Orpheus plays his harp, and fixes the lion in his flashing gaze, and speaks in a voice like thunder. And at the sound of his words, the savage creature recoils from him in fear and physical pain. Blood springs from the lion's eyes, first in drops but then in rivers, as Orpheus continues to recite barbed words, cruel words, words to flay the body and the mind. At last, the beast lies dead and the poet stands victorious, never having lifted a weapon but armed with the most beautiful and terrible of all magic. As silence descends over the battlefield, the other warriors, blood-spattered and weary, look with awe upon what their youthful companion has wrought.
No, you're right, that's totally silly -- a ridiculous distraction from the serious business of murderhoboing for fun and profit.