Don't do it, it's a trap!
The HBs capture young musicians in their prime and milk them for precious talent-juice, which they then sell on the black market.
You emerge blinking in the sunlight, thirty years later. Naught but a withered husk.
(
Theoban What of it, Fri 22 May 2009, 10:54,
archived)
Curses!
Foiled again.
(
The Cat's Mother Not a People Person., Fri 22 May 2009, 10:55,
archived)