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Read by Alleine Dragonfyre

Louisiana Myths & Folklore 

Volume 5 – “City of Darkness”

“So tell me about the vampires,” I said, in a casual manner, having bumped into Jacque once again, this time in the Ordinis Mortis marketplace. 

The man truly was everywhere, these days.

“Vampires?” he said.  “Fiction, pure fiction.”  He made a dismissive gesture and pretended to be immersed in examining the merchandise on the stall in front of him.

“You’ve told me of the loup-garou, of the marsh fires, of the voodoo witch.  You’ve told me of ghosts and hauntings and the eerie above-ground cemeteries where any of the above may be lurking, it seems. But vampires are fiction?”

“There are legends of course,” he began, leaning casually against a nearby stone facade.  “There were murders.  Bodies found drained of blood.  That sort of thing. “

He paused then, gauging my reaction.  I kept my expression neutral.  He continued:

“John and Wayne Carter, brothers you understand.  Worked normal labor jobs, lived in the French Quarter.  Seemed nice enough folks, at least, until the police found those bodies at their place, drained of blood.  Found over a dozen of them.”

“What happened to these brothers?” I asked, feeling a bit nauseous.

“They were executed.  Took 8 men to subdue them, they were so strong.  Locals said they drank the blood of their victims…that’s how the nonsense started.”

Jacque’s stiff posture and reticence in elaborating on this story made it clear to me that he did not think this was nonsense. I gave no response, and waited for him to continue.  Eventually, he did:

“Folks say their bodies went missing from their tombs.  And that one of the victims that survived, went on to also kill people and drain their blood.  Then you have the usual folk who claim to still see the brothers roaming the French Quarter at night, looking for victims.”

I recalled our first meeting in Aerie, hearing his footsteps behind me on the dark, empty streets.  I felt a chill.

Jacque straightened himself and began walking past the market stalls. Vendors were packing their wares away and hurrying indoors.

He looked at me carefully, as if making up his mind about something.  Then he walked over to the devotional fountain. 

Removing a glove from his hand, he let his fingertips gently brush the surface of the waters. 

Steam billowed from the fountain, accompanied by a resounding hiss.  He touched the side of my face then, with that same ungloved hand. 

I felt the beads of the fountain’s water trace burning paths down my neck. 

I reached out to push him away, laying my palm flat against his chest.   No heartbeat….?

I took a step back.

“Oh come my dear, you were never in any danger.  I know you are an Avatar.”  And then he was off again, walking across the grass over to the river.

“I call this the Ordinissippi.  Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

And there, further up the docks, I saw the drydocked ship, being loaded with assorted barrels and crates.  Colored banners flew, glowing with their own luminescence under the starless sky.

“What is it that you want from me?  Why have you been following me?”  I asked, as I followed him toward the ship.

“Why, to tell the story, of course!” he said, laughing, as he climbed up onto the docks.

He hopped down off the platform and gestured over at a brightly lit cafe down the street, still open and bustling at this time of night.

“We all have much to learn of this world, but we must never forget where it is we came from.   Here is where we have gathered, to rebuild our city as it once was…or as close as we can, in this place.”  

He gestured at the avenue in front of us.  Look there, Madame’s House of Voodoo…and there..we’re calling that the New Absinthe.” 

“And there, the musical legends park…statues still with the sculptor. “It is apparently extraordinarily difficult to get quality granite on this world!”

I looked up and down the avenue, recognition dawning as Jacque led me from place to place. 

We stopped for beignets at Cafe du Monde Noveaux.   We sampled seafood at Pier 425.  We danced under glowing lights at New Bourbon Street Balcony.

Slowly, slowly the sun started to rise.

As it did, the entire street seemed to …shimmer in the growing light.  Fading out, until I was standing there like a fool in an empty field.

Had it all been a dream?

I looked down, and there in my hand was a handful of brightly colored metal coins, stamped with various faces and symbols.

I stuffed them in my pocket, and started walking back toward town.

It seemed Ordinis Mortis now had its own ghosts.

——————————The End

Echoes From the Caverns

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Read by Alleine Dragonfyre

Louisiana Myths & Folklore

Volume 4 – “The Voodoo Queen”

 It was early evening and I had just come through the pass, and I could see the lights of Brittany ahead in the distance.

Rather than head straight for the city, it was often my habit to pass through Midmaer to gather reagents that only bloomed in the moonlight. 

