Arcanum 1780: A New World

The Graveyard, La Nouvelle-Orléans, French Louisianna - Thackery's Nightmare

In which our noble protagonist stumbles through the cobbles Crescent City into the Moonlit City that gives her soul life.

The time had come to seek vengeance for the young Gaston Prejit. I called out with my heart to the unquiet spirits of this foreign city, beseeching them to lend me their strength, to help me right the wrongs done to this small boy, to seek peace in recompense for the payment rendered in aiding his companions in their through the governor’s mansion.

The raw power gathered in my head and heart, creeping down my arm towards my outstretched hand as I raised it towards Gaston’s accuser, the guard Pavel, something went wrong. A malevolent spirit, an error in concentration, to this day I still know not, save that blood began to seep from my nose, and it felt as though my mind had turned to nothing. I felt my eyes go pure white, my pupils rolling into my head as I have felt hundreds of times as I have communed with the dead.

As I pitched forward, I felt my face connect with the cobble street and pass straight through, continuing my fall until I was awoken on the other side, on the same street, but everything was lacking color. I saw him then, the young Gaston, staring up at me with wide eyes and a slight frown. I moved to speak, but could not – there was nothing my mind could work to control my limbs. Standing there dumb, the boy reached out and took my hand, his simple sherwani tattered, little more than a formless shroud, and he began to walk with me, leading me through a city without color, filled with bustling ill-defined forms.

I saw it then, the spirit of La Nouvelle-Orléans, the dead who walk her streets, who gave breath to the city whose air we now breathe. Sounds assailed my ears, at first a mournful wailing that gave birth to a bright brassy rise, followed by a joyous cacophony of sound. On one street corner, a collection of skeletons, playing jaunty tunes on their violins made from bones and sinew. Atop a wraparound balcony, a corpulent woman dressed in the height of Franco-Indian fashion belted out wordless melodies that seized my heart and drew me towards the sound, only to see myself stopped by the tug of young Gaston’s grip.

I was stunned at the life and character this colorless world has to offer. I felt compelled to stay, but Gaston squeezed my hand, looked at me and shook his head. I felt Miriam’s presence under my arm, and Gaston nodded, my spirit returning to my body once more. I walk now with Gaston, and will not forget his aid, and will find Pavel’s breath to end at my hands.