A song can be a mischievous thing

Last time we saw our boy, he was enthusiastically hammering away.
What we didn’t tell you, is that, as he hammered and sang (rather badly) he was also looking at the people walking down and up the street. People who, obviously, looked back. If a hammering half orc doesn’t call your attention, be sure, a singing half orc will. It’s probably something you’ll never, ever forget. It will haunt you for ages. No matter, the orc sang as he hammered. And nobody was brave enough to shut him up. What’s more, the sheriff seemed to like the singing, what do you know?
So, things went rather badly for a couple of years or so for the music lovers in Dubik Pass. Until a certain shady individual showed up.
He said his name was Bob. And he could sing. Not only could he sing, but that was what he did for a living. At least, these days.
Bob sang great things, about wars, soldiers who were also heroes. Ladies in distress, castles and riches.
He had a great voice. And while the sheriff preferred the singing of the new smith, said smith enjoyed the tales of the bard. He could visualize everything the bard was telling. The claws of the dragon biting flesh, the clash of swords, the giant boulders flying through the air. He was enthralled.
Alas, the bard didn’t stay long. After three nights of singing, tale-telling and dancing, the sheriff entered the Inn and saw the bard for the first time.
It was instantaneous. At the mere sight of the bard, he shouted “YOU!” but the shout was directed to what now was a cloud of smoke and nothing else. Barely two seconds later, the cliticlitclops of a horse getting away could be heard.
But the dice had been cast. Our half-orc now wanted travel and adventure, and Fate wouldn’t have the orc stay much longer at the forge. Before his apprentice training was finished, the smith died of old age and too much emotion in the arms of a lovely professional. Spring left the same day, giving way to summer, and a caravan arrived, in a long journey to Vala.
Vala, he heard. It rang rather nice. Would they take him as a fellow traveller?
He now had something to offer. He was big and ugly enough to intimidate potential thieves, knew how to fight and had his own sword and shield, plus he knew some smithing that could prove helpful along the way.
They took him in, as a protector of the caravan. For his work, he would get a daily meal. For any smithing work, he would get paid with gold.
It was settled. He was on his way to Vala. Wherever that was.