Part the curtains. Cue the action and orchestra. The time for roleplay had begun, and the stage was Goldwynn Forest. Strutting out the gates of the human starting area came a brand-new character, hot off the press. He was a man dressed like a lumberjack with a thick orange beard to match the part. Beneath his overalls was a flannel shirt rolled past his elbows. It was Nole, about to reveal his new character.

  "Shomebody, quick," he called out, slurring in a Scottish lisp. "Get me shomething to wrap theshe masshive shaushage fingersh around.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, a human woman leaned through the window of a nearby cottage. Her long brown hair was tied in a ponytail with a neat blue ribbon, matching her dress in a similar housewife fashion. It was Dapple, playing the damsel in distress.

  "Oh, whatever shall I do?" she cried out, swooning like a southern belle.

  As her new human character, Dapple placed a big glass jar on the windowsill from inside.

  "I simply cannot pry open this jar of peanut butter for the life of me," she exclaimed. "At this rate, I'll never finish these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! If only there was a big, strong man around to swoop in and save me."

  Lumberjack Nole came charging in her direction.

  “Great Shcott, woman,” he called out. “Pash me the jar. Theshe forearmsh are the shizhe of bouldersh, and if I don't shqueeze shomething shoon, they're likely to busht."

  The buttons on his shirt held on for dear life amid his barrel chest pressing against them. They shot off one by one as he ran, causing hair to protrude like hamburger meat.

  “Oh my word,” Dapple exclaimed, holding her hand to her mouth. “I'm quaking at the knees! Is that a man or a runaway meat-train coming my way?

  Nole arrived with his hands on his hips.

  "I'll take that jar, my shweet bonnie lassh," he roared. "Give theshe puppiesh shomething to shnack on."

  “My hero,” Dapple swooned, handing it over.

  The jar disappeared within the cartoonish grip of Nole’s lumberjack hands.

  “Keep yer shocks on," he insisted. "Daddy'sh getting down to bushinesh.”

  He gave the most exaggerated, labored grunt he could muster with every turn.

  "Oh my," Dapple blushed.

  “One more twisht,” he assured her.

  Nole popped the top with one last strain and returned it to her with smoke rising.

  “So manly,” Dapple replied. “How can little ‘ole me ever repay you?”

  Nole leaned on the doorway, hand on his hip as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “How’sh about we get shtarted on those shandwiches,” he began. “I'll be the peanut butter, and let's shpread you over me like jelly.”

  "CUT," Dapple exclaimed, facepalming and breaking character. "Good gravy."

  “What, wash it shomething I shaid?" asked Nole, still doing the voice.

  "NEXT!" Dapple insisted. "That’s enough. I'm officially done being humans now."

  "Are you shure?" Nole insisted. “Becaushe I can keep thish going all night.”

  "NOPE," Dapple declared, clapping her hands together. "NEXT! What else we got?"

  A brief intermission. The curtain peeled open again.

  Between a couple of palm trees on the sandy beaches of Tusk Islands sat a live studio audience of Tiki masks propped up in their seats like scarecrows. Before them was a half-circle of investors, who were also Tiki Masks, awaiting the next contestant.

  A female troll sat in the heart of them, jotting down notes on her clipboard as she turned and whispered to the other investors. Long silver dreadlocks ran down the light blue skin of her back. Small tusks protruded from her mouth, almost reaching her nose. She wore casual beach attire like the rest of the council next to her. It was Dapple, clearing her throat before revealing her new character.

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  "Ah-right, welcome bac tuh di tusk pen," she told the camera, speaking in her best Jamaican Patois. "Mek wi hear di nec pitch. Maybe wi si eff dis nex guy hav sinting wut investing een.”

  Nole’s voice called out from behind a nearby palm tree.

  “Why do you sound like Sebastian from the Little Mermaid?” he said.

  “It’s called improvising,” Dapple told him as she broke character. “We’re in the Caribbean. I don’t know. It seemed fitting.”

  “Alright, I’ll follow your lead,” he said.

  “No, you pick something else,” she insisted. “I’m doing this one.”

  Nole cupped his hands over his mouth, playing the announcer.

  “Next up to the Tusk Hut is," he began. "Let's see here. Nah-di-father Thicksplinter? Did I get that right? And he has a coconut-splitting proposition for our Tusks here. Let's hear it!"

  He coughed, shaking off his announcer voice as he got into character. Troll Nole had spiky red hair shooting from his head like lightning with long sideburns that passed his chin. His tusks reached far away from his mouth like a wild boar. Dressed in nothing but swimming trunks, he strutted onto center stage to an imaginary round of applause.

  "Tank yuh, tank yuh," he said, mimicking Dapple’s voice. "Yuh too kine."

  “Hey!” she snapped. “Why are you copying me?”

  “It’s called improvising,” he told her.

  Dapple shook her head, getting back into character.

  "So," she said. "Nah-di-father Thicksplinter. Dat di name yuh goin' wid, huh?"

