Role

Chapter 1

(Sorry this took so long to put in, could not get my thoughts into a story
for the life of me. Summary last chapter.)

When most people think of dwarves, they might think of their famous loyalty.
Perhaps their somewhat infamous capacity for alcohol. Perhaps the grand
work they can do at a forge, or the fury of a dwarven warrior roused to
righteous wrath.

Maybe its their unflinching adherence to an oath given that comes to mind,
or even just their glorious beards.

One rarely thinks pacifist, though.

Gochon Grath's father was named Grakken, and was a smith. One of above
average skill, and indeed, well respected in the relevant circles. There
was just one problem.

He would never make weapons of war. No armour, no swords. No axes, no
spears. Nothing. Steadfast in his belief that violence was never the answer,
even the death of his wife to a pack of rampaging orcs would not sway him.

"You make a sword, and what that sword goes out into the world to do be on
your hands lad," so he'd often tell his young son. "Some of our smiths got
more blood on their hands than a dozen warriors."

When you hear that all the time growing up, you tend to believe it. Gochon
joined his father in the forge, and he too never made weapons of war.

Things would have almost certainly continued that way, if Gochon hadn't
been quite the typical dwarf in another way.

He really liked his ale.