Meeting in Mitclan
Tenebrae - Sunday, February 28, 2016, 8:45 AM
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* W02: Mictlan *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Located within the Deep Woods, and hours past Wilderness Pointe, in the heart of its northern woods, bones frame this hollowed-out space. Massive and heavy, they reach towards the sky, meeting--almost--in the center like great and worn stalagmites. Or giant teeth. After a few seconds--it's quickly evident that this is a space carved from a dragon's bones. A very, very large...dragon's bones. The air smells of ash, brimstone, and earth. Underneath the apex of the bones lie the workings of a ceremonial pyre.
The grounds are run by shamans of the sith-makar, and the sacred space dedicated to the Death Singing Dragon, one of their names for the goddess, Vardama. The sith use it to sing the souls of their dead back to the land of Wing and Flame. It was here that brave heroes stood, and vanquished the ashen warriors of old, thereby freeing the land from Thul's curse.
The morning sky is clear and the sun shines brightly, though the stiff wind which blows is chill. Many of the Sith-makar not occupied with duties find their way near the cookfires. Cookfires which appear to be in the process of being replenished with meat. A large light-pelted dire wolf carries the fresh carcass of a boar towards. She is followed by a pair of comparatively tiny pups, yet who are hunters in their own right. Each carries a hare. However, ...encouraging them to leave their catch alongside the boar Uneth drops takes a moment.
A little way off from the central clearing, someone has made a little shelter of leaning sticks and wetted leaves and mud. Although well camouflaged, when a sil's head---that of Iadoth---pokes out, the thing is hidden no longer. She has heard the approach of small wolf paws, and although larger ones accompany, it is nonetheless an event notable. "<something you don't understand in sildanyari>" she calls out.
Azog has been tracking, his eyes to the ground, and so he's a bit surprised that apparently what he's been tracking has come here. He takes a look around, and says, "Oh," as if everything is explained. He comes into the clearing, though, since he's already here.
Natural locomotion is one realm where natural selection is particularly fierce. Critters that can't run faster than what they eat don't live to make more critters. Of course, neither do critters that can't run faster than what's trying to eat them.
For a critter that eats anything and has no natural predators, the golem Munch is a lot faster than he has any busniess being. Tearing along the main path at an easy run, the metal man rapidly approaches the space of Mictlan, not quite as noisy as a buzzsaw, but hardly subtle. Topping the last rise, he slows to a casual walk, raising a hand in greeting to those around.
Dire Wolf turns from the vicinity of the fire towards the sylvanori greeting. "Peace on your nest," she returns the greeting in sildanyari. The sounds of others' arrivals cause ears to swivel, promptly followed by head and eyes. "Peace on your nests," she now greets in growled trade. "All who respect Ea, and Mictlan, are welcome."
In the low branches of a tree at the edge of the clearing, a shapeless, shaggy grey hide topped by a faceless carved-bone mask sits, observing the goings-on in silence. The mask tilts faintly at Uneth's greeting, then lowers to the deer skull resting in her lap, and soon the sounds of steel picking at bone drift up from her place in the tree, as she resumes her work.
With the sith-makar included, there is an enormous variety of life at Mictlan now. Iadoth eyes the oruch suspiciously; still she finds herself troubled by their presence. Still, she is courteous as she rises from her woodland den, offering slight bows to all of the assembled creatures. "Good greetings to all-you," she finds herself saying, in rough-hewn Tradespeak. Her elven ears, though, sharpen at the hidden sound of steel-against-bone, and she looks about, curious.
Azog makes a face. Peace on his nests? But this seems to be Sith Makar turf, and that's the sort of thing they say. He sighs a bit. Well Iadoth should eye him suspiciously - all in plate armor, and with a huge shield across his back, he's very atypical of the sort of fellow you get around here. But he can read the woods, such as they are, and he now as an idea of what he's found. "Good morning," he calls back in greeting, stiffly polite rather than warm, and heavily accented.
Munch glances towards the familiar sound of metal on bone, peering a moment before shifting focus back to Azog and the Big Dog. Wolf. Whatever. "Salutations. How are things here? I heard some rumor of demon spiders?"
A plume of steam exhaled as his destrier snorts announces Jareth's arrival into the ancient sacred spot. Shifting from side to side in the saddle as the horse clips onto the hard-packed snow and earth of the trail, the warrior is huddled up with a thick fur-lined cloak over his shoulder, with the hood drawn up over his head.
