Owain: Ahh, Brady. Perfect timing. Come here a minute.
Brady: Meh? What do you want?
Owain: What's a festival without music, am I right?
Brady: Uh, I guess? So what of it?
Owain: Then what are you waiting for, Brady? Or should I say... Grand Fiddlemeister Brady, beloved of the earth below!
Brady: Haw?!
Owain: Come! Now is the time to unveil your hidden powers of song! Make the sacred dragonsbeard sing! Play us a chorus of eternal prosperity!
Brady: Eternal what, now? What are you even talking about?
Owain: O dark and tragic day! Is my voice too soft to rouse your soul to wakefulness?! ...... Ugh. Work with me, Brady. I'm asking you to play music.
Brady: What, because they're havin' a festival, you want me to play violin?
Owain: There! Perhaps your soul's slumber is not so deep after all... Now take in hand the miraculous dragonsbeard, and—
Brady: And what's with all this dragonsbeard business? Violin strings are made from catgut, and my bowstrings are horsehair. No dragons involved, see?
Owain: Gods, you're no fun at all. It's called poetic license! I'm adding drama!
Brady: Yeah, whatever. Look, are we done? We got a battle to fight here.
Owain: Wait! Come on, play us a song!
Brady: Pass. I'm outta practice. I haven't played in weeks.
Owain: But it won't be a proper festival without music!
Brady: It won't be a proper festival with a buncha Risen walkin' around, neither!
Owain: Aww, come on! Pleeeease?!
Brady: GAH, fine! If it'll get you off my back, just...fine!
Owain: You'll do it?!
Brady: Not like I got much choice. Sheesh... All right. You wanted music — you got it. Sit down, shut up, and listen!