Here's the scoop as Merle understands it as of now. There's a god somewhere in his dreams drafting handsome dwarves and their friends and other less important people into telling stories as a sort of holy ritual in order to generate spiritual power.

But also, none of that matters, because Taako is giving him the green light to stop caring about it.

"Eh. Okay. I'm kinda in the market anyway, and they never believed I had flat feet when I got drafted the first time."

Merle looks back up at Taako, though, and thinks for a moment, then pats the ground next to him, extending an invitation.

"Well. If this is an island, we're living on island time. There's plenty of grass to go around. No need to worry about it 'til we wake up."

And maybe not even then??? It's hard to say with Merle.