Anchors ♡ dc &. em

Le Début

Vieux Carré , the French Quarter. People traveled far and wide to experience the festivities that had been brought to life by the people of New Orleans. Haunting tales of witches, vampires and werewolves keeping tourists on their toes, but also wishing to know more of the culture, wanting to hear about the things that go bump in the night, thinking they have been created as tourist traps, that the things that are in myth and legend were only that. Stories made up to keep your kids in bed at night, but only for the humans who didn't know any better.

The streets of New Orleans during the day had been laid back and relaxed, people resting up from the night before, or in preparations for their next night of partying, the sound of a saxophone lazily playing something eerie in the background around the abandoned church on Esplanade Ave, the tune traveling down the streets, into open windows of shaded balconies and into the seemingly abandoned attic of Saint Anne's Church. Of the place where worship was once taken seriously, now blood stained the walls and a curse seemed to kiss whoever had walked within the walls. A rumor of a demon wandering the pews, of Sean O'Connell having wished to take more to where he had gone when he had lost himself. When his family had lost him completely.

Demons plagued every corner of Vieux Carré, not in the shape or form of spirits but in the shape of mystical beings, a war going on when nobody was looking, humans drinking and living up the tourist life while not even the locals noticed there was something lingering in the shadows. Witches, Werewolves and vampires, and there was a time when the witches and wolves had lived accordingly, when Vivianne had wandered the streets, but with her allegiance having depleted due to her death, the wolves were banished, and the vampires were in charge, witches held hostage by their magic by the King of the Quarter, Marcel Gerard. His secret of holding the Quarter in the palm of his hand having resided in the attic of the abandoned church, his greatest strength, his greatest weakness and his most dangerous weapon.

Davina Claire

Davina Claire had been someone who was loved by the community, having shared her love for classical music, how she had played piano in lounges before, how she had so deeply believed that the magic in the city had been something to be honored. Something to be loved, it being something so pure and such a blessing to have such a beauty run through your veins. Life wasn't always easy, wasn't always something that she would wander the streets, singing of songs of how it was, but it was something that she had survived and she wasn't going to allow the secrets, the darkness to cloud it. Nineteen years old and a French Quarter witch, a beautiful blessing that had brandished her family for many generations, the Claire witches having always brought honor to the nine covens, which is why her mother had believed she had been chosen for the Harvest. for the ceremony done every three hundred years to replenish the magic that the ancestors had depleted by putting four girls to sleep, allowing their magic to soak into the ground and they would awaken not long after with magic in their veins and being crowned a hero to the witches.

But life wasn't a fairytale, and Davina Claire wasn't a hero. Now she was a victim, being hunted by her own coven after refusing the sacrificial ceremony that she had been subjected to, having been rescued in her time of need by the King of the Quarter, Marcel. Now she resides in the attic of Saint Anne's church, the magic from the other three Harvest Girls having bottled up inside of her, more magic than she could handle having been trapped under paper thin skin, but having enough magic to feel when any of it had been used within the city boundaries, making her the best weapon against the witches, the ones who had wished for her to follow in her friends steps. To be sacrificed with no guarantee or promise to be resurrected.

Many years ago the city was run by the Mikaelsons, the original vampires that had settled in the French Quarter in the 18th century, having built the city from the ground up, having created peace among the wolves, the witches and the vampires with the help of Vivianne who had once been married to Niklaus Mikaelson, the Hybrid. Their rule had been one to remember, having hosted the finest parties in the abattoir, having been the wealthy and most successful family to have walked the streets. But in 1919, with the burning of the opera house, the Mikaelsons had fled the city to never be heard of again, leaving behind Marcel Gerard, having believed he was dead.