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Read by Alleine Dragonfyre

Louisiana Myths and Folklore

Volume 2 – “Beware the Loup – Garou”

It was some days after my chance meeting with Jaque at the Tavern in Aerie, when I was going about my usual business. I am an alchemist by trade, and often visit local swamps for rare herbs and mushrooms.

I’m more than capable of dealing with most of the swamp’s hazards, but it was unusual for me to encounter other people when I made my collection trips.

Even more unusual for me to be taken by surprise.

This is why I jumped a little, startled, when I heard a voice behind me suddenly utter in a raspy voice “Don’t move.”

Instinctively, my hand began to tangle with the channelling of Earth magic, and I turned to face the threat. Who was it but none other than Jaque, the strange man from New Orleans.

 He backed away a step, and smiled what I would come to recognise as his famous disarming smile, and said “Mademoiselle Shimizu. I did not mean to startle you.”

 I let the earth magics recede.

Satisfied I was no longer on the offensive, Jacque took my hand and led me back through the thick reeds aways, ducking behind one of the old Cypress trees. He pressed one finger to his lips. “Sssh” and with the other hand pointed out into the fog and gloom.

“What is it?” I whispered, seeing nothing but the usual foetid swamp waters, and hearing nothing but the usual cacophony of insects, buzzing from every direction.

I opened my mouth to ask him again, but he quieted me with a gesture. “Listen,” he whispered.

I listened to the sound of the water’s surface disturbed by fish. I listened to the sounds of creatures rustling through the underbrush.

Nothing out of the ordinary for South Fetid swamp.

After an indeterminate amount of time listening to nothing out of the ordinary, Jacque sat down on a fallen log and said “Well, that’s a relief.”

He sat there for a moment, straightening the cuffs of his shirt and carefully removing bits of leaves from his hair.

I had spent enough time with the man by this point to realise that an explanation would be forthcoming, but that he had to tell these things in his own way. Storytelling being, according to him, one of his most passionate entertainments, as I had learned during our meeting in Aerie.

Finally, satisfied that he had removed as much of the swamp muck as was possible while still sitting in the middle of the swamp, he turned and asked me, “Have you ever heard of the Loup-Garou?”

I, of course, shook my head that I had not. And so he told me the story.

 In his homeland, Jacque explained, there were stories of a strange creature that inhabited the swamplands. the Loup-Garou, or what the locals sometimes called the Rougarou, was said to inhabit the swamps around New Orleans and Acadania.

He looked at me with his still empty eyes and said “It’s a werewolf of course. That’s what the word means.”

I smiled. Of course it was a werewolf. It seemed silly to believe in such things, and yet we did cross a rift into Novia, and I had surely with my own eyes seen and even fought stranger things than werewolves.

 This loup-garou, Jaque explained, carried with it a curse – If it were to bite you, then you must tell no-one of it for 101 days, lest you also turn into a loup-garou.

“At least that is what the old wives used to say. In this world – who knows?”

We sat in silence for a time, listening to the chirp of crickets. “So,” I asked him, “It’s just a large wolf?”

“The head of a wolf, the body of a man, so the stories say. Or perhaps It was the other way around. I never saw it.”

“Hmm.” I said, not sure what else to say.

We sat a while longer, but it was getting late. Not that you could see sun or stars in  fog this thick. I picked up my bag of herbs and stood up, preparing to bid Jaque good evening.

A soul-chilling howl suddenly echoed across the swamp.

Jaque jumped to his feet, and for a moment it seemed his eyes glowed red.

“Has the beast also come to Novia?” he exclaimed, and took up a fighting stance, though I noted, he drew no weapon. I was going to ask him what he planned to fight it with, when another sound pierced the darkness.

And this sounded like a woman’s scream.

In an instant, Jaque was gone into the mists. He was swift, but I had travelled these swamps many times, and I caught up with him in a clearing, alongside a terrified young woman.

