The plains on the outskirts of the Shurima desert have always been known as the voodoo lands. Dark magics flow over the landscape like a chilling breeze. The dried grasses rustle, and the cackles of those who dabble with this power float through the air.

There is a valley, just on the sandy edge of the desert. It is said that a powerful witch lives there, at the very bottom—all by herself, but never alone. It is said that she commands the powerful magics that circle and batter this place. She transforms the energies into semi-living souls, trapping them inside the bodies of carefully crafted scarecrows.

Those who have been to the edge of that valley have seen the rows upon rows of shambling creatures. They have seen them dance and fight with each other. And they have fled in fright, for there are few sights more terrifying.

The witch has kept to herself for many long years. That is, until a few months ago, when she sent one of her creations out to warn the rest of the world.

Leaving the valley in the middle of the night, Fiddlesticks shambled across the desert and into the neighboring realms. He tormented and terrified all who looked upon him, and he smiled. For it is his job to be the harbinger, to bear the news of the impending doom.