As his mount comes to a stop, he climbs down and, with a pat on the animal's shoulder, leads it to a tree where he can tie the reins. An apple is its reward for carrying him all the way over, which it accepts with a grudging grunt.
Stepping across the area, Jareth makes his way straight to the fire, holding his hands over the flames to warm up on this cold day, "Good morning to all of you."
The mask turns back up again, turning toward Iadoth. Now, the knife pauses, a dark-skinned hand emerging from the pelt to pass over the skull, dislodging puffs of bone dust that fall into a wide, shallow wooden bowl. "Hoi," a woman's sullen voice says behind the mask. "If you are curious, it is well. This one's days of being a danger, well past."
Iadoth spies the horse tied up against the tree, and whistles loudly. Another horse, this one grey and lightweight, steps out of the woods at the edge of the clearing. The horse walks over to greet that of Jareth's, which he effects by nuzzling affectionately. Iadoth herself wanders over to the tree where the masked woman works at the deer skull. "Yours is of odd purposeful, Mistress Masked." She looks up, warming her hands by rubbing them briskly together. "What end to are you powder skull of deerthing?"
Some of those present are familiar to her; passingly or signficantly. Those not gain the most of the large lupine's focus. "What brings so many to Mictlan?" The pups finally relinquish their prey to the ground, the pack, and bound up to the area amidst her paws. Her head lowers to chuff and growl at the pair before making a sharp directing gesture with a turn of her snout to the treeline whence they arrived. The pups need no more encouragement and dart off, possibly in attempt to see which shall reach the foliage first.
"I am Uneth, warden of Ea and Mictlan," she offers introduction as she lumbers nearer the arrivals unknown to her.
Jareth looks up from the fire, "I was checking in at Wilderness Pointe. Some loggers had mentioned hearing some odd sounds a few days back, but no tracks of anything in the woods. I figured I'd stay in the area a bit just in case. I decided to come here to pay respect to the memory of Sufri'gan, as Daeus holds the golden dragons close to his heart."
Munch peers around a while, and shrugs. "Munch. Some drunks were talking demon spiders up this way. From the look of things, guessing naught but talk. Eh, suppose the run was good for me, or soemthing."
Azog peers at Uneth. "Well, you do have a name, then," he says thoughtfully. He's known the wolf that speaks for a while now, and interacted before, but there hadn't been an actual introduction before. Generally you remember chatting with a wolf the size of a warhorse. He looks over to Jareth as he talks about the tracks, though he says, "There are lots of tracks in the woods," he points out. "It's just a matter of what is typical and normal and what is not. Which is what led me here," he concludes dryly.
"I do," Uneth confirms to the armored oruch, "and I am grateful for your efforts. Before, I would suggest you dismiss tales, but now..." Her growl deepens. "Fiends lurk in the city's walls, and in the Redridge. Dismiss nothing. Ea has yet to share with me news of fiends elsewhere, but I do not doubt they may appear, and they are a threat to all."
"The fire is warm," Alba calls from her branch in answer to Uneth, "and the hunting was good. Skins had I in plenty, so to the younglings here, they go." With that, she turns back to Iadoth, setting the curved knife aside and drawing a large, curved fang from beneath her hide. In a smooth motion, she tosses the tooth across the short distance between her and the sil. "For that, to make suitable to carry magic. For this..." she pats the deer skull between the antlers, sending up a faint puff of off-white dust. "Because it will please me, that this one bear the tale of its hunt upon its face. It was a good hunt, and it fought with strength and cunning exceptional to its kind."
Munch turns focus to Alba, blinking with a soft click. "A deer? With strength and cunning? This is a tale I've want to hear."
Jareth takes a seat on a log by the fire, still enjoying the warmth against his hands, "A few years back, some others in the guild ran into a young green dragon not too far from here. I just want to make sure there are no others that may have nested in the area."
Iadoth glances upwards at the witch, whom she has encountered once or twice in the woods before. Her unusual behaviour is not out of character from those other denizens of the woodlands, nor indeed when compared to some of the people she encountered in the wilds of the Vast, or yet even in Alexandria. She nods deeply, understanding some of the intent of Alba's words. "Strengthly and guilesomeness, yes, I have knowing of such creatures. Deer are with wisdomness great." She winces, and wanders back to the fire, bowing at the assembled group. She takes a seat.