He had his hand clasped tightly over her mouth, and kept saying “You mustn’t  speak of it, you mustn’t breath a word of it!”

Without so much as another glance in my direction, he wrapped his cloak around the woman’s shoulders and began walking her back in the direction of town.

 It had started raining again. I stood some time there in the darkness, listening, before turning to follow in the direction Jaque and the woman had gone.

And for some reason, the next night I found myself staying in range of the city street lights when I went out to forage.

 By Shimizu in the year 560 PC.

Echoes From the Caverns

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Read by Alleine Dragonfyre

Louisiana Myths and Folklore

Volume 1  – “Meeting with a stranger”

People have come to Novia from so many places it was inevitable that some, at least, would hail from Louisiana. And while they have seen some strange things indeed in their time in this world, perhaps things are not so strange  considering the tales they tell of their homeland.

One such traveller, I met  one late evening on the streets of Aerie. He was going nowhere in particular, it seemed. It almost felt like he was waiting for me or at least for someone. He watched me walk aways, following at a respectful but unsettling distance.

A light drizzle began to fall, and I quickened my pace. My pursuer matched my strides. Finally, I stopped, turned, and stood beneath a guttering streetlight to face him. The night breeze pushed aside my cloak, revealing me to be harmed.

After sizing me up for a few moments, he laughed and mumbled something I couldn’t understand in a French patois, then gestured at the tavern across the street and offered to buy me a drink.

Since prior to running into the stranger the tavern had been my destination, I saw no harm in this – besides, the rain was picking up, and it would be best to go indoors until it relented.

As we walked through the doorway, his eyes took in the entire room, meeting the gaze of the few assembled therein – a tired barmaid, and a few late revellers in the corner. He seemed to relax, and it wasn’t until I saw this change in his demeanour that I realised how tense he had been before.

Then, as if we not just met by chance in the rainy street, he patted me on the shoulder and called the barmaid over to bring me a drink. Now that the light was better, I could see that he was quite handsome. He was young – not much older than I, certainly – but his eyes seemed ageless and ancient. I did not stare at them long.

It was there as I sipped some wine from some local vineyard, that he said quietly, “Pleased to meet you. My name is Jacque.”

I introduced myself in turn, and it seemed once this verbal barrier had been breached, there was no stopping the flow of words from him. He began with stories of Europe from an earlier time, and stories of Africa from the age of explorers. The level of detail in his recountings was remarkable.

As he spoke, I reflected that he seemed someone more accustomed to be around people. His clothes, cut from an older style, were ornate and clearly belonged to a man of wealth.

Finally, I asked of all the exotic places he had described which of these was his home before coming to this world?

“Ah,” he said, leaning closer to me, his voice dropping to a whisper.

His expression suddenly looks sad, his eyes misty.

He then proceeded to tell me about his home on Royal Street in New Orleans. The dinners, the parties, the food, the women!

He talked and talked and talked until the first glimmers of dawn began to flicker in the windowsill.

Then, quite suddenly, he was on his feet, donning his hat and cloak and bidding  me farewell. In a quite antiquated gesture, he bowed and kissed the top of my hand and slipped a shiny bauble in my hand. He said it had been quite a while since there had been someone he could talk to so openly. Then, with a flourish, he was gone, disappeared into the pouring rain.

 It wasn’t until after he left that I realised, he had never touched his own drink.

 It was some days later that I asked a local jeweller familiar with otherworldly artefacts about the shiny bauble. He wasn’t able to discern much, says it looks by style to have been from the 18th or 19th century France, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

He was able to translate the old text for me; it read simply. “House of Saint Germaine”. Neither of us really understood the significance of this. What a strange fellow he had been! And the stories! Some too outrageous to believe!

 I have written down all that I remember here for your delight, so that we may celebrate our journey to Novia while paying homage to our past, our roots, and the legends that have shaped us. By Shimizu in the year 560.

Echoes From the Caverns