Gochon Grath the Legend of the Battlefield, Marshall of the Fortress

Title History

Role

Chapter 5

Gochon Grath is the son of a pacifist blacksmith from Akan. His mother was
killed in an orc raid, and his father was steadfastly opposed to any kind
of violence, right up and including to making armour or weapons.

Gochon developed an opposing worldview from drinking with the warriors and
guardsmen each evening, and eventually things came to a head and Gochon and
his father had a fierce argument. Unfortunately, Gochon said something he
shouldn't and right after a necromancer summoned his old man away (poor
dwarf smiths!) and that was that.

Gochon moped around for a while drinking himself into a haze before one of
his warrior associates (a retired Maran) set him straight and told him to
go and do something about it if he cared, and so Gochon enrolled in the
warrior's guild.

Gochon's biggest regret is that his last words to his father were something
said out of anger, and so he'll strive to be patient with
allies/friends/etc even when maybe he shouldn't be.

Will target necromancers and orcs as a matter of priority.

Sphere courage. He doesn't like inaction and believes evil must be hunted
down. Despite feeling guilt for what he said to his father, it is actually
something he believes - he will clash with people who hold a non hardline
approach to dealing with evil.

Role

Chapter 4

Gochon sat in the tavern, head full of the comfortable numbness that only
excessive drinking can provide.

Four weeks.

Four weeks since his old man had been snatched out of their forge just like
that. Four weeks of drinking himself to sleep.

A necromancer, the guards had said. The vilest sort, and ones who often
prayed upon their kin. Nothing to be done. Likely dead within an hour of
being snatched.

Gochon reached for his tankard, but it was empty. He was about to call for
another, but a dwarf dropped into the seat opposite him with a grunt.

Gochon recognised him, of course. More grey in that beard now, but it was
undoubtedly the regular who all that time ago had given him that good clip
about the ear.

"You, lad," said the old dwarf, "Have got to sort out your shite right
quick."

Gochon shrugged. "Ain't much to sort out is there? It be too late."

The grizzled warrior snorted. "Aye, it be too late for your old man. So you
goin to just sit here and let the people who be doin this every day get
away with it? Hopin someone else will take care of it, eh?"

Gochon scowled at the stupid bird depicted on the warrior's tunic. He was
sure it was moving, along with the spinning room.

"Hell lad," said the dwarf from a long way away. "You be proper smashed you
be. Lets get you home."

Two days later, Gochon with smithing hammer in hand entered the Akan guild
of warriors.

There would be no peace until the work was done.

Role

Chapter 3

It was a morning like many others in the Grath smithy. The forge was fresh
lit, and people were trickling in and out to collect and make requests. Not
many. Never many. Weapons trade was where the money was, and all the locals
well knew not to waste there time with that here. If you wanted something
else though, there was a good chance the wait would be shorter.

So Gochon was quite surprised when one of the customers who pushed open the
door and entered was someone he recognised. It was a weathered dwarf that
he'd met just the night before after all, a newcomer to Akan from somewhere
off west. "What'll it be fella?" Gochon's father could sense a new customer
too, but Gochon had an impending sense of doom.

"Needin a new axe," the newcomer validated said worry promptly. "Goin down
south a bit to push them damn skulls back into their caves."

"No axes here," Grakken responded stiffly. "No weapons."

The conversation rapidly degenerated from there, but Gochon had seen it all
before. Eventually the dwarf threw up his hands and stormed out, but this
time Gochon couldn't hold his tongue.

"That fella might be dyin if we don't make him an axe da."

Grakken snorted. "And someone will be dyin if we be makin 'im one lad. You
know that."

"Better an orc than a good man."

"It ain't our place to say who be livin and who be dyin. I won't be havin
any part of it."

On another day, Gochon may have left it there. He had in the past after all.

Today was not that day. The slowly simmering resentment that had been
building these past years finally boiled over, and Gochon said something he
immediately wished to take back. "You're just a bloody coward. Our people
be dyin out there and you care more about keepin your hands clean than doin
the right thing."

His father blinked, a stricken expression upon his face, for what kind of
dwarf questions the honour of their own blood?

Gochon opened his mouth to apologise.

And his father vanished into thin air, never to be seen again.

Role

Chapter 2

Perhaps one of the social lessons that young people take the longest to
learn is to know your audience before voicing your likely unwanted opinions.

Gochon was no exception. And so, of an eve surrounded by foot weary
guardsmen and dusty warriors who had returned from fighting to the north,
Gochon loudly slurred out his condemnations of violence in the Grog and
Grub tavern.

Now. In some establishments, that probably would have got you punched.
Fortunately for Gochon, his audience was mostly composed of people who had
done just enough punching for one day and really wanted to enjoy a pint in
peace, so instead he got a sharp clip about the ear from a grizzled fellow
with an axe and promptly set straight.

"You be sittin here talkin shite lad!" roared the veteran duergar
skullsplitter. "You only be able to be drinkin that ale because these lads
be goin out and keepin you safe. You reckon the orcs goin to care that you
ain't want to fight if the guards pack up and let 'em all in? Eh? Eh?"

Gochon went back the next day.

And the next.

And the next.

And slowly his world view began to change. It is hard to sit and listen to
the harsh realities and unfiltered horrors of war and believe that pacifism
is the answer. Harder still to be talking with a dwarf one day, then for
the next to be told he would never be coming back.

So it was that Gochon began to live two lives. Of a day, with his father,
staunch pacifist working in the forge, and of an eve in the tavern:
surrounded by the products and workers of war.

It was inevitable that the two would collide.

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.

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