Azog nods to Uneth, peering over to Jareth, to see what there is to see about tales. "Dragons? Fiends?" Well, they don't bother him much, it seems, since he shrugs them off. "They will fall," he concludes.
Dire Wolf's head turns to Jareth to note, "There are no dragons here, aside from the bones of the Great Green, the Death-Singing Dragon's blessings, and those of The Blood. If they were, their presence would not make them a threat; only their actions." To the masked one, she dips her head, followed by a snort at the artifice humanoid. "One should respect their prey and its challenge."
Munch shrugs. "I respect a deer's speed and stealth. Their strength or cunning I've yet to encounter. Dragons, now those are strong. Fiends, eh, most are strong, but the little imps are just quick and think themselves clever."
"When the tale has been told in bone," the masked with says, taking up her knife and resuming her work, "then it shall be told in word, and not before." Pick-pick-pick, goes the knife, and fine bonemeal sifts from the grooves. As she works, a finger-sized lock of hair slithers out from thepelt toward the forest floor, wrapping around the carved and ink-stained tooth she'd tossed Iadoth and pulling it back up to her. "If tales interest, I am told there will be tales in plenty within the city, by the river."
Iadoth looks to Munch, her expression wrought with puzzlement. "Things or twos I am knowing of predator-prey-catching. Stag is strong thing. Antler, it is thick, thick bone. When stags are of fighting for females, when clashing?" She makes a snapping sound. "Bones are breaken. Antlers snapped in two."
"Tales?" Uneth's ears, then head, swivel towards Alba. "Perhaps I will hear of these before my journey. A swim in the Tornmawr is always refreshing."
Munch considers, and shrugs. "Never had a deer try to fight me. They just run. An elk once. And moose are fighters. Pretty good ones. But deer, no, just runners."
Cesran comes flying in on his magic carpet as he's taken it out into the forest for some field tests. He deftly zigs and zags through the trees before he spots the gathering. He flies around once before he brings the carpet towards the others, "Greetings. What brings everyone out here?"
At Mictlan, there are several figures sitting around the early morning campfire. Uneth, for one, and Iadoth too, rubbing her hands together for warmth. But also Jareth, who has ridden in from Wilderness Pointe with rumours of strange noises; Azog, a huge oruch in plate armour and greatshield, also following tracks; Munch, on the hunt for demon spiders; and Alba, fresh from a hunt and struggle with a deer, who now sits in a tree carving a mask from the skull. An unusual meeting, but calm and pleasant enough.
Dire Wolf lifts her muzzle towards the latest arrival who zigs, zags, and then hovers. "Peace on your nest," she greets with growled yet intelligible words. "All who respect Ea and Mictlan are welcome here."
Azog peers up at Cesran, then back to the group. "Good morning," he says in accented Tradespeak. "I am certainly here in error," he replies to the question. "Since it seems nothing is cauing trouble just now."
At Mictlan, there are several figures sitting around the early morning campfire. Uneth, for one, and Iadoth too, rubbing her hands together for warmth. But also Jareth, who has ridden in from Wilderness Pointe with rumours of strange noises; Azog, a huge oruch in plate armour and greatshield, also following tracks; Munch, on the hunt for demon spiders; Alba, fresh from a hunt and struggle with a deer, who now sits in a tree carving a mask from the skull; and now too, Cesran, who has arrived on a flying carpet, of all things. An unusual meeting, but calm and pleasant enough.
"Travels?" Alba says, looking up to the wolf, knife halting in its work once more. "Where would you wander to?" In her branch, the witch is shrouded from head to toe in a huge, shaggy gray pelt against the bitter cold of Alexandrian winter, a polished deer skull on her lap.
Trudging in, Durrankar tilts his head at the larger number of non-sith-makar here. "Peace on your nests." He says with a bit of a warm greeting as he looks over a good number of the people here.....
Svarshan arrives with some of the warrior-caste. They wear Am'shere's colors, and he moves more slowly than the others. He thumps his tail in welcome to recognized faces, before taking a seat near the great Fire.
Munch nods with Azog. "Rumors, but little substance. It happens." The metal man raises a hand in greeting to the new arrivals, nodding in respect as he spies the Demon Chomper.
