Giliad

pronounced gil-ee-add

Giliad's fire was powerful; revered and holy, perhaps even worshiped as godly among his people. His body was almost a husk in comparison to the flame that burned within him. It grew to the point where he craved more flame. The dying kingdoms would not do; but live flames would. He grew cannibalistic and insatiable and began to devour his own kind. But what would you do, defy a god? People began feeding him the weak and dying as sacrifices, sometimes even their first born and strongest warriors as an honorable sacrifice. He was mighty and undefinable.

Then, things went so horribly wrong. His mortal body grew too weak to contain his own flame, and ended up melting his own flesh as his fire became too strong for even himself to handle. His glory, his worship, stripped away as suddenly he was nothing more than a festering, boiling concoction of sentience and ember. His people turned against him and performed a banishing ritual in an attempt to keep him from devouring the entire population.

He was whisked away to the cold and barren wastes to rot. His ember grew weaker and settled to a point where his form could take the appearance of something somewhat stable. But he was no longer a god, merely a beast, slowly losing mind, slowly losing himself in the wastes.