It was an early afternoon and the sun shone as brightly as a nobleman’s burning castle on a midwinter night. A sudden summer breeze swept playfully through the air, rustling the leaves with impish glee, and upsetting the local squirrel population with its dastardly behavior. It was a wild, raucous ride, but not even this could whisk away the day’s excruciating heat for but a moment. One might think this would be enough to force everyone into the merciful shade, but the ones in the great clearing down below seemed to be of a different mind.

The air was hot, dry, tormenting at best, and the crowd loved it. Ervin Gobbersnapper – a short, dark-haired man, almost a dwarf in size – stood upon a box at the edge of a hastily erected stage and gazed out over the people before him. This was an interesting bunch, to be sure! The orcs and goblins that represented the bulk of it all sat packed so tightly that the clearing looked more like a can of pickles than a grass-covered meadow. It was only interrupted by some scattered copses of gnarled forest trolls and a couple of lonely mountain ogres.

Ervin scratched his chin to give his troubled thoughts a brief moment of much needed peace. The great buzz of conversation that permeated the air was almost deafening, and even the thought of trying to attract someone’s attention seemed a very faraway thing.

A couple of bored orcs in first row glanced up at Ervin and grinned mockingly at the confounded little man.

“Lost your tongue, there, fellow? Don’t worry, I’m sure it’ll turn up by the time you find your balls again!” Sniggers gave way for good old guffaws and backslapping, and the orcs turned their attention to something much more interesting: a nearby belching contest.

Ervin fumed and had to struggle to keep himself from grabbing a nearby stool so he could smash it over the heads of those inbred louts. Instead, he gave a sharp whistle, which earned him many annoyed glares – and a few poorly aimed projectiles – and waited for the conversations to finally fade. Then he cupped his hands in front of his mouth and shouted mightily:

“Orc, ogre, and goblinoid talents from all across the great realm have gathered here today to bring together the most ingenious musical piece of ALL TIME!”

The booming voice ceased its eardrum-shattering declaration and a deafening silence settled over the crowd. One would have suspected a great, cheering roar as a kind of exclamation point to the whole grandiose announcement, but alas. Perhaps it was the shock of such a small person wielding a voice that carried so far and wide. The effects of the daze, however, didn’t linger for very long.

“We’re hardened, blood-thirsty warriors, you stupid git! Not willy-nilly, singing-in-the-bushes fairies, like you!” a one-eyed orc yelled, and punched his friend in the face as a kind of punctuation. This caused a hoarse wave of laughter and approving grunts to erupt from the gathered greenskins, and especially from the guy who had just got his tooth knocked out.

“Dats right, milord!” said a burly old ogre, and picked his nose. “We clubber an’ maim, dats what we do. Like the good orcs and dimwits that we are.”

“Well spoken, Lard-ass!” someone piped in.

The great hulking mass of ogre lifted his fist and smashed the smaller goblin like an annoying little bug. “That’s why I says it, you ant-fart!”

The squashed heap blinked back in mute pain.

“Thought so,” Lard-ass rumbled, and shifted the posterior that had earned him his name.

Up on the temporary stage Ervin waved his arms energetically and jumped up and down in horrified disbelief. “People, people! You can’t be serious?! The musical must be presented to the King on his birthday or he’ll have my head as a party adornment!” He tore what little was left of his hair and wailed in anguish, “It’s in two months and you oafs can’t even sing?! Oh, Lordy!” Ervin slumped down in a sad heap, then toppled over onto his back. He held up a hand in defeat, then depressed, he let it fall. “Oh, Lordy…”

Lard-ass farted mightily and glanced to his left. “Is the puny man supposed to be doing that?” he asked, somewhat confused.

His neighbor was a yellow-teethed hob-goblin with a seemingly unhealthy fetish for bodily byproducts. The hob-goblin scratched his ear, found something yellow and ate it, then spat. “Nah, I think he’s just being over-the-top dramatic…”

Lard-ass sighed and got to his feet with a plethora of grunts, groans, and creaking limbs. He lumbered forward, wading sturdily through the crowd like a great ship on a raging ocean, orcs and goblins bowling over in his wake. He left a trail of bloodied noses and broken bones, but this was, after all, the great and infamous Lard-ass! With grunting effort the enormous creature crawled his way up onto the stage and stood up with a heaving breath.

