I am what might charitably be described as “basic” when it comes to fantasy gamer stuff: LitRPG? A bit obvious given where you’re reading this. Anime? I’m an avid otaku, especially when it comes to isekai. LARP? I founded one. Tabletop RPGs? I’ve been playing Dungeons & Dragons since I was nine. This brings me to Ibril.

I once ran a Pathfinder campaign (basically D&D 3.75 for the uninitiated) for a group of buddies. One day, as they were out being murder hobos intrepid adventurers, they were attacked by a mixed group of goblins and hobgoblins.

Truth be told, this was a filler encounter – they can’t all be gems, okay – and the party was swiftly victorious. Players being players, however, they wondered why this particular band of XP bags had attacked them. After all, Thad was the Dungeon Master, so there must be some deeper meaning to it, right? I should probably be flattered they thought that way, but I’m no Matt Mercer.

Failing to find anything of significance on the corpses of the goblins, the party asked if any could still be saved. I am a merciful God DM, so I rolled to confirm that, yes, one of the goblins could be healed and questioned.

There are times in tabletop gaming when spontaneity becomes a sort of inspired alchemy. I didn’t have any notes about some random goblin that was meant to be fodder to get the party closer to the next level, so I mustered all of my roleplaying acumen and put myself in the pitiful creature’s shoes.

Here’s your motivation: You are ordered to attack a band of psychotic fantasy superheroes who have nice weapons and kablooey magic and pets that can eat you. Maybe you’re dumb enough to think you can win at the start, but then you and your whole clan are brutally slaughtered in the span of approximately 18 seconds. You awaken covered in blood and half dead to find your would-be killers aren’t done with you and would like a word before finishing the deed.

What’s a goblin to do? Begging probably won’t do much good by itself. So I lie. I lie through my teeth. It isn’t even a very convincing lie. I tell them I have a name. No, wait, two names, just like a civilized person. I make those names up on the spot. I tell them I have an interesting backstory (without giving any details since I don’t have any). I tell them I have a family waiting for me at home. Then, and only then, do I start to beg for my life in earnest.

Part of me wants to claim credit for the party sparing Ibril, to say it was proof of my brilliant acting. But the key wasn’t the details or the begging; it was the sheer amusement of such a brazen attempt. Goblin pro tip: Adventurers are less likely to kill you if you’re funny.

Another part of me knows that the party decided to keep Ibril as a means of torturing me. D&D groups have this weird fetish with taking goblins as pets and it never ends well. They became protective of him, paid him, gave him food and gear. All the while, I had to keep doing the funny voice and occasionally begging for my life.

I eventually wrote Ibril out of the story by having the party chance upon his (retcon legitimized) family, and only then because Ibril didn’t want to return to his heavily pregnant wife and half dozen children. Again, D&D players will often follow the path of greatest amusement.

Ibril Thorntooth’s legacy lives on in Original Enchantment as an homage to that D&D campaign. And for those who enjoyed his brief appearance, you can look forward to seeing him again in Relic Tamer. 😉