Malthos's face is filled with dread when the memory comes to him. When I was but a boy, a madman came to my village's nomadic camp, who died soon afterwards. He carried with him an obsidian statue, akin to the being in this carving. When the village's shamanic leader saw the thing.... The shaman gulps. It was the first time I ever saw my master fearful. He had the thing destroyed, and the pieces shattered and scattered as far as possible, buried deep beneath the earth. The spirits depicted here are evil and alien, worse than any god that any of us has ever heard of. Growling slightly as he looks again at the carving, Malthos mutters, the hate clear in his pale eyes. I revoke my regards, you monstrosities. You are not worthy of my respect.