Ervin – who had rolled out of his misery and into an upright position – now stared in blinking amazement. “There are stairs, you know?” he said curtly, and nodded towards the end of the stage.

The wood heaved and creaked as Lard-ass’ shadow suddenly engulfed him.

“N-never mind…”

With his teeth bared in an ugly grin the ogre reached out with his favorite clobbering arm, his ham-sized fist quickly bearing down.

“Oh, God!” Ervin screamed, and threw his hands up, “I’m lunch!”

A giant finger poked him in the head. “I want to sing, Mr. Director man!” Lard-ass thundered happily.

Ervin’s life came to a screeching halt and promptly rewound itself. Carefully, he peeked out between the gaps of his fingers and stared incredulously at the ogre. “Wha-? Oh! Great!” The little man bolted to his feet and held up a finger. “Don’t move, good fellow! Let me get my contracts!” He scuttled over to the far end of the stage, snatched up his portfolio, and skidded back to Lard-ass in a hurry. He didn’t run so much as fled; a hasty, but temporary, retreat for the sake of business, if you will.

Sucking thoughtfully on his goose-feather pen, Ervin quickly added some fundamental, and very necessary, changes to the contract that he had just fished out.

“Alright, then…” Ervin said, quickly rummaging through the contents one last time. “Here we are!” He pulled up the box that previously had served as a heightening boost and slapped the contract down on the flat surface. “Sign here, Mister…?” He looked up at Lard-ass, smiling politely.

“Lard-ass, Mr. Lard-ass!” The ogre puffed up his chest and practically beamed with pride.

“Very well, then, Mr. Lard-ass,” Ervin said, and handed him the pen, pointing to the dotted line at the bottom of the page. “Sign here, please. Stardom is but a singing lesson away!”

With a dreamy smile, Lard-ass promptly stabbed the contract, splashing dark-blue ink all over place.

Ervin retrieved the skewered paper from his new client, smiling uncertainly. “That… uh… will do.”

The ogre smiled vapidly.

Ervin pulled on his most charming smile, but as he turned around to stow away the contract it fled his lips, immediately replaced by a nasty sneer. He turned back, portfolio in hands, and there was the winning smile again, stilled glued to his lips as if it had never left.

“This is all well and good. Very good, indeed! But for tomorrow, if I may be so bold, I must ask of you a small favor…”

Lard-ass’ hairy ears twitched and grew large with excitement. Nobody had ever asked him for a favor before. “Oh? Yes, Mr. Director man?”

“No, no, no,” Ervin said hurriedly, “no need for such formalities. Ervin will do. Ervin to my friends, after all! And Jackass to my enemies!” His belly bobbed heartily as he laughed.

The ogre nodded, he had lost Ervin at formaldehyde and was quickly heading towards total bewilderment. Being a big star was so confusing! “Uh… favor?”

Ervin snapped his fingers. “Yes! A favor!” He gave a nod towards the grunting mass behind them and smiled. “I am a bit short-stocked on actors and singers, as you can tell… But if you could find some people willing to leave hearth and home to pursue a career in the fine arts, then I’m sure we can save this fiasco of a musical yet!”

Lard-ass scratched his arse thoughtfully. Ideas always seemed to sparkle like fireworks when someone’s behind was involved. “Me cousin owns the Mud Slugger near the harbor…”

“Of course!” Ervin howled in triumph. “Go down to your friend’s fine establishment and look around.” He patted the ogre’s leg and steered him towards the end of the stage. “The place must be bursting with articulate fellows!”

Lard-ass nodded slowly as he stumbled down the stairs, still lost in thought, thinking that Ervin must be right. He was a man of the world, after all, and very knowledgeable in the ways of things. It was rather obvious when you thought about it; there were a lot of vocal people at a whorehouse.