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A Very Different Goblin:
I was born into a dishonorable society, with little or no respect for the dead. Even with my great grandmother, for who I am named, being the first a line of goblin witches, and her daughters, my great aunts and then my mother, who sought to hold her mother’s line of power, the treatment of the dead remained ignoble. Although as a goblin whelp, I most likely only had concepts for such things, even though I was being educated with the intent keep the tribe under control. There was only one problem, I was more afraid of them than anything. I dreamed one night of an elven figure, with a grey shield and white bird upon it carried boldly in one arm. He led me through the dens into a forest, the path he showed me was clear and the rest was blurred or hazy. At barely four I ran as far as my feet would carry me. I ran hurriedly then, not paying as much attention as I might today. Somehow in my panic I managed to recognize the twists and turns from my dream and once I made it into the forest I did not stop. I would run right into the legs of an elven woman.

I was already afraid, but goblin children are told awful, untruthful things about the elves, to frighten us, and control us, and most of all, to inspire hatred. I knew barely any of the common tongue then but it seemed the stranger was aware that I was going to be there, cooing at me in goblin, ‘you are safe, little one’. She knelt, showing me that she was blind. Even so she swept me up and took me somewhere safe away from the tribe. I would spend most of my young life in her company, learning the common speech, as well as her own language. She understood what I was but still sought to educate me, well beyond the intentions of my power hungry family. When I could speak her language, she asked I stop calling her Lady, and gave me her name, Naivara Ilphelkir, Priestess of Naralis Analor, the elven god of death and healing.

It was through this deity’s teachings that Naivara taught me not only to not fear death, but that life itself was deeply important, and that tending to the living was just as important. She showed me, practically walked me through the rites of passage of elven burial, and told of places hollowed by Naralis himself, guarding the door to the elven spirit world, and that should I ever cross such a place to treat it with the honor and respect she had given me. Naivara would discover I have a near insatiable thirst for knowledge, and learning. She managed to teach me a language she said could one day be of use to me, Sylvan, the language of the fey, even taking time to teach me to cast in it.

By this time I had spent ten years in her company, and though she had spoken of this a few times, Naivara was old, even for an elf. She had prepared me for that day, told me not to worry, that I would know what to do. While we both knew I would never be able to properly send her to the elven kingdoms she had gotten as close as she dared in my company, made clear where I was to leave her. It did not make our parting any easier. It took me a day in total to get her to that spot, laying her out clearly in view of a watch tower, making sure they did not see my skin, and leaving a parchment rolled in her cold hands. I fled to a safe distance but watched to make sure. A number of elves came out in some of the finest clothes I have ever seen, one reading the words I had worked so hard to write looked around, and placed a satchel on the ground, “The elder would be proud of her student” was all he said, nodding to the bag and then helping his fellows carry her away.

They had indeed spotted me, but I guess had not seen my face, as Naivara asked of me, inside was a set of clothes that I do my best to maintain to this day, and some supplies. She had showed me kindness that very few would have ever given a goblin. And I strive to honor her teachings in my daily life, and those of Naralis Analor. As long as I live, I will seek the knowledge to do these things, and act accordingly.
I keep my name, as a reminder of when I was just a whelp; that I will never go back to that wretched life, to the best of my ability.