Hob v Gob (Hidden Beginning)

Welcome to Goblin's Hidden Game. In this puzzle, you have to decode the hidden meaning of the words spoken with a thick accent that makes it sound like other words were spoken instead. Click the links (...) at the end of the coded sentences to play. Scroll down to the bottom to see if you guessed right on any given puzzle set. The answers appear in the story after each play. My responses to Hob are hints at what he was trying to say. The best part is after you finish the puzzle, you can start over, and they'll still be just as difficult to solve. Difficulty ratings are provided. Even I can't figure them all out, and I'm the one who wrote them, so hopefully you'll enjoy the challenge...

Goblin's Grammar ^help

"Juan's supper knit, I'm dare! Wassup? Bee gain hand?..." he says.^L1
"Right? Beginning... go on..." I answer.
"Hand edge; jostle happy! inn satay Miss now..." he continues.^L2
"Okay? Right now?" I respond.
"Aye ham Hob! Hi yam he ear..." he states.^L3
"Oh, hey, Hob," I interrupt.
"Tube repair; hue has yore. Guy, down the sad! Van chewer?..." he continues. ^L3
"Sounds exciting, I love traveling..." I add.
"Hero, summer owl, stomach thasse..." he begins explaining. ^L4
"I see, rules, of course..." I interrupt with a clear hesitation.
"Hunk hum? Four table. Asp Oz civil...." he jokes. ^L5
I chuckle a little to indicate my stress is relieved at his failed attempt at humor.
"Foe roar. Forest hemp. Rest chin...." he finishes. ^L3
I smile and wait to see what he says next after agreeing, "they are the most important."
"Froze strollers..." he declares. ^L4
"Oh, you meant first...again..." I accidentally slip out while he ignores the interruption.
"Tear? Ride do ave, oh Ed, Danny, rule else..." he insists. ^L6
"Okay?" I say.
"Foe? Razzle on! Gas posse, Bill?..." he jokingly asserts. ^L5
"Ah that's funny," I laugh along.
"Sicken drool, sis!..." he continues. ^L2
"Another?" I ask comically.
"Reap, Peter, who'll won; has knee, ditto?..." he states quite seriously. ^L4
I chuckle again at his humorous antics.
"Ink reason: tart! Aim: hunt Val, you?..." he finishes his statement. ^L7
I smile, then nod in agreement and approval.

Samba, Crowned^{** L3}

"Walk entomb high home ball beg in hangs..." he begins.^L2
"Thanks," I respond.
"Angry things Farrah hum thou apple ah net pull you topee ah..." he says.^L4
"And greetings to you," I chime in.
"Hazzard handle red decide..." he announces quite vocally.^L9
"By who?" I wonder.
"My name is Hob, Hoblin, but some people call me Hob Hobland, never Lan Hob Hobland though; that would be weird," he says without any accent interfering in my understanding him.
"That is weird! I'm Goblin," I reply.
"High anchor hint lee a wasted dying..." he begins explaining until I interrupt.^L7
"I'm a student too," I interrupt.
"Med dictation Honda mount tinsel mice cool cyst eight..." he continues, but I interrupt yet again.^L5
"A state?" I wonder out loud.
"Aspen diva did hinder, hinted tout..." he continues.^L4
"Oh really?" I ask confusingly.
"Tough armor stewed ants off mile at my store lane..." he finishes.^L6
"I've heard of him," I acknowledge.
"Ah numb ma eye plan it..." he begins.^L1
"You mean here?" I ask pointlessly.
"Dare his ah sis them..." he continues.^L3
"Is there?" I chime in.
A flaw Samuel hard tumor shallow unearth..." he states.^L3
"Marshall, you say?" I sarcastically inject into his otherwise boring monologue.
"Own lease it is in scanning do act of leash ooh..." he continues.^L6
"They do do they?" I ask palindromically.
"Itch otters a man sister peer ink oared..." he says with his accent even heavier.^L8
"Otters?" I accidentally slip in as a jab on his accent.
"Freak rhymes they are resting with nest pull lands totes taffy..." he concludes, tempting me to ask him to repeat himself on account of how heavy his accent covered up his expression, and I think he just called me a freak.^L10
"That was a bit of a stretch," I admit openly.
"Henny bow deacon beer has Ted foreign Ethan gin diss leg alls hissed him..." Hob responds.^L7
"Though, Hob..." I try to interrupt.
"Though coin Vick shun sour less free quaint..." he finishes for me.^L2
"Sounds like a czarist state," I reply.
"Hinder is czar his shoe didn't affirm hover some hun swear all awe your kin bees hubs tattoo'd four win a pair ring, ink art..." Hob says.^L8
"I'm listening," I reply, suddenly able to hear his words much clearer.
"The laws aim to assign responsibility fairly and administer justice wisely in a state governed by martial laws," he explains.
"Is there a downside?" I ask.
"On the downside, this martial law-like effect on the legal system has made the streets and public areas more hazardous as even common law-abiding citizens engage in verbal battles that quickly escalate, sometimes out of control, and with no set policing agency or squads to control outbreaks of public destruction, it is left in the hands of each citizen on what martial arts training they will learn in order to travel safely throughout the kingdom," he answers.
"What about those without kung fu skills?" I ask.
"Those without kung fu skills are the victims of the skilled bullies that often wander the streets seeking their next victim to harass, hurt, or steal their belongings. Without martial arts, martial law would be left in the hands of the few citizens lucky enough to have saved antique weapons known as rifles. But most young citizens spend their time outside of their academic classrooms inside the martial arts classroom, sharpening their counterattacks and peaceful assaults," he explains.
"How do I learn that?" I ask.
"I am Master Hoblin to my students, the kung fu and zen master as well as your narrator into the origins of the great battle that is about to take place at the tournament on the other side of the known universe," he answers confusingly.
"What battle?" I ask, hoping to clarify.
"Well, the battle relates to a feud started when food was too sparse to spare, which became the motivating force. Even birds began to shrink in numbers as flocks flew farther from farms to forage for food and avoid foul feuds. With resources dwindling, martial law began to rear its violent side as the Utopian society quickly succumbed to its inability to evolve with the changing patterns," Hob explains.
"You said narrate though?" I recall.
"As your navigator, not narrator, but then also your guide through this fantasy-infused voyage to the tournament, I want to offer some background on the beginnings of the story of how I and Zen Chen were first introduced, even though that's a separate story when we were studying Shaolin sports after school sessions ended ...and on Sundays. For now, it'll be better to discuss how the two of us, almost enemies before graduating their academics and parting ways to learn trades, came to end up so close to each other again despite a vast kingdom separating our interests and businesses so that we would never intertwine again," he explains.
"Okay, so you're separated? So what?" I ask.
"But fate had a different direction for our paths are crossing once again," he responds.
"Ah, that explains that..." I joke.
"Zen Chen is an elderly man, heavy-set and generally in good spirits whenever he gets a chance at the privilege of quiet reflection," Hob informs me.
"I thought you were the same age?" I ask.