Dire Wolf returns her attention to Alba. "Yes. I travel to Am'shere soon..." Conveniently, more Sith-makar arrive in appropriate regalia. She dips her head to Svarshan, but her eyes pass him to track the silver Sith shaman. "We soon travel to Am'shere," she ammends.
Jareth takes hold of a stick and starts stoking the embers of the fire, "A few more weeks, and the wind's bite should die down somewhat." as he draws his cloak about himself a bit more. Reaching over to his pack, he pulls out a few bundles and a corked bottle of wine. Pulling out the cork, he takes a swig and holds it out, "Warms the blood and puts hair on your chest."
Cesran smiles, "Well I'm glad that you are all hear. I'm looking to put together an expedition to Kor's Battlefield. I am in search of Nikmok and well although I could go on my own. I am not eager to go without those that have more martial prowess than I so as not to offend Kor."
Iadoth stands up from the fireplace, bowing deeply to the shaman and the holy warrior. "Peace on your nests, Masters Dragonkin. Peace on your nests." She takes a seat again by the fire, choosing a spot from where she can see the treeline. She screws up her nose at Jareth's turn-of-phrase.
Durrankar looks to the wolf, hearing her words and nodding to her. "I'll ask why another time, Uneth." he says as he walks over to the fire and puts a pig on a spit over it.
Svarshan stretches his legs out before Fire, until the joints pop and settle. "Peasse to your nessts," he concurrs, amid the round of greetings. He looks over towards the shamans a while, then turns to focus on Iadoth. "Peasse," he says.
"So and so," Alba says, mask turning to follow the newer arrivals. Svarshan's tail-thump, returned with a nod of greeting, and presently the skull is set aside, the bone-meal collected from her scrapings poured into a small pouch and put away. As Jareth offers his bottle, the witch mutters something low and uncomplimentary about 'wetlanders poisoning their water,' and holds up a hand in refusal. Cesran's offer, however, seems to catch her attention. "...Nikmok? What is this?"
Munch eyes the wine, and accepts a token sip. "I've no need for hair on my chest, but thanks anyway." Magicite eyes blink with a soft click as he looks to Cesran. "Kor's realm? Didn't think I'd be likely see that for some time yet. What exactly is it you're looking for?'
Azog peers at Cesran, asking, "What is a Nikmok? And how is one battlefield Khor'Dagorlth's? I would expect he would claim them all?" He'll take a pull of Jareth's wine. Not so much for the hair on his chest, but he won't complain about a bit more warmth on a day like this. He nods a greeting to Svarshan as he passes the flask along.
Iadoth meets Svarshan's eye, somewhat of a rarity for the sil. "Peace..." she returns. She takes the bottle from Azog, and sniffs deeply, wincing slightly. She decides it is not to be, too early for alcohol. She passes the bottle on.
Dire Wolf is not immediately familiar with the term, nor Kor's realm. Strength and battle are not His alone. Life, survival require those and more. Gods and fiends rapidly become the furthest from her interest, however, as she snorts. "We can share words of it now... but before that, I seek your wisdom, Shaman Durrankar of the Tyrranik." The large lupine lumbers towards the cookfire and the Sith there, though her pace slows as her form ripples. In the span of a stride, the quantity and breadth of her strides is halved.
Unwrapping one of the bundles, Jareth reveals a wheel of cheese with a width of both his hands side by side. Putting it on a flat stone, he sets it down near the embers to warm it and melt it a bit, to go with a big loaf of bread in the other bundle, "Kor's Battlefield is his realm. Much like Daeus' Palace in the Sun. Or Vardama's Land of the Shadow where most of us pass through when we meet our end and wait to be claimed by one of the gods." and then looks at Cesran, "Getting there usually means one has met the end of their time on this world. What drives you to find this Nikmok?"
Dire Wolf shifts and distorts, eventually forming into a wiry Mul'niessa partially covered in a worn cloak.
"...an old being..." Svarshan begins. He pauses after that. The warrior-caste stands, and reaches into the Flame, reclaiming a coal, there. "Old, though it wass ten yearss since I saw him. Nikmok wass a giant, curssed ass a werewolf. There iss more to the sstory, but I give me ssome time," he says. He looks down to the burning coal, and over to the shamans. He goes over to speak with them.
