"Make way, make way!"

Swort danced over the road, randomly ramming his mallet on the snaredrum as he shouted for all bystanders to step aside. The irregular, random rhythm of the drums was accompanied by an off key melody from a fife and random crashes on the cymbals. For Swort and his companions, owning an instrument was enough to call oneself a musician. He ignored the frowns of the dwarves and trolls that towered all around him. Instead, he kept a steady, wild gait towards what he thought to be the center of the crossroads. The bells sewn into his clothing jingled with every vigorous step. Entertainers and musicians enjoyed a doubtful measure of protection from Warlord Skrut that ruled this region, so it was only natural that Swort and his friends has picked up the instruments. Their weapons laid unused in the bottom of their cart. Two traditionally garbed gnomes dragged the heavy trunk on wheels behind them. Their pointed hats and red jackets were torn, grimy and travel stained. Dust puffed up around heavy shackles that fastened their ankles to the cart.

„Make way, make way” Swort cackled.

“Make some space, you big lumps of meat.” Peevy shrieked, vigorously dancing in a wide circle, pushing into trolls and dwarves wherever he could.

Swort chuckled, Peevy always thought he was bigger than he was. He then turned himself to circle a wide perimeter to clear the area. It took a while for the crowd to clear, but finally Kras kicked the gnomes to start up preparations. Their shackles clinked as they hurried to fasten all the straps and belts and turned around the cart to create a mobile make-shift stage. With the stage set up Swort rammed a final, uncontrolled roll on the drum.

Swort wrung his hands, then eyed the clearing. Not many were paying attention to him or his friends. Now they reached the middle, it was clear the crossroads was divided in two camps. That was always the most favorable situation, he wrung his hands again in anticipation. Wherever groups gathered, money was to be had. Wherever opposing groups met, even more money was to be had. One just needed to find the right way to extract the goods. Swort was sure they found the right way. He glanced back at Peevy and their eyes locked. Peeve nodded slightly and for a second, he grinned sly. Wort nodded. This was going to be good.

During normal circumstances, the crossroads were deserted. The roads leading to it empty, save a few travelers and an occasional merchant train. The crossroad marked the border of the Dwarven Kingdom to the North and the land controlled by High Warlord Skrut. Time and time again, the land between the two capital cities had been pillaged, burned and destroyed. Any kind of disagreement was settled by axe, hammer and shield. Violence never deterred goblins, but drew them closer. Wherever people were killed, unattended and no-longer owned goods were easily obtained.

Swort clambered onto the make-shift stage, the bells sewn into his clothing emphasized his ascent. He signaled towards Kras who started to beat a slow, irregular beat on the drums. With a wild, flourishing movement he conjured five colorful balls from his sleeve and started juggling, meanwhile observing the crowd around him. Such gatherings could be dangerous, so one always needed to be careful.

„Hurry up already.” A deep voice boomed from the trolls side of the crossroads.

Trolls never liked waiting. Anything else other than right now was considered waiting. It meant that most trolls spend their lives in a state of anticipatory anxiety or deep disgruntlement. Swort eyed the other side of the crossroads. The dwarves stood in calm order, waiting for the show to begin. Some of them frowned whenever a troll shouted encouragement to start.

Peevy joined Swort on the stage. A long drawn high pitched trill piped from the fife, while Kras increased the tempo on the bass drum to a vigorous pounding. Slowly but surely, the heckling of the trolls died off. As soon as the majority paid attention to the stage, Swort hurled the balls at the gnomes and smiled at the gathered crowd.

"Gentlemen and nearly gentlemen!”

He thought he had seen some slender, less hairy figures among the dwarves. Unfortunately one could never be sure that those were females. He thought he could hear some female voices being raised. Some trolls laughed under their breath. He ignored the voices and waved his hands in delicate patterns in front of him. He had learned that from a magician. The hand movements would impress people for sure.

"I bring to you, a poem that has never been recited. A poem, so well made and so delicate, you might not fully comprehend."

Some trolls laughed, as if he had jested. He had, but they did not know. He stuck out his hand, palm up. Almost immediately, one of the gnomes handed im a scroll. He had to scratch at the seal several times, before he managed to roll out the scroll. Scraping his throat he prepared himself for the dreamy way he heard priests chant prayers.

"The poem is called Dwarves are dumb by Swort the Goblin.”

Dwarves are the masters

of all things dumb

They're brains

hardly bigger

than a Goblin's thumb.

They like to drink their bellies

full of ale

just to deal

with a dwarven female

Females faces

roundish

and greasy

Get past their breath

makes the rest

fairly easy

Female beards

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Compete with those of men

Enter a room

smile

it empties again

Male Dwarfs knuckle under

only they

truly understand

Ask for marriage or feel the back of her hand

Back to beard

the fluff on their faces

Cornered

still trying to erase their traces

Roars of laughter burst from the trolls. Swort eyed the hulking greenskins as he let their mirth roll over him. They laid sprawling on the ground or slapped each other on the shoulders, shaking with laughter. A group at the edge of the camp pointed and laughed at the dwarves on the other side of the road. He felt a smile creeping on his face, this started off well and this was only the start. Peevy wrung his hands beside him, a wide smile reflecting Sworts'. Swort squared his shoulders, then continued to recite the poem in his chanting fashion.

