September 5, 2019
Twilight Isle
Normally, the goblins of Twilight Isle would have held a meeting as important as this one in their town hall building, tucked away deep in the pocket dimension’s forests. Unfortunately, the recent
earthquake on the Isle had rendered that space unsafe for occupancy, so the realm’s helpers were forced to gather closer to the portal and dueling zone. They sat down in a neat circle, while scavenged Badsider crates from the nearby bar served as a makeshift dais for anyone who wished to speak to the gathering. The evening’s conversation centered, as one might expect, around relief efforts: Colki’s house still needed roof repairs, the steeple at the church needed reforged and placed on top of the building again, and the satellite dish was still getting spotty reception despite the permanently nice weather on the Isle. It was also an opportunity to give thanks to those that had helped with the reconstruction so far. Max and Claire and Royal, the Magic dueling sports’ coordinators; the various Keepers of the Isle’s Towers; and the duelists who had chipped in by dueling or otherwise volunteered to help. Eventually, the discussion seemed to be winding down.
And that is when Guilkoit stepped up to the podium. A rather fashionable fellow in a brown tweed jacket and trousers, monocle, and pipe, he made a show of polishing his eyepiece with a handkerchief rather deliberately in order to settle the crowd’s surprised rumblings. When they died down to a murmur, he began.
“My fellow goblins, we are all in agreement that many of the Isle’s fine visitors and supporters have lent us much succor in recent days. No one denies this, and do not let what I am about to say diminish their efforts. However, I cannot help but notice a name has been left off this list. A man who has always been kind to the goblins. A man who has never said a cross word to us. A man who has always tipped us well when we served him food and drinks here. Who has always donated generously to the Goblin Solstice Party, though we have yet to convince him to dress as Krampus.” Guilkoit paused, to let the audience guffaw at his joke. “Who is this man, you might ask?”
“Who?” a smart-aleck called out from deep within the gathering. Guilkoit didn’t miss a beat.
“I’m glad you asked! None other than our current Archmage, Bailey Raptis!” A cheer of approval rose from the throats of the goblins, and Guilkoit basked in it as if it was directed to him. “Those behaviors alone would be reason enough for goblinkind to praise him, but Bailey has gone above and beyond the call of duty. He has sent his statues, led by Proxinho, down from the Celestial Tower to lend their strength to our rebuilding process. And even though he works multiple jobs -- and frequently returns to the Isle at night worn out to the bone -- he has often lent a hand himself where needed. And yet! And yet, I have heard not
one mention of his name upon the lips of any of us.” Guilkoit stopped, to shake a finger at each of the goblins. “Shame on us! Shame. We owe this man a great debt, and we have repaid it with silence. Nothing. Well, no longer! I have an idea for what we can do for our Archmage. Would you like to hear it?”
A chorus of “yes’s” sang out, almost loud enough to be heard on Ragnarok Island. Guilkoit smiled beatifically upon the throng, and continued. “Someday, Bailey will no longer be Archmage.” A chorus of groans greeted Guilkoit, forcing him to lower his hands to calm them down. “No one can hold the Tower forever -- the histories have shown that. And he may never rise to those lofty heights again. But! We know he is a good man, a kind man, a generous man. Such a man’s efforts should spread beyond this Isle, into the realm of RhyDin itself.” Guilkoit watched out of the corner of his eye as a couple of his companions shuffled to opposite sides of the circle, clipboards in hand, and nodded. “Let us nominate Bailey Raptis to be the next Governor of RhyDin, and spread his generosity throughout the land. Are you with me?”
“Yes!”
“I said, ARE YOU WITH ME?”
“YES!”
“Then sign these petitions to have Bailey included on the ballot, so that they all may learn the truth the goblins know: Bailey is the best!” Guilkoit lifted a hand into the air, eliciting another cheer from the gathered goblins, and then waved them to either side, where his friends with clipboards stood patiently waiting to take signatures. The circle split rather haphazardly, but eventually formed a pair of somewhat neat lines to take down the names of those goblins who supported the Archmage’s candidacy. By the end of the night, all who had gathered had signed the rolls.
***
September 6, 2019
Offices of Marshwallow & Bowles
New Haven
A rather bedraggled duo of goblins lugged several piles of paper over to the Offices of Marshwallow & Bowles in the morning hours. Rather unceremoniously, they dropped the stack of signatures on the receptionist’s desk, with a surprisingly chipper, “Bailey’s running for Governor!”, before dragging themselves back out the door and onto the streets of RhyDin.
Throughout the day, a series of posters with Bailey’s face went up across the city, on any telephone pole, corkboard, and, well, pretty much any empty wall the goblins could find. They seemed to be going for quantity over quality in how and where they were hung -- many were pasted up at crooked angles, and at least one or two were entirely upside down.
((Thanks to Eden’s player for creating the poster for this!))
