[i]The King of Yellow will stride trough our forests, he will poison our air with a pollen not from this world and he will take from us all that we hold dear. And give to us sickness of such likeness we may never be cured. All but his few, his angels. His angels Whom he will devour personally. And the sea will boil with the Hydras young and our shores will become their breeding ground, men and women alike their mates. And all this shall start with a tear in the veil that keeps them out, a clawed hand of long dead membrane and white bone. He who opens the way will be Jagg'Azish, The First who Died.

The Heretic Codex, Prophecies 3:7. Author unknown. [/i]

[i]His bones are bare of flesh but he will take ours to dress in. He laughs as we slaughter one another over things like gold and land, for he needs neither, only our dead. His acolytes will raise the bodies of those we love, twist them so that no humanity is left and have them dance in a macabre waltz for his pleasure. He will defile everything we know and rewrite the rules of our very reality to fit that of the old gods. And the New God shall sit in heaven and do nothing, for he is but a lie. And they are many, and they are strong while they are also the truth.

The Heretic Codex, Prophecies 3:11. Author unknown. [/i]

[b]New Orleans.[/b]
[i]1811
May 12th[/i]
The streets seemed oddly desolate, a port like New Orleans is always crawling with people. Sailors, whores and other people o unsavory to mention and there was always ships in the harbor. It was much like the calm before the storm, and what a storm it was going to be. The green waves crashed against the pier, splitting into foam but soon ebbed away again. Even the sea seemed to be calm, waves were unusually calm and easy. Then on the horizon, just barely withing sight land, a massive ship flying a tattered old Spanish flag could be seen. The Man-o-War was battered and broken, the hull seemed to be held together by some unseen force and not a single crew member could be seen on deck. Yet it steered towards the harbor like it had a full crew. The few that was there ran to get hold of a townsguard, to warn them of the apparent invader. The ship came halfway before the first cannonball landed infront of it, a warning shot from the local garrison. But the ship, creaking with what sounded like stalwart defiance, crashed across the still waves and into the harbor, despite cannon fire splitting its hull. And once there it finally began to sank, slowly as if something was rejecting its presence deep below. No crew, nothing about the ship made sense. The ship had the harbor in a uproar, the wreckage was delaying ships from leaving, many sailors were spooked saying it was a omen. The mayor mainly worried about the fact they had sunk a Spanish ship, sending a courier to find out just what was going on. 

----

 Out in the swamps, somewhere deep among the Mangroove trees a bonechilling scream was heard. A woman, scarcely older then 18 was dragged by the hair by a man who looked more skeletal then alive. But his grip was that of a cold iron vice, in his other hand he clutched a sickle. The girl was thrown ontop of a makeshift altar and before the woman could even let out a single plea for mercy, her head was seperated from her body. The man smiled.

“And in the mist, his eyes will see us all. And in the mist, he shall send the first of his servants; The Flayer. N'ghalu Jagg'Azish! N'ghalu Jagg'Azish!” His voice was hoarse by the end of his chanting, but now it was as if the swamp around him was chanting back and out of the waters swarmed half rotten remains of what was once human and animal alike. Like a flock of rabid dogs they tore the girls body apart. The man stood perfectly still. Just observing.

Without knowing it, New Orleans was about to be invaded. But not by the Spanish or English but by something far more sinister.

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