And of course, that’s where I ran into him again.  Jacque, in his fine coat, stood at the forest’s edge almost as if expecting me. 

He didn’t seem to have any particular agenda, and trailed alongside me as I walked the path through North Midmaer way, gathering nightshade and mandrake root as I went.  He made small talk mostly, but seemed on edge as we passed under the shadows of the trees.

I left the path then, heading into a grove of trees I knew had bountiful roots and herbs.  The grove was well lit by a shimmering will-o-wisp. 

I headed toward it, watching my step to not trip over brambles and branches.  

Suddenly Jacque’s hands grabbed my shoulders, halting my forward movement.

Fifolet!” he whispered harshly, then gestured I should turn around.  I looked around, trying to figure out what he was so worried about.   

“Its just a will-o-wisp,” I said, gesturing at the hovering purple floating creature. There are many of them in Novia.”

He looked at it dubiously.  

“It is quite harmless,” I added.  

Jacque did not look convinced.  He continued to look at the will-o-wisp, then at me, then back at the wisp, frowning. 

I laughed, and gathered my focus, calling upon the powers of moon magic to summon a will-o-wisp right there in front of us. It appeared with a whooshing sound, then sat placidly, glowing softly. 

“Feu Follet” he said, more slowly.  It still sounded like ‘feefolay’ to me.  “Devil spirits.  They lure you out into the woods, often to your death!”

Well, this one’s not leading anyone anywhere, look…” I said, running in a circle and the wisp followed me obediently.

Jacque still did not look convinced. “You have this as a pet?  In my homeland, these fairy spirits lure people to their doom – you’ll follow it right into a lake and drown!”

I decided that this would not be a good time to demonstrate that I had taught my pet wisp to dance.  I dismissed it with a wave of my hand.  Jacque relaxed noticeably. 

In the sudden darkness, the lights of a nearby house became visible in the distance.  Without a word, Jacque started toward it.  We passed under the eerie branches of trees; trees that seemed to watch us as we moved.  It was an unsettling feeling.  I had never strayed this far from the path, before. 

Jacque walked to the side of the house, which itself seemed to be carved of a giant tree, and peered in one of the windows.  He then mumbled to himself at some length in that same creole patois he’d spoken the night we first met, then walked back to where I stood, hidden in the forest.

“It is her,” he said simply, and started back toward the road.  “We should leave this place.” 

“You mean the supposed “witch” of Midmaer?” I asked.  “She’s known to live in these parts.  She does herbal remedies and such for folk.  Similar to my line of work, really.” 

He shot me a glare.   

“I’d recognize her anywhere.  Your Midmaer witch is Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen.   I knew the rumors of her death were false.  Look, there in the window! She lives still!” 

I raised an eyebrow.  And then Jacque told me her story: 

Marie Laveau, The Voodoo Queen did indeed provide herbal remedies, and was a well known and influential member of society in her day, which was all the more impressive for being a woman of colour during that time in South Louisiana.   But it was also said that she communed with the dead, and crafted spells on behalf of clients for good or ill, and engaged in rites with demons.

“She knew things, that woman.  She’d give advice to all the prominent people in town, and somehow she always knew the outcomes.”  From his demeanour, Jacque spoke of her as if she were someone he regularly passed on the street.  He talked then of her funeral, which was attended by  people from all social circles.   

While it was said that she died peacefully of old age in her home, many people reported seeing her after her alleged death.  While her daughters took over her shop, mystery and legend always surrounded what became of her.  Whether her magic was real, or whether she was merely a gifted reader of people, her legacy has echoed through the years and become a part of New Orleans history.

Even a century later, people still mark an X on her grave (where some claim she is not actually buried) and leave offerings in exchange for magical favors. 

“And at last now, the mystery is solved.” He said, as if it were blindingly obvious. 

“She’s come here, just as you have.  Just as I have.”

 “But what need have we of Voodoo, here in Novia? The land itself teems with magic.” To emphasize my point, I summoned the will-o-wisp again. 

Jacque raised his arms and exclaimed something I did not understand, but needed no translation, and headed down the road out of the forest. 

He called out behind him, “If you see one of those fifolets, one that doesn’t live in your pocket, don’t follow it!”

And he was gone.  The forest seemed to ..unclench a little.  There was a light breeze, like the trees let out a collective sigh.

I looked back at the witch’s house, and saw a face at a window staring back at me.   

She nodded her head once, slowly. Then drew the curtains. 

