Upon the old skull volcano, during a dark night in the troubled village of Shadowdale stood a humanoid.
He stood there frequently in the last days, minding his own business. He did nothing that is worthy to be mentioned or remembered.
Tonight he stands on the hill with his hands risen. Wearing no hood tonight, no grin or laughter. The fishman chants eagerly in a language not known to most. Once his cast is finished he grins madly and eyes the situation unfold.
The ground beneath him turns black again, this time in a rather big circle. A stench spreads around his vicinity. Then a warm, stinking fog spreads over the fields of Shadowdale (roughly 200 ft). Afterwards it sinks into the ground, into most plants in reach of the fog.
((This was my blighter char not Azzelas to mention))