Lobbin the Slippery

Revered Goblin Folk-Hero whom no adventurer can touch

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Bio:

Throughout the Neverwinter Wood, and as far south as Waterdeep, there is one name that is whispered more than any other around the campfires of the goblinoid races. That name is Lobbin the Slippery.

Lobbin seems at first glance like any other pitiful goblin ruffian. With greenish-grey skin, a few scraggly tufts of filthy brown hair and tattered leather armour, he’s certainly not much to look at. However, behind this unassuming guise, Lobbin is one of the most wily and evasive creatures ever to walk the plains of Faerun.

Many goblins live in fear of the day a band of upstart adventurers tears through their hideout, looking to claim the chieftain’s head for a reward of gold or fame. One day, many moons ago, this happened to Lobbin as he was happily torturing a halfling prisoner his warband had captured. A notorious band of adventurers known as the Wardens of the Grey Vale burst into his tribe’s lair and started slaughtering Lobbin’s brothers and sisters. When they reached the torture cells, all six of them came upon the sight of Lobbin and his two companions with weapons at the ready. While his kin put up a brave fight, Lobbin took the opportunity to slip between a clumsy cleric and inattentive mage and bolt for the door. The vengeful mage lashed out with a spell that caused waves of fire to sweep through the room, but succeeded only in badly burning two of his party members as Lobbin made good his retreat. He would tell the story at the campfire of a nearby tribe that very same night, giving birth to his own legend.

A matter of weeks later, Lobbin’s new tribe would be challenged by an aggressive band of kobolds looking for a burrow to claim and fortify with traps. The kobolds wished to evict Lobbin’s people by force and steal their home. As goblins and kobolds clashed up and down the narrow burrows, many of Lobbin’s kin witnessed the chaos he left in his wake. Kobolds would hurl flasks of alchemist’s fire, sling rocks and shoot poisoned arrows, but none would ever strike true again the slippery one. Instead, the missiles intended to fell him would either smash harmlessly against the tunnel walls or – unnervingly often – badly cripple and maim those around him, friend and foe. The few goblin survivors and even some of the eventually victorious kobolds would tell of the untouchable goblin who fled the scene almost entirely unscathed.

And so it was that Lobbin the Slippery would move from place to place, tribe to tribe, home to home. It was never more than a few weeks in a new location before some terrible disaster would descend upon his new companions and Lobbin would escape the resulting fracas in a death-defying blur of evasive manoeuvres and curse words. The few who survived would realise only too late that their new companion had been the one and only Lobbin the Slippery, bringing with him destruction and escaping almost unharmed.

Most recently, a new band of adventurers crossed paths with this cunning fiend just off the Triboar Trail, not far from the town of Phandalin. As Lobbin was enjoying a casual game of Cheater’s Dice, a strange and wicked elf maiden burst into the clearing and used her own physical body as a conduit for some terrifying extradimensional entity. Cold, dripping pseudopods erupted from her very skin and began to swipe and batter at Lobbin and his companion, seeking to strangle them and drain their life force. Lobbin wriggled free of the tenatacles’ grasp and turned to see a crossbow bolt hurtling through the air towards him. Luckily for him, one of the tentacles swished in front of his face and caught the attack purely by chance. Before he knew what was happening, a second elf rushed his position wielding a pair of deadly daggers. Slashing wildly, the fiendish fey creature opened the stomach of Lobbin’s companion, mortally wounding him. The second dagger sought to spill Lobbin’s own blood, but his meagre armour just barely turned away the attack.
Coming to his senses, Lobbin bolted for a nearby thicket, looking to escape through it to the stream beyond. As he did, a searing bolt of fire flew past his ear and set the vegetation around him ablaze. Upon seeing this, Lobbin ducked on instinct to crawl beneath the burning leaves and at that very moment, a mighty greatsword cleaved through the space where his skull had just been, sending burning twigs spinning through the air.
Lobbin was panicking at this point, the thicket was dense and almost impenetrable and an enraged group of adventurers closed in on him in a perverse frenzy of bloodlust. His arm snagged on a sharp stick and he realised he was stuck. He closed his eyes and awaited the inevitable.

Instead of death, there was a crackling of arcane energy and a blast of eldritch power crashed through the brambles, freeing his arm and clearing the way to the stream. The unholy elf that had summoned the far realm horrors had inadvertently cleared him a path with a poorly-aimed spell. Lobbin scrambled frantically to reach the stream once more.
Chanting could be heard from the clearing and a pious-looking dwarf – the one that had fired the crossbow bolt – called upon his god to smite Lobbin down with radiant light. Little did he know, Lobbin offered up his prayers to Maglubiyet, god of goblinkind, every night without fail. On account of his overwhelming piety, Lobbin’s patron deity saw fit to deny such a lacklustre attempt to snuff out one of his faithful. As he continued to scramble towards freedom, Lobbin heard the clash of steel on steel as the owner the greatsword – a fearsome golden-skinned dragonborn – inadvertently struck the blade of her companion. The elf who had been wielding daggers was now lunging at him with a rapier, but had been knocked entirely off balance by his own ally. Capitalising on the distraction, Lobbin threw himself from the embankment into the fast-flowing water beyond and began to paddle madly downstream.
Gouts of flame, crossbow bolts, arrows and other arcane missiles fizzed and splashed into the water around him as he swam for his life. As he turned around to present his tormentors with the middle finger of victory, a final searing blast of eldritch energy caught him in the chest. Lobbin sank beneath the waters, apparently defeated as the group of bloodthirsty murderers howled and whooped in their sadistic victory.

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Some say this was the last anybody saw of Lobbin the Slippery. Others say that the Cunning One simply allowed his adversaries to believe he was dead. It is said that one of the adventurers stole Lobbin’s prized necklace from his bag as a token of their victory. Some claim he wants it back…

Nobody truly knows what happened to Lobbin the Slippery that day, but as long as his legend lives on, surely he cannot be said to be truly dead…

Lobbin the Slippery

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