Den of The Beast

New Marais?

She is a city of antiquity, pulled forward into the modern age by enterprising businessmen and generations of men and women who know the truth about life. She wears a crown of faith, the bell-towers of the cathedral, St. Ignatius rising high above the skyline. The bones of the city are strong - sprawling plantations for a spine, graveyards and abandoned parishes for ribs. Ville Cochon with it's money and it's lusty red light district is New Marais' womb, where poor and rich alike come for the thrill of skin and innovation. The Swamps are her tears, where those abandoned by the police, the cloth and the people make their homes, drowning under the pressure of men and the floods that no one seems to want to protect them from.

Her heart has got to be Ascension Parish. It was beautiful once - but gentrification is a bitch and a half and as more and more people never came home, the loneliness began to get to New Marais and began to rot her from the inside. Her blood - her people- are sick as ever, battered by crime and sickness, waterlogged from a flood long since past and and the burning sky from The Beast's approach. The city has never seemed so weak.