Breath like a sheepdog

And moldering cheese

Churning the air like a festered disease

No dwarf knows

the identity

of their father

that’s why every dwarf is a brother

Silly choice of weapons,

both hammer or axe

confronted with real warriors

they fall in stacks

Not particularly bright

dwarves are

pretty fat

They eat everything in sight

Excavating holes

deep into the ground

So none can see how they bum around

Their god

reflection of their mind

is probably a fraud

With each sentence, Swort saw how jaws tightened and frowns were drawn. He smiled as he recited the last line of the poem. He bowed quickly before the meaning sunk in. He hoped that Warlord Skrut's protection would be enough to protect them from harm. As expected, the dwarves exploded in anger and insults and threats washed over him as several dwarves rushed towards him with drawn weapons. Verbal abuse towards entertainers was generally accepted. Among some races it was stimulated and seen as valuable feedback. Physical violence however was frowned upon. A solid elbow nudged him in the side and Sworrt tumbled over the edge of the stage. The hulking trolls had surrounded it and were waving heavy clubs at the dwarves. Swort clambered to his feet and Peevy appeared.

“Nice!” Peevy smiled feral. The incoming dwarves came to a halt. “They'll settle down soon and then I'll throw in the second. I just hope ..”

“They'll be too busy!” Swort interrupted him and threw the colored balls at Peevy. “ Tell Kras to entertain them with this. I'll prepare the gnomes.”

Swort grabbed the shackles of the gnomes and reeled them in. Both gnomes slid in a sitting position over the ground. In a single motion he grabbed both of the gnomes, then balanced each in a hand.

“You know what to do” He whispered towards the smallest of the gnomes, then pulled their small hats over their ears. “And you know what will happen if you don't return..”

Swort smiled while he whispered, cautiously pulling a painted stick with a small red hat out of a drawer from the upside-down cart. He undid the shackles from the smallest gnome, then dropped him on the ground and reattached the shackles to the stick. The gnome disappeared in a flash between the huge troll feet.

“Well my little friends” He put both of the gnomes into their cage. “Too many big feet, we don't want you cuddly wuddly to be crushed. So you stay here till we leave the camp. You can run and play later.”

He put the cage on the side of the stage. Kras was having troubles keeping five balls in the air, puffing and huffing as he dropped two in rapid succession. He grimaced, but kept juggling the three balls in a slow and clumsy pattern. Peevy stood next Kras, no hint of the earlier smile on his face. He gestured towards the dwarves and towards those that stormed towards the stage earlier. They stood like sheep, facing the towering trolls.

“It was merely jest, my bearded friends. No harm intended indeed. There is no need for such un-pleasantries. If you'd be so kind to return to your respective positions?” Peevy slapped the troll in front of him on the shoulder. “Thank you for your concern big brother, but we'd like to continue now... So, if you please?”

The dwarves still looked grim and clutched their weapons while they looked up to the wall of trolls that separated them from the goblins. They kept silent and exchanged a few sheepish looks amongst each other. They shot another few glances at the trolls and turned around to return to the rest of their kin. The trolls shrugged and hobbled after the dwarves toward the edge of the clearing.

Peevy thanked the crowd for their patience and consideration and Kras landed in a dry thump next to Swort. Peevy had kicked Krass of the stage and as always, a roar of laughter washed over the clearing. It never mattered who the spectators were, some uncalled for cruelty always lightened the mood. Kras moaned softly next to him. His dim brother finally started to accept his fate. Peevy already started the announcement of the next poem.

“... poem was especially written for the intellectual troll. Never before have I had the honor of recital this master piece for such an honorable crowd as this one before us.” Peevy announced in a loud voice and help up his hand towards Swort. “The scroll please?”

Swort felt himself grinning in anticipation as he handed over the roll of paper. The word intellectual seemed to resonate among the trolls, though their expressions showed they didn't know what it meant.

“Without further ado, I present to you the great poem called Trolls are smelly by Peevy the Goblin” he shrieked at the top of his lungs.

I once sat on a log

when before me came a smell

fouler than the dirtiest trogg.

Foul, dirty almost tainted

I am sure that anyone else

would have fainted

Smelly but mostly distressed

A troll came by

The foul stench, worse than the pest.

Anyone else would be killed with a whiff

only a small sniff

enough for me, to jump from a cliff

closer and closer,

Every step, every breathe

the smell got even grosser and grosser.

As with the first poem, many trolls shouted insults and threats at Peevy as he recited his master piece. Swort could see that most of the trolls didn't fully understand, but insulting and threatening an entertainer was just an exhibition of plain, good manners. The dwarves however held their bellies while laughing and held on to each-other with mirth. The dwarves that had been agitated before, were not pointing at the trolls and laughing at them.

nose so big and ripe

trolls are so incredibly ugly

I'm lacking words to describe

With muddy and grubby eyes

It looked at me cross-eyed

and said he was wise

Then why dont you bathe

I asked him

he told me its faith

The trolls' creator

does not like it clean

anyone who washes is a violator

He said the rules are quite clear

no washing no bathing and no cleaning

For little ones, it is purely fear

As Swort hoped, Peevy didn't manage to reach the end of the poem. The insults and threats faltered and died down as the group of dwarfs at the edge grew bigger. Though most of the trolls didn't understand Peevy's affronts, they did understand the taunting behavior of the dwarfs. Trolls were never patient creatures, not with waiting nor with the behavior of others. While Peevy recited the last lines of verse, the trolls charged the taunting dwarfs.