Darkness in New Orleans
There's a black, fetid pool in the Teche. It bubbles slowly with a hot thickness. There are no flies here, no alligators, no frogs, no life of any kind, only a putrid fog that hangs like an executioner's blade in the air. A form rises from the pool, a body slick with unfathomable darkness. It is the pool, and yet it is not the pool. A head shapes itself into being out of the muck, and out of the head a face, indistinct in features. A mouth emerges, letting out a silent scream.
* * * * *
A reddish-black wolf swiftly darts through the trees along the edge of the Bayou Teche, stopping here and there to sniff the air and look around. Finding the scent he is looking for, he follows a well-trod trail that leads him to a lake. He stands upon a promontory overlooking the lake. There is wind, but it is not enough to disturb his reflection in the water. As he gazes into it, three other figures step out onto land, as if from the water, yet they are not wet, a young dark-skinned woman wearing a corded earpiece, an old rough-looking man with a graying beard, and an enormous hulk of a man with red streaks in his beard. They silently look to the wolf as if seeking direction, and the wolf turns his head toward a small wooden structure nearby on the edge of the lake. The old man whispers into his walking stick, which is adorned with feathers and wampum, then nods.
The reddish-brown wolf leads the way to the building, which is surrounded by a fence with barbed wire on top. There is a hole cut into the fence around it, but a yellow sign upon the fence reads "KEEP OUT! Hazardous Materials." The wolf steps through the hole first, followed quickly by the others. Quietly they approach, keeping low to the ground. The old man suddenly holds his hand up high, and they all stop. A foul air passes over them, but does not touch them as the old man incants a prayer. With the foul air gone, they proceed toward the building, ducking under windows and making their way to the entrance. It is guarded: two men in tactical black and armed with automatic rifles. But the rifles are useless as the man with the red streaks in his beard morphs into a beastly wolfish form several times his original size and runs at them. A few seconds later, the two men lay upon the ground, shredded by the beast's claws, one of them bleeding out the neck from a horrendous bite.
Nodding in ascent, the wolf of reddish-brown fur leads the way inside. They will not have long to purge this place now. If they act quickly, they can destroy the minions of the Wyrm before the masters of this place are able to radio their superiors.