The Studios

"My meditation studio and my martial arts studio are divided into two separate facilities, each with their own separate entrance, both within one large building that divides the studios with solid concrete walls between the two open spaces," Hob advises me.
"So do I choose?" I ask.
"Behind one door, you'll find one path that leads in a certain direction. Behind the other door, you'll find another path, that leads in a different direction," Hob advises.
"Sooo.... yes?" I ask, followed by a nervous laugh.
"The paths will eventually interweave, intertwine, and be infused with other paths, but this where you start," Hob explains.
"Ah, interesting," I admit.
"The entrance on the left is for students who want to study in my school, Master Hoblin's academy, where students learned the ancient Shaolin secrets of the healing arts. My original studio is right on the outskirts of the Dark Market nearest the castle, so the king can keep me nearby should he need counseling on matters concerning the politics that involve my home planet, Hobland. Master Hoblin's Training Academy, the door on the left, teaches the great arts of Zen meditation and Taoist inner alchemy," Hob informs me.
"And the door with a big G on it?" I ask.
"The entrance on the right is for students who studied under the great Goblin school's styles, including the ancient Wutang secrets of counterattacks, something you might consider since you were named Goblin as well. One of the teachers, the Master Goblin, has passed on a great many lessons to students that will be shared with you if you choose the door marked G. Goblin is no joke, and studying under him takes a sheer force of will to overcome all the hardships that are endured along the way. But succeed, and you earn the right to stand among the ranks of the finest mental warriors to ever take arms in verbal battles," Hob explains.
"Do I have to pick only one?" I ask.
 "That would be wisest," Hob insists.

Choose a door

"Which door would you enter through first? The meditation studio's entrance or the martial arts studio's entrance?" Hob asks.
"I'm not sure," I ask.
"Be honest with yourself and choose the door that really interests you personally," Master Hob advises my young mind, eager to become the next great jedi mind warrior.
"My mom wants me to study meditation under Hoblin," I admit.
"Do not worry about which answer is correct or what someone else wants you to select," Hob remarks, "the important thing is that you find it interesting, so that you will learn, otherwise, without a proper education in something you will retain, you will have nothing."
"I already have nothing," I state, "that's why I think I should study how to win battles, so I can be rich like the other winners of the Goblin Cup."
"There is no reason to feel envy or jealousy for the path you are not meant to follow," Hob advises.
"But don't I have a duty to..." I begin saying until I am interrupted.
"We each have a duty to be true to ourselves and know that whichever path you have ahead of you is the path you are meant to follow." Hob tries to offer some comforting words.
"Then how do I know which path now that I feel uncertain?" I ask.
"Whichever door you first imagined yourself walking through is the choice you made with your heart," Hob explains.
"This decision will affect who I will turn out to be. But I'm not sure who I want to become? What if I turn out to hate the one I choose?" I ask, explaining my hesitation.
"It is the ability to know yourself truly that is a gift nobody can take away. Always follow your instincts and never let the words of others convince you to go against what you feel in your heart," Hob offers, "you already know your path, don't you?"
"I think I know," I state.
"Then I await your decision."
Hob waits.

("Choose a door!" Papoose barks an order at you.)

("Or you can just pick a mystery door and maybe find something else you find more interesting?" Jess throws an idea your way.)

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