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Louisiana, 1867

It is a place where music and dance accompanies the dead to their eternities, where the wealthy hide their sins behind lace fans and soft words, where voices whisper desperate prayers over a crafted hoodoo.

A thriving mass of humanity, even after the horrors of the Civil War, New Orleans serves as the capital of Louisiana. With the ability to thrive economically through shipping and agriculture, there are plenty of opportunities for those industrious and clever enough to take them. The wealthy rub elbows with the poor, races mingle while remaining further apart than ever, and new ways of thinking meet with the old. Native Southerners hold their grudges as carpetbaggers make their way down south, hoping to strike it rich in the chaos of Reconstruction. Underneath all of the decaying finery and chaos of social upheaval, a different kind of terror lives in the shadows at the edge of the lamp light, often wearing the faces of normal people. Like the figures of lore from more ancient parts of the world, these strange inhuman folk define and are defined by this young country as it experiences the dark days of cultural coming-of-age. They are uncanny. They are inhuman. They are terrible. They are immortal. They are American. And, like so many others, they are ingredients in the melting pot of the new world and of the cultural stew at the mouth of the Mississippi.

These are the tales of a land looking for its future, and the native sons whose hands may guide its path.

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Native Sons Khayin