Durrankar actually gets a hold of the wine himself. However, he sniffs at the bottle.....and pours some of it on the cooking pig, then passes it to the next person. His attention is caught by Uneth and thumps his tail. "One moment, Uneth." He says as he uses his claws to perforate the skin of the pig to let the alcohol seep in.....then he starts for Uneth. "yes, Uneth?"
Munch buzzes at Azog. "If The Warlord wants to claim a battefield who would argue with him?" The golem blinks, considering... oh, right, every one of his followers would, just to have something to fight about. "...well, who would argue and mean it?" He looks to Svar, considering. "Giant, cursed as a werewolf... I remember some story about that. Nikmok, huh?" He glances to Cesran. "What does a guy like you want with a guy like that?"
Uneth's 'shift' catches Iadoth's eye. It's a strange sight that she's never seen before. She looks very carefully, her eyes resting on the mul'niessa. Finally her eyes widen as neurons connect. It is a day of firsts.
Svarshan bows his head before the shamans, placing his muzzle in their claws. Words are being quietly spoken. It doesn't take long, and his face is bloody as he turns back around.
But he doesn't seem to mind.
His eyes glitter with something he'd Forgotten, and he opens his muzzle...and halts, noticing the two. He gives a snort that could be bemusement. "Ssa. And our adopted sshaman," he says.
Azog nods to Munch. That was his point, but hearing it refers to the outer planes makes more sense to him. He peers at Uneth's shift; apparently this is a day of several firsts for him. Now understanding the background more clearly, he listens now for more of what the conversation is about.
Uneth in this form is a rare, if not original, sight for most... though it does not last. "I seek your opinion on my efforts," she states simply, attention and approach focused upon Durrankar. Her form begins to alter once more.
Uneth ripples and alters, gaining or retaining humanoid form, yet growing a muscular tail as her body smooths over in fine ebon scales.
Svarshan opens his muzzle...it soon drops to a grin. One of the warrior-caste steps forward with interest, and he stops him with a move of the hand. His probably isn't the only astonished look. A number of the warrior-caste who'd come with him break out into conversation.
One of the shamans steps forward, her head tilted to the side. Her claws are fresh from where she'd recently drawn blood, but again, no one seems to notice or mind as she licks them clean, curious eyes on the proceedings.
Cesran takes a deep breath, "Last year the were a head that was stolen from the paladins, the head of the son of Nikmok. This head was under guard because it spouted blasphemous prophecies. It went silent and it was discovered that it had been replaced. I have been helping to try to track it down and the thought is that in speaking to Nikmok. Hopefully he will have something of his son's that we can use to find the head. It is a long shot, but so far it's been the best lead to finding the head and getting it back. It is related to the court of light and finding it. The head might know something about it and I'd like to get it back and prevent the enemy from having it. I was told by those that had last seen Nikmok that he was in Kor's Battlefield so we'd have to go there to find him."
The shock is.....rather evident on Durrankar's face. His eyes widen as he watches the transformation, and the final result. His eyes....roam, but mostly because Uneth asked.....
That's his story and he's sticking to it....
"This is....certainly different, Uneth." Durrankar says as his tail begins to thump....then stops...then thumps...then stops. "You are certainly....beautiful." He says as his eyes meet hers.
The sil's eyes widen at the unfolding wonders. A flying carpet, the mul'niessa's original... and new... forms, bloody faces and claws, a discussion of a blasphemous dismembered head, talk of the Outer Planes... "Please, hold... it is travel to Planes Outersome that seeking, Master Wizard?" She tries to address Cesran nonchalantly when speaking of such wondrous things. "Perhaps, maybe, you consider travel to Vast, place where planes and material world collide?"
Munch glances to the shapeshifter, but doesn't seem interested. A shifted shape is a shifted shape. He nods to Cesran, considering. "I don't know much about heads of prophesy, Nikmok, or courts of light. But if you're planning a trip to the Lands of Strife, just let me know when and where."
A few of the sith-makar look over to their visitors, but there focus seems on the tribal goings-on.
Azog peers at Cesran, grumbles. "Under guard? You people ought to have destroyed a thing like that," he says disparagingly. "Now it's caused more problems." He gets frustrated when people fail to see the simple things.
Un'eth's own tail sways and twitches uncertainly as she is studied. The response, however, causes a tail thump. Or three. "You approve?" Her tone remains tentative for only a syllable before regaining her more standard confident tone. She steps close before the silver. "I am pleased."
