what goes bump in the night || OPEN

what goes bump in the night || OPEN Posted Aug 2, 2021 16:06:54 GMT

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Imagine that you are a fisherman, out in the bayous in the marshland tucked beneath the wing of New Orleans. Today has been a long, arduous day, and you find that you’ve lost track of time. In fact, the sun has set completely. You wouldn’t be able to see at all, if not for the full moon overhead. But even so, as the temperature cools, fog seeps over the still bayou around you. Sure, it’s dark, but there’s just enough light for you to see where you’re going, which is all you really need. You begin to head home, spearing the murky water with your paddle. Suddenly, you hear a bone-chilling howl that rattles through the mossy cypress trees, compelling you to stop for a minute. It’s strange — the howl sounds like no dog or coyote you’ve ever heard. There are no wolves in the swamp, either. Could it be a feral child, set loose into the wilderness? No, you know better. You remember the countless stories that your mother and grandmother once told you to keep you from going out at night. It’s got to be the Rougarou, the infamous werewolf of the bayou.

The creature is described as half-man, half-dog. It stands upright on two legs, and is covered in hair. It has the face of a canine with many sharp, frightening teeth. Its fingernails are grisly claws. The Rougarou roams the bayou in search for misbehaving children to frighten.

Driving down nearly any scenic highway or quaint backroad in Louisiana will lead you through a beautiful and somewhat mythical landscape. In the daytime, you are met with lush greenery and nearly endless waterways, freckled with boats, fishermen, and potentially haunted buildings. In the nighttime, you see a landscape lit up only by the occasional light seeping through a window and the gleaming red eyes of the alligators, which lurk beneath the water’s surface. An orchestra of various birds, frogs, and insects are always singing. Countless spiders hang their elaborate tapestries between oak trees that have been there longer than any twoleg or cat ever has. It is no wonder that monsters like Rougarou are so pervasive in this region’s folklore. But what is the Rougarou, and where does a myth like this come from?

Yauponwhisker has gathered several cats around a makeshift pedestal, an oak tree stump, with the promise of telling the stories of the ancient legend. It is evening, and the day's last light has slowly begun to fade behind the distant horizon. Perhaps several of the kits and apprentices will have nightmares tonight.

YAUPONWHISKER
they/them pronouns || open thread

There were very few things that Yauponwhisker hated more than Starclan-forsaken thornbushes. Oakclan camp being just a little too quiet was one of them. They avoided idly sauntering about the clan base ground as much as they could, but they had to admit... even though the clan was a change of pace from their usual deepwoods debauchery, they quite enjoyed performing for clanmates. The air was cooler here, cloaked in the protection of the ancient bald cypress trees and live oaks, where the wind had almost even a chilly bite. Yauponwhisker's fur was short and seal-like, offering them minimal shield from the breeze. This, they thought, was a perfect evening for a ghost story. Their clanmates had begun to settle down, finishing their evening meals from the prey-pile and lazing about in the day's last light.

If they wanted to, they could probably blend in pretty well here. But they didn't desire that sort of conformity. They hated calm, living for the sheer anxiety and excitement and edge of each moment. Every time their brown paws graced the stage, the tomcat lived. Yauponwhisker was a widely-renowned expert performer.

"Oakclan!" The tomcat called out grandly. "Who thinks dey're brave enough to hear the tale of da Rougarou?"

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