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Read by Alleine Dragonfyre

Louisiana Myths and Folklore

Volume 3 – “ The Haunted Mansion”

So I was making a delivery to a regular customer of mine up north in Harvest. As usual, the place was busy with many people going about their business, even though it was late evening and the sun had already set.

I heard a commotion down in the square, and saw a man in a  familiar looking, fashionable yet out of style, overcoat being led by the hand by a group of young children who are chattering and gesturing wildly.

Of course, it was Jaque, who seemed to be turning up everywhere these days.  Or at least everywhere that I was. That thought nagged me a bit, but I let it lie for the time being, and went to see what all the fuss was about.

Jaque smiled as I approached and said “These children have been telling me that the house up on the hill here is haunted. What do you know of this?”

I briefly explained that yes, strange things had been known to occur in that house after midnight, but that many adventurers had come through and investigated the matter. It wasn’t something I was particularly worried about, just local legends.

Jaque seemed to be considering something, and then finally he crouched down on one knee right there on the street and said “Children, do you want to hear of a haunted house from my homeland?”

I expect that some of the children probably did want to hear this tale, but the fresh lemon buns that Jaque was handing out to his would-be audience were likely the more deciding factor.

I loitered nearby, out of curiosity more than anything to hear the storyteller spin his tale.

Jaque sat down on a bench, and the children clustered around eagerly. He glanced up at the house on the hill, and then back at his audience, and began.

There was a house very similar to that one where I am from. Yes, a beautiful mansion and the home of Doctor LaLaurie and his wife Delphine….

Jaque went on a several minutes long tangent about the fabulous parties thrown at the LaLaurie house of which he had of course attended many though the nuances of wine and dancing, and the general behaviour of New Orleans socialites was probably lost on his current audience, who nibbled on their lemon buns and started to look bored.

“So their mansion was haunted?”  I asked, trying to steer him back on track.

 He grinned his famous grin at me, and carried on. “This house was, you understand, just a few houses down from my own home on Royal Street, and I can personally bear witness to some of the …activities… that went on under that roof.

By this point, some of the other residents of Harvest had gathered round to hear the tale. As Jaque began to describe the events that took place, it became evident both to myself and the surrounding parents, that such a tale was certainly not fit for children’s ears.

 Suffice it to say that the mistress of the house, Madame Delphine La Laurie, was exceedingly cruel to the people in her employ, treating them as property and punishing them horribly for the smallest slight.

I could see that Jaque was trying to explain the origin of the haunting without going into what I later learned was gruesome detail. “She did bad things, very bad.” was about the best he could come up with. Parents were trying  to usher their children away from the crazy man in the antique clothes – It was far past their bedtime.

Jacque did not seem perturbed by the loss of his audience. He continued talking, half to himself, half to me, while brushing the lemon bun crumbs off of his jacket.

“Anyway!” he said after a while, snapping back to the present. “The people, they found out what was going on. They gathered around in the streets demanding justice. And there was a terrible fire……”

So the story went, one of the cooks, tired of the cruelty of the mistress, set fire to the kitchen, which spread to much of the house. Madam Delphine was never seen again after that day, having vanished from the city.

For years later, he went on to say, later owners of the house reported hearing screams of agony, or the sounds of sobbing, coming from seemingly within the walls.    For many years the house stood empty and fell into a state of decay.  For the next hundred years, he said, everyone who owned the house ended up in shame.  Scandals, even murders, and rumors of lost riches surrounded the house, though very few dared to go and search for them.

He said 150 years after Madame’s disappearance people discovered the skeletal remains of her servants, buried beneath the floorboards.

He finished his monologue and looked up at the House on the Hill, then looked at me.

I shrugged.

Then a thought occurred to me.

´Jacque,” I asked, meeting his gaze.  “How is it that you say you knew Dr LaLaurie and his wife, and attended their parties, and know of events that happened a hundred years after their deaths?”

To his credit, he didn’t even look surprised by the question.

“Ah, cherie, pretty AND smart” he said. “You’ll figure it out.”  He did a flourishing bow and strolled off toward the house on the hill.

I heard the clock tower in town chime midnight as I turned and headed on the road leading out of the city. 

When I reached the mountain pass, I turned and looked back.  It may have just been a trick of the light, but I could have sworn that the mansion was ablaze. 

I wrapped my cloak around my shoulders more tightly and travelled the rest of the way home.

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Echoes From the Caverns