[center][h3]Olo Dudley[/h3] [/center]
“Get that fixed! Now!”

Katrina’s order snapped Olo out of his state of awe over her graceful yet deadly combat skills. It was, for a lack of a better word, immaculate in its execution. Not one movement was wasteful; everything was calculated and served a purpose. How long it must have taken to hone those skills to perfection. “Y-yes, ma'am!”

Olo was hastily examining the hurdy gurdy when he saw a robed figure from the corner of his eye. "Don't quite know what you're doing, but that seemed to throw these... beasts off for a moment," he heard Ada say above him. The announcement alleviated some of the halfling’s collywobbles. Good to know that he helped a little, even if it wasn’t in the way he wanted to help. Olo chuckled weakly, eyes still on his instrument, “Honestly, sometimes I don’t even know… Poor things, if only they had hands.”

Olo jumped at the sound of a mighty roar; the kind that reverberated to the very core of oneself and made hairs stand. For a moment he feared that one wolf, or perhaps another creature still hidden in the dense mist, had done it, but that particular fear was put to rest once he saw that it was Everheart. Surprising how the most silent one in the group had the loudest of voices. His voice demanded attention and several creatures, Olo included, were unable to resist looking at him. Unlike the wolves, however, Olo had no intention of harming the giant beastfolk. 

Almost as if the Leonin battle cry were a war-horn, the battle with the wolves started to intensify from that point on. Blades and claws clashed with fangs, kicks and punches cut through the air, fire burned fur, and red started to become a prominent color. Even as the others fought valiantly, Olo was still fumbling with an instrument. He tried forcing the instrument to play again, but as soon as it shrieked, he flinched and decided that he was just going to have to retune right then and there. If that didn’t work, then the damage was much more serious and Olo would be in trouble. 

He twisted the tuning pegs, cranked the handle, and pressed the keys until he could hear a sound. When it wasn’t the right tone, he repeated the process again. The halfling’s hands trembled during the entire process. Both from fear of their lives being in danger and anxiousness of not being able to do anything, but there was also something else. Something akin to excitement: exhilaration. Not the most appropriate of emotions for someone as useless as Olo to be feeling in the middle of battle, alas it was there. The bundle of emotions reminded him of how he felt when he had to perform in front of an audience at the bardic collage. He remembered how nervous he was right before the concert, so much so that he threw up and caused a slight delay. When the concert did finally start, though, the nervousness was overthrown by intoxicating zeal to see the whole thing through. He messed up countless of times, but during the concert, especially the moments when Olo was in sync with the other performers, he was on top of the world. 

How much different was this battle to a concert anyways? Critics would rip out a musician’s throat just as brutally as any wolf; one mistake and one’s life ---musical career--- was over. The adventures were his fellow performers, all playing a different instrument from one another. Oh, and how skillfully they play them. Who was he to think that he could match their performance? All Olo could possibly do was amplify it. Nothing else would do them justice. 

Silence descended upon the halfling, unsullied by the noise of battle a few feet away. The same kind of silence that the audience would experience seconds before a performance started. A hint of arcane energy crackled in the air around Olo. Oblivious to it, he took in a deep breath, and let his fingers decide what to play on the hurdy gurdy. 

A long drone permeated the forest, creating a white noise that was neither painful nor pleasant to hear. When it almost felt like it was going to go on forever, different notes chimed in. The jumbled sound started to create a pattern, coming together to finally produce something that could be recognized as a melody. 

The music was a popular one in the Sword Cost, commonly heard in places that had the luxury of musical entertainment. Because it was so well known, however, even those who had a modicum of musical knowledge could instantly tell that it was incomplete: it was obviously a composition intended for more than one instrument. If Olo had his own troupe, his performance would have improved at least three-fold, but he didn’t, and that was okay. It didn’t matter that the music was far from perfect or how amateurish he played. Hells, the listener could straight up hate what they were hearing, and it still wouldn’t matter. As long as they heard music, Olo’s spells had an affect on them. 

The melody coaxed ---dragged out if needed--- the part of the listener that refused to lie down and die here. Fear of death, a promise not yet fulfilled, hope for something that lay ahead; the reason could be anything. The melody latched on to that part and amplified it. In turn, the listener felt a surge of strength. Every attack seemed heavier even though the amount of effort put into said attacks were the same as before. 

In the grand scheme of things, it was an insignificant change: it was not as if a person who never held anything heavier than a utensil could suddenly destroy a boulder with their bare hands. It was much more subtle: a person who only ever lifted a pen could lift an encyclopedia over their head; someone strong enough to crack a rock with their hands could now crush it completely without breaking a sweat. They were all things that they could have done when push came to shove. The music only galvanized the potential. 

The pit orchestra were always there to enhance the main attraction, rarely to be one.