In the shadows of an alley across the plaza, a figure rises from the gobble-like crouch he had been in for what seemed like days. His eyes had never left the Statue of his beloved Laanx, nor the Temple behind it, even though the wall had blocked his view the entire time. He hops up on the barrel next to him, curling his bare toes over the edge to ensure his grip, and watches as the insignificant dwarf finishes his cry and wanders away. Did the fool even bow homage to his Lord Laanx, and the statue that embodied all of the greatness of His power? The figure sneers, drawing the skin back from his hollowed eyes in a skull-like visage. No, not even in the slightest. Not one of the hundreds he had seen passing the statue gave it more than a passing glance, when the very shadow of it should have them bowing and groveling at its stone feet. They will learn. The figure looks up at the Crystal. Oh yes…soon they will -all- learn.
The figure leaps back off the barrel, wincing at the pain of movement. So, the shepherd calls to the sheep [or PS sheep equivalent]. The figure starts rubbing ointments on his face, numbing just the right muscles to provide a better disguise than any mask. If it was the sheep they called, then a sheep he would be.
