The Big Damn Fight

“Talents? No, I fear that you are mistaken. K’tishians use talents. Jarlanders use pennigs.”
While the Host, ever-smiling and collected on camera, laughed politely at what she took to be a glib remark, Call-me-Cadel tilted his head and mouthed a silent slew of what might be curses or prayers. The Host, choosing to ignore him for now, pressed on.
"Well one of your friends certainly thought that you had a fair few. And boy, with a life like hers, she's seen her fair share of winners and losers alike - that was Peppi, of course. Quite the story on that one."
"One can imagine."
"Well, why don't you tell us some of what you can do then? We've got our fair share of singers this year, but one of your other friends said he was a mean fighter. How about yourself?"
"I can do both of those, yes."
“Why don’t you give us some more details then? How do you fight? How do you sing?”
Also Wilhelm paused, as though her question required due consideration. After a moment of thought, which Cadel just knew would need to be cut, Also responded. “Well.”
Call-me-Cadel made a motion with his hands to pause the filming. Cameramen leaned back in their seats and microphones were lifted away as the producer walked over to try to level with this strange, strange man.
“Look,” he said, placing one hand on the table between the host and the would-be-contestant. “Talent is only half of a talent show. The other half is, obviously, show. That means we need a story. The audience needs to know what makes you special. Tell us what makes you you. What have you done that would make anyone care whether or not you can sing worth a damn?”
“Very well then. I am the twin brother of Wilhelm, who was called the Great. Before I served the Carp, it was by his side that I earned my glory. We fought Sidhe and Dokkalfar, Fomoiri and Jotnar, and bested them all in honorable combat. We sang the warrior hymns for the Leopard, the welcoming songs for the Stork, and the dirges of passage for the Carp - the goddess that I now serve. Since becoming her servant, I have hunted necromancers, ghouls, ghosts, and all others that would seek to use fel magic to defy death’s embrace. I have been called, at one time or another, the strongest oar in Jarland, the most silent of the wounded to be under a barber’s knife, and the greatest shot since Lokfar of the Strings. Will that suffice?”
“Yes, yes, absolutely yes. Now say all of that - whatever you just said about carps and sids - say that for the camera.”
Also Wilhelm blinked. “But why?”