Gojiro

Gojiro hails from a tribe deep within the Darri forest, a mountainous jungle realm where Simean clans are renowned for raising fierce, powerful warriors. Among his people, martial prowess is a way of life, not merely a means of survival.   Even as a youngling, Gojiro's strength and instincts set him apart. Scouts from the Iron Fist Band—an elite training order tied to the warrior culture of the region—quickly took notice. But rather than marching to war, Gojiro was selected for something different: the Coliseum Circuit.   Within the grand stone arenas of Gul Tal’Ruun, gladiators competed not in deathmatches, but in theatrical combat—part sport, part tradition, part ritual. These matches were brutal, but rarely fatal. Gojiro spent his adolescence mastering the art of non-lethal dominance: how to win with flair, precision, and restraint. His agility and technique earned him notoriety; his quiet demeanor, however, left him isolated outside the arena.   Despite the cheers, Gojiro always felt detached from the world of sport. The roar of crowds couldn’t fill the void of connection he craved. Eventually, he laid down his ceremonial chains and chose a new path: adventuring.   Leaving behind the structure of the coliseum, Gojiro tried his hand at adventuring. Though an exceptional frontliner, he struggled to truly fit in. His towering form and stoic presence often made him seem distant, even intimidating, despite his gentle nature. In groups, he was the awkward one—too quiet, too massive, too intense.   Still, his reputation as reliable and brutally effective muscle grew. When adventuring parties needed backup, caravan masters needed protection, or noble heirs wanted an insurance policy—they called Gojiro.   He became a fixture in the mercenary world: not a leader, not a hero, but a dependable sword and shield. Always watching. Always catching the blows others missed.  

Gojiro's Dream

  Beneath his warrior’s calm, Gojiro carried a dream that seemed almost comical to others: to open his own bakery. During his travels, he once sheltered with a kindly dwarven baker who fed him a loaf of sweet rye and told him, “Good bread is warmth you can eat.” That night, Gojiro realized what he truly craved—peace, simplicity, creation. He began collecting recipes from every corner of his journeys, keeping them scribbled in a battered little notebook that smelled faintly of smoke and flour.   Someday, he told himself, when the fighting was done… he would bake.  

The Last Contract — Teclis and White Plume Mountain

  Gojiro’s final mission came when he was hired to protect Teclis Sunbreaker, a devout paladin bound on a perilous quest to retrieve three legendary weapons from the cursed White Plume Mountain. The journey tested them both—physically, morally, and spiritually. Gojiro came to respect Teclis deeply, not as a master or employer, but as a friend. Together with their companions, they survived traps, monsters, and madness. But the true trial awaited as they escaped the mountain, clutching the reclaimed relics.   As they fled on the backs of giant eagles, a furious host of fiery djinn emerged from the volcanic clouds below—guardians of the ancient forge that lay beneath the mountain’s heart. The sky itself burned as the djinn gave chase, hurling blazing spears that scorched the air.   When one struck an eagle’s wing and sent the group spiraling, Gojiro saw what must be done. Without hesitation, he unlatched his harness and stood atop the eagle’s back, wind tearing through his fur. He turned to Teclis and grinned, that rare, quiet grin that always meant everything was going to be fine.   “You bake that bread, paladin,” he said. “Make it sweet.”   Then he leapt—plunging into the storm.   Gojiro met the fiery djinn head-on, his massive form outlined in golden fire as he roared a battle cry that shook the clouds. He drew their wrath, holding them in furious combat amidst the burning sky. His blows landed like thunder, each one brighter than the last. The djinn could not ignore him—he made sure of it.   When the final strike came, Gojiro met it not with fear, but with strength and purpose. The explosion lit the horizon like dawn. His friends escaped, carried by wounded eagles into the cool safety beyond the mountain’s shadow.   Gojiro did not return.  

A Promise Fulfilled

  Teclis Sunbreaker, true to his promise, built a bakery in Gojiro’s name: Gojiro’s Hearth. A humble, sunlit place at the crossroads of Kellenbar, where warriors, travelers, and orphans alike can find warmth and bread. On the walls hang iron gauntlets and arena medals. Behind the counter rests a small notebook, charred at the edges, its pages filled with recipes written in broad, careful strokes.   Above the oven, a plaque reads:   “He faced fire so others could live in peace.”   Each year, on the day of his fall, the bakery gives away bread freely—sweet rye, his favorite. And when the ovens blaze brightest, some swear they hear a low, rumbling laugh among the crackle of the fire— a reminder that somewhere, somehow, the Gentle Juggernaut still watches over them.