Skar's hollow eyes gaze upon the camps, webs clotting his vision as firelight dances across his withered face. His open maw now stands as an entryway, open only to the worthiest among the Ashlanders. They walk before this towering beast, the fallen foe of their ancestors. There is no music or drink, but rather solemn contemplation and prayer. I only hear their murmured voices and the crackle of the flames.