  "Bess believe dat," Nole insisted. "Until di day mi drap dead, ooman."

  Dapple shook her head.

  "Alright, mek wi da pitch," she said.

  Nole rubbed his hands together.

  "Bruddas an sistahs," he said.

  “Ahem,” Dapple coughed.

  "Bryddas an sistahs, an mi sweet dear wife," Nole repeated, correcting himself.

  "Gwaan," Dapple told him.

  "Ear mi now," said Nole, facing the row of tiki masks propped up in beach chairs. “Every sixty seconds ‘ere on di island ah minute passes. Wi need tuh wuk togedda tuh stap dis.”

  “Yuh nah wrong,” Dapple shook her head, taking notes on her clipboard. "Suh tell mi. Wah duh yuh waan, an fi how much?"

  “So, mi tink di Tusk Pen cud cova mi living expenses," Nole proposed. "Dis way mi can quit mi job and wuk full-time tuh solving dis issue."

  “Dat ah very intriguing offa,” Dapple mused, leaning forward. “Except one ting dat worries mi.”

  Troll Nole nodded, beginning to sweat in the hot seat.

  "Yuh nuh wuk now, an yuh expect mi tuh believe yuh a guh wuk den,” she asked.

  "My nuh kno wah yuh talkin' bout ooman," Nole argued. "Mi busting mi butt every day dung at di docks."

  "My hav bin tuh ta docks," said Dapple. "Yuh weren't deh! Word pan di street a yuh bin skipping wuk fi weeks. Only ting yuh bin working towards is di battam ah di rum bottle.

  Nole shook his head.

  “Mi can’t taak tuh yuh when yuh like dis, ooman," he replied. "Dis mi bizniz proposition! Wah yuh doin' dis?"

  Dapple laid it on him.

  "Cus yuh hav get ah two sons and a wife waitin' ah home fi yuh," she said. "Dem wondering wen daddie a gwine cum bac. Oh, him bi bac, alright. Wen he runs outta money fi di rum.”

  Nole coughed and cleared his throat.

  “Bruddas an sistahs!" he began, revising his proposal to the Tusk Pen. "Mi once again com tuh yuh fi yuh monetary support. Mi sweet wife an her two sons a get inna way of mi research. Wi need tuh work togedda tuh stap dis.”

  “CUT!" Dapple laughed, shaking her head. "I'm done."

  "Wait, wah eff mi gi yuh sum more of di equity?" Nole pleaded.

  "Still done," Dapple insisted, brushing herself off as she stood up. "Next!"

  "So, we're done being trolls?" Nole laughed.

  “Done being trolls," Dapple admitted.

  Minutes later, deep in an icy mountain range far away from any beach, the pair reunited as gnomes in the small, mechanical village of Gnomerdome. Standing knee-high, Nole boasted spiky green hair while Dapple sported pink pigtails and bright pink lipstick. The two plump little bodies stared at each other for a moment.

  "Yeah, this is doing nothing for me," Gnome Dapple admitted.

  “Yeah, I gnome what you mean," said Nole.

  Dapple cringed.

  "Jeez," she said, shaking her head. “See? Nothing about this is good.”

  “Next?” Nole shrugged.

  “Next,” Dapple agreed.

  A stone’s throw away, dwarf Nole and dwarf Dapple sat across from each other inside a bustling little brewery within the dwarven town of Snowbeard Valley. Adventurers shuffled indoors from out of the cold, trading snowfall for the ambiance of dim lights, warm chatter, and the best ale around.

  Dwarf Nole twirled his long red beard, rocking back and forth in his seat. Dapple seemed dissatisfied, playing with the cinnamon buns of hair rolled up on either side of her head.

  “I can’t say I’m feeling the magic here, either," she declared.

  “No?” Nole replied, stroking his beard.

  "At least the gnomes were kind of cute," said Dapple. "These dwarf women, though. Woof."

  “Not much of a looker, are you?" Nole began. "I mean, the last time I saw something like you, my cat was burying it in the litter box.”

  Dapple shook her head and laughed.

  "You're one to talk," she said. "You look like that hair monster from Looney Tunes."

  "Hair monster?" Nole laughed. "Wait, which one?"

  "Pfft, I don't know," Dapple insisted. "The one that's just a pile of red hair and tennis shoes. That's you! Barely two eyes and a mouth under all there."

  "There's a mouth, alright," Nole replied. "And you might have to get acquainted with it. I'm drowning under all this beard, and only you can resuscitate me."

  "Eww," Dapple blurted. "That'd be like kissing a mop. I think I'll pass, thanks."

  Nole twirled the tip of his beard, unable to keep his hands off it.

  "What if I ditched the mop?" he asked.

  Dapple rocked in her chair, considering it.

  "It'd be a start," she admitted.

  A maybe was all he needed to hear. The pair melted in their seats for a moment. Then, Nole said aloud what they were both thinking.

  “Wanna’ get out of here?" he insisted.

  "Yeah," she said. "This was a fun little detour, but I think it's time we were our old selves again."