. He changed himself, he came and changed the glassworks, and he made glass that changed. He changed things because he wanted them to change. He understood how to make changes.Then what was she, the thought came unbidden in her mind. She stared at the opposite wall, still stained with blood from the former workers of the Glassworks . She studied the pattern while part of her mind wrestled with a complex question her mind desperately wanted to be simplify. Goblin pups burst in while she thought. One had a chunk of something in its mouth the others wanted to have in their mouths. Her red eyes trailed them from under the yellow silk and followed them around the room until they left. They didn’t notice her still form and even if they had, they had more important things to think about. Moments later there was a pained yelp from somewhere nearby, hailing that someone had suffered some ill fate or had at least been caught in the jaws of another pup. She went back to staring at the wall and hugging herself in the silk. What was she? A person, came Miro’s calm but insistent voice. _Ja, ja, Ich eine Person aber… “What kind…” she finished aloud. Her stomach roiled, as if the pups in her belly were disturbed by the sudden exclamation. She needed answers and those answers needed to become the song in her heart. She cast off the silk and hopped to the cold, stone floor and winced from the chill. “STUPID!” she snapped at the cold, the pups discomfort suddenly justified by her discomfort. She grabbed the yellow silk and and cocooned herself such that she didn’t have to touch the floor. It was awkward. And as soon as she emerged in the hallway close to the burning forges she abandoned her cocoon though she kept the silk bundled around her in a kind of dress. What kind of goblin hated the cold and loved Vrinns, she wondered as she waddled into the glassworks proper and heard the toil and chaos of goblins set to work. Many sang the song she made to help them remember how to make glass. There were some variations she as definitely sure she did NOT sing but generally it seemed like they were getting along. Gromulus was eyeballing a vase Gremus was making. It looked like an upside down tentacle fish reaching desperately for the sky. She didn’t like it. What kind of goblin, no, person, didn’t like desperate, color changing, glass tentacle fish? “I don’t like fish,” she said aloud. “I don’t know why, I Just don’t.” Gremus paused, confused. He looked at Gromulus who shrugged and brandished a hammer jabbering in the language they used. Gremus threw up his hands and cursed unintelligibly. Gromulus eagerly set about destroying the vase. Grosilge continued to tour her tiny queendom. Some goblins worked, other didn’t. The pups were everywhere. Huts were constructed of various trash bits and some leftover furniture from the wreckage left when Tsuto Kaijitsu allowed the goblins to run rampant. Still the factory’s interior looked like a goblin village – a very odd goblin village. It looked like a goblin village merged with a longshank village. What kind of queen had a village like this? A loud bang followed by goblin cursing followed by a fight between two or three goblins erupted a few feet beside her. Soon, there was a double that as more goblin joined the fray, seemingly for no other reason than to come out on top. Grosilge watched for a moment, no desire to join herself before continuing to walk. What kind of person, no goblin, isn’t interested in fights? Scowling, she waddled out into the cool mist of the morning and began to walk aimlessly. For a moment she considered going back to grab Mein Axe and singing for coin at the Rusty Dragon but Loudlady Ameiko insisted she not perform lest she “harm the babies”. Fussylady Hannah agreed. Soon she’d have pups that would join the pups in the Glassworks but… What kind of people would they be? Would they like fights? The questions haunted her and she knew in that instant she was NOT the kind of person that liked to be haunted. - Sheriff Hemlock always gave Imahnee the jobs the other guards did not want to do. His adopted daughter forbade him from more direct acts of violence like, throwing hammers at the young suitor, so he adapted and tried to test the young man’s patience. Unfortunately for Sheriff Hemlock, Imahnee’s primary element was patience. No matter what he had him do, Imahnee performed the task calmly and somehow while maintaining a pleasant attitude. Most of the other soldiers found it endearing, like a quiet revolution. Imahnee’s smiles beating at the stoic wall that is Belor Hemlock. Behind closed doors, bets were being placed on how soon either Belor outright murdered the Magnimar transplant or finally caved to Imahnee’s irresistible charm. Today Belor set him on foot patrol with another guard, Torral, a young Varisian local who had about as much discipline as one of the Goblin Squad – maybe less. Their patrol was the only one to pass the now goblin-infested Glassworks. The small inhabitants MOSTLY kept to themselves but when they didn’t they caused trouble for the nearby houses and businesses. Nothing too bad but it usually resulted in lengthy and angry conversations with the abused Sandpoint citizens. Imahnee was good at calming people down – both his size and demeanor convinced most people to take a deep breath and find a more peaceful resolution to their problems. He had little to no interaction with the goblins however, save for the Goblin Squad or the two guards at Rusty Dragon. Still, Desna taught that friends came in all shapes and sizes and he should not want to it get back to his love that he was unkind to the creature she called “friends”. A small yellow tangle was waddling its way towards them. It was the size of a child but under the yellow were too small green legs and taloned feet. It stopped in front of them and Imahnee noticed large red eyes under a coil of yellow silk. “Hello, little friend. I hope you are not causing any trouble,” he greeted kindly. A muffled. “I am not,” came from the yellow tangle. “I’m being chased by a question. A bunch of questions,” it corrected. Imahnee looked down the road and didn’t see anything but the normal denizens of Sandpoint and assumed, correctly, that the goblin was speaking metaphorically. “What kind of questions, little friend?” “EXACTLY!” Torral rolled his eyes. “For the love of Golarion’s simple beasts…”, he growled. Imahnee held up his hand to silence the man. He knelt to one knee and smiled. “I am a simple man, little friend. I wish to know the nature of your questions. Why would they chase one such as you unless they enjoy your company.” A green arm snaked out from the tangle and pulled the fabric from the creature’s mouth. It inhaled the fresh air revealing a mouth missing teeth – not a few but many. “What kind of person am I? Why kind of person will my pups be? What kind of queen am I? What kind of-” “Imahnee,” Torral groaned. “Let’s tell the gob to get back in the Glassworks and keep going…” The man looked like someone had poured sand down his trousers. “We will go when we have given aid to our little friend,” Imahnee’s voice was firm and when Torral opened his mouth to protest Imahnee’s gaze also hardened. Torral clamped his mouth cold almost audibly and pretended to keep watch up and down the street. Imahnee turned back to the goblin. “Desna teaches us that life is meant to be explored for such answers. Your questions are not chasing you, you are chasing them since they will reward you with a great treasure.” The goblin narrowed its eyes contemplatively. It tilted its head and considered Imahnee. “What does it mean to not like fish?” “That you know what you like to eat!” “What does it mean to not like the cold?” “You have a warm heart,” Imahnee proclaimed with a nod. “Though you may have too thin skin.” The goblin considered this for a moment. “What does is mean to love Vrinn?” Imahnee blinked. Vrinn? The half-elf? The large man bellows a laugh. “If you love who I think you are speaking about, then you must have a large heart , patience, and a love for adventure!” He was about to stand when a thought dawned on him. “Gro…Grossilj?” The goblin smiled and pulled the silk off of her head. “Grosilge. Grow. Sill. Gah. You know my husband?” Torral looked confused. “Husband? Goblins marry?” “This one does. She is Queen Grosilge, ruler of the goblins of Sandpoint. Wife to Vrinnatholis Vandiir, Hero of Sandpoint.” Imahnee stood and bowed to Grosilge, who curtsied adeptly, surprising the large man. “She searches for herself but I see she is already a noble lady.” Gildie grinned wider and gave Imahnee a flirtatious look, a thought donning on her. “How would you like to be my knight?”