There is a brief pause before her tail thumps solidly. Once. "I seek to claim you, Durrankar. As cihuaa. I seek to journey to Am'shere to make this claim to the Tyrranik Elders. I would have you journey with me." Another pause, more lengthy. "If you approve." Now her tailtip returns to twitching sways.
Long distance to Iadoth: Munch read <funny lizard words> <funny lizard words> <thumping>
"...cihuaa. Well, ssister-by-tribe, doess anyone challenge this female's claim!" the shaman steps forward. She holds up her bloodied claws to draw attention. She wears the simple wrap of a wild shaman of her people, in the Empress' colors along a band at her arm. Politics?
She then looks to Durrankar, "Do you accept thiss female's claim? Do you alsso take cihuaa?"
Munch perks slightly at the mention of a challenge, but, not entirely understanding what's going on, stays quiet.
Iadoth doesn't understand what it is that she's seeing, but she has seen enough civilization to understand formality and ceremony when she sees it. Respectfully, she moves quietly to her shelter, and retrieves her harp from inside. In her head she tries to conjure to mind some quiet songs from her homelands---perhaps something from the Faring Folk.
Cesran nods, "They tried, but do to the foul magics that were placed on the head it cannot be destroyed so that is why they had to confine it. I did not know about it until it was stolen. I believe that I could destroy it if given the chance to research it."
Durrankar stares at Uneth quietly, for what seems like forever. Until he takes his left hand and runs his claws right over her head. The claws would travel right over wher ehe had placed a blue pigment on Uneth's head months ago. "You are slick....." He murmurs to Uneth before says...louder. "I accept. I will take Uneth as my cihuaa."
Azog nods to Cesran, "As you say, a way could have been found with some effort and research." He studiously ignores the pair getting married or whatever. No business of his.
And just-like-that, tension happens in the ranks. "I challenge thiss male'ss worth! *I* am worthy of the Green!" one of the warriors says. He stands to full height, before leveling claws at Durrankar. Feathers and quills stand proudly along his back and shoulders.
Cheers and hoots follow as he stands. Hoots and cheers and tail-thumps as he's pushed forward. Claws grab Durrankar, too, and push him towards the center.
Drinks get passed along, to augment Jareth's offering. The air is charged with: FIGHT!
"For this challenge only, we break the peace of Mictlan! Shaman Durrankar! Your claim has been challenged! Face it!"
Across, the warrior thumps his tail, spoiling for a fight. He roars.
Munch watches the ritual thing a few moment more. Probally has to do with sex. All the really confusing ceremonies have to do with sex. Glancing to Cesran, he grins. "I'm good at breaking things. It's one of my specialities." Then fighting breaks out. Well, ritual fighting, but still, interesting stuff.
A few chords are drawn across
A few chords are drawn across Iadoth's harp, playing a song of the Phurai Dae which is full of tension and strength. Appropriate. Every now and again she breaks from the music to /thump/ the ground to her right; eventually, the other sith get the picture, joining in with their tails, adding to the rhythm of the piece.
Un'eth's tail thumps anew, though her moment of relief is brief. Her head snaps around to the other shaman who may have validated her claim, then to the warrior caste who rises in challenge. Perhaps she should be flattered? but... No, this is proper. It is the way of The Blood. She can accept this. "I fight for what I desire," she answers Durrankar simply before stepping back from him.
Azog watches the fighting, nodding approvingly. So the stronger shall win? This works for him. He watches curiously to see just how it goes down.
Durrankar is too busy looking at Uneth and thumping his tail at her offer to hear the challenge. Then he's shoved into the middle of a circle....and Durrankar slides to a stop in the middle of the circle. He looks....down....at the challenger. "Oh...right. He challenged me, didn't he?" He says before looking to Uneth.....and considers his options....while staying out of the reach of the warrior caste.
Finally, he gets an idea......and his form changes rapidly....and enlarges.....and enlarges......until Durrankar changes into a Huge T-rex....letting out a mighty, and fairly loud roar at the warrior caste......
And chomps down on him. Only his tail can be seen from the T-rex's lips. Until the T-rex sucks that into it's mouth.
Svarshan looks up at the challenge. "I remember the fight," he says low-voiced to Jareth, before turning to watch. And blinks.
Munch watches a few moments longer, but it's ritual stuff. Bored again, the golem heads off into the woods. Maybe he'll find an owlbear, those guys are always ready to throw down.