Image credit to Q_x
“It had been a particularly vicious winter after a summer that only brought drought to the fields, reducing the last fall harvest to nearly nothing. Starvation had run rampant as the cold set in, and many, especially the unprepared, perished. Blizzards caused many more deaths, and the snow rose several inches a day. Townsfolk began to suspect dark magics and curses. With foul accusations and unfair trials, the city began to turn on itself. Spring could not have come soon enough.
The Order of Tralor commanded that the Fire Festival to signify the coming spring must be a loud and vibrant affair, so as to cause the Gods themselves to take notice. The city prepared the finest of the first Spring’s harvest for sacrifice.
Outside of the city square, streets were nearly empty. There was no one to notice him, no one to stop him. And where he walked, he left footsteps of deep black oil that clung to his feet like strings of resin. There was a green aura that floated from him like steam. The sun was almost set as the people of Desdelen gathered in the city square to light the ceremonial bonfire.
They never saw it coming.”
Sage Yliandra on the Legend of Desdelen