CHAPTER ONE- A NEW BEGINNING

Tuesday 8th January, 1714- COLONY OF WILLOW IN FRENCH AMERICA

Tribal echoes danced across the moonlit forest, blending well with the usual typical ambience of a forest at night. Birds chirped, Wolves howled, Owls hooted and the rivers and lakes echoed with the sounds of strong water filled by the life and sounds of fish. This would be a beautiful day for any nature enthusiast or the average person in 1714 America, one normally not accompanied by a sacrifice, for tonight there was to be one. “Kill them! Kill them! Kill them all!” chanted the Native Chief in his tongue of Chitimacha, “The Pale Face shall no longer rape our Lands! Sacrifice them to the Great Willow for she demands it!”.

Nathan Noir understood everything the Chief just said as he dashed through the forest with some of his expedition party members. Before coming to the Americas, Nathan attended classes back home on Native American languages and cultures to act as a bridge between the Natives and the French settlers as they expanded into the south of the American Heartland. He had heard all sorts of stories from class and travelers on the topic of the Native Americans, some good some bad. Tales of trade, paid guides and greetings from the Natives, others of hostile attacks to settlers of all kinds, and gruesome murders such as the scalping of the skull from the Native Americans. But never, never of sacrificial rituals to otherworldly beings, not the normal kind of prayer or sacrifice of animals to gods that most major religions practiced or the Human sacrifices of the Mayans and the Aztecs.

This time was different, this time it was real. The only difference is that they were just tales of gods and monsters, men and demons, invented by elders to scare populations into doing their bidding or scaring children to behave and live uprightly. But when Nathan saw that creature of vines, rotten bark wood and a mixture of all manner of plant matter eat those people, his world was changed. Nathan recounted this all in his mind as the chanting shadows of tomahawk and bow-wielding Natives danced before his eyes. The memory of that powerful beast of dark forces was burned into his brain in detail­— it was as black as midnight, armed with claws, fangs and antlers, and had perfect white circles for eyes in the dark. As Nathan ran for his life with his other French men and woman, all he could wonder, was that THING still following them?

Monday 8th January, 2018- NEW SALEM, STATE OF WILLOW, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

The Artist had just woken up to dawn in the (VBMC)— Virginia Brothers Moving Company’s van, moving from Richmond, Virginia to New Salem, Willow had taken quite a toll on our young protagonist or antagonist. The Artist’s appearance was as undesirable as their so-called “masterpieces”, it was up to the reader’s imagination to decide who The Artist was. Male or Female, White or Black. “True Art Only Comes from The Most Imaginative Minds,” The Artist thought, it was quite a common occurrence in today’s art, especially for someone like The Artist. ‘Generic’, ‘Uninspiring’ and ‘Boring’, The Artist had heard it all when it came to describing their artwork. Coming to New Sa…, Coming Home would be different. “After all, they all like to say— There’s No Place Like Home”, The Artist thought. Southern United States was different, it was better, and much more exciting throughout the year. Mardi Gras, Day of the Dead, Haunted Happenings— would trade any of that for the halls of Whitney Museum of American Art in New York. Well, that had been the struggle for The Artist these past three years.

Graduating from Miskatonic University in Arkham, Massachusetts, where The Artist majored in Art and Occult Sciences for four years, The Artist had found no success in the artistic world they aspired to be a part of. New York was a failure, Oregon was a failure and Minneapolis was a failure. After New York, Northern United States was too much for The Artist to handle, rising rent bills and taxes were just not for The Artist’s tastes. Barely surviving in their apartment in Richmond, Virginia, The Artist had made a plea of help to their parents back in New Salem, Willow about several weeks ago. James and Samantha were eager to accept their ugly duckling back home. “Sure, we would like to see you back home. How long will you be staying? A few months, Anyways, no matter you can stay for as long as you like,” said Samantha over the phone. “I’ll clear out your old stuff in advance”, said James over the phone, “Just be sure not forget your photographs from up North. I have some buddies at work who might be super interested in them. A quick way to make an honest buck”.

“Artistic Inspiration. That’s all I’m here for, and then I’m out,” The Artist thought. The Artist had enough complexities in their life, and Dad’s ‘buddies’ were not one of them. One of these so-called ‘Buddies’ usually never left home until dark, probably a serial killer, he never even drove his car to where he was going— odd for someone who lives in Endecott Forest. Another, always had some sort of ‘Emergency Meetings’ to attend, mostly during critical points of The Artist’s life such as their Sixteenth Birthday Party, Dad’s promotion to Assistant Head Manager at Bruce-Miller’s Attorneys. His motto was always: ‘Sorry, something came up’. A decent ‘Buddy’ of Dad’s was Daisy Bruce-Miller, the owner of The Candyman’s Palace in New Salem. It is a popular sweet shop and bakery in the State, with the only thing being sweeter than the shop, is the owner herself. But that still seemed to look ‘weird’ to The Artist. No one could be still be bag of sunshine and rainbows in the face of many adversaries, it just seemed unnatural.

Photography was another hobby The Artist was good at, honing the art of the camera during their four years at Miskatonic University. Being skilled at Photography’s technical aspects and possessing a keen eye for composition, The Artist was able to capture moments in a way that truly resonated with their viewers. The Artist’s photographs were more than just images, they were stories frozen in time. If all else failed, God forbid, at least photography was another niche The Artist could rely on.

As The Artist's journey brought them to New Salem, they couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and weariness. The past years had been a series of disappointments and failed attempts to establish themselves in the art world. Now, returning to their hometown, they hoped to find the artistic inspiration they craved. Although it was a bit uneasy due to the recent military lockdown Willow was place under. State Police Officers and U.S Military Officials had even stopped the VBMC van The Artist was in by the State’s border with Mississippi. The 17-Hour drive was hard enough, made worse when the driver— John Roberts, went into an argument with one of the State Police. Luckily, The Artist was slightly skilled in the art of persuasion and managed to convince the offended Officer Cpl. Ryan Jackson that there had just been a misunderstanding between the two, the last thing The Artist did not need was a criminal record. After much deliberation between the three parties, The Artist and VBMC were allowed to proceed to Fleuve Street of the French Quarter.

Apartment D6 on the 11th Lane of Fleuve Street boosted two bedrooms, a luxury master bedroom, a spare room, an attic, a rooftop perch and a balcony with a beautiful view of Fleuve Street, with other well-known commodities such as a Kitchen and Bathroom. The Artist took to settling in their childhood bedroom on the second floor of the apartment after the rest of the moving company had arrived, as packing was less tedious, because the room seemed to be perfectly preserved since its last use in 2011. After reminiscing about the past, The Artist found it odd that they had arrived to a cold house, despite the fact there was evidence of people living here. At first The Artist thought their dear old parents were planning a surprise party, they seemed to love those, after all The Artist’s 23rd Birthday Party in New York was latest of those. Managing to fly from New York to New Salem with Claire, Lilly, James and Matt had been a wonderful surprise. But in this moment the surprise never came, for ten hours. By 6:00 (PM), The Artist began to worry but not too much, their parents had left them everything they needed from food to basic essentials such as paid Satellite TV. The Artist simply brushed off their parents’ tardiness as them going off shopping or seeing another one of Dad’s ‘Buddies’. The fatigue of unpacking and moving had caught up with The Artist. The Artist had ended up falling asleep on the living room couch with heavy eyelids glued to the TV screen, dreaming…dreaming…about something…bad.

Friday 20th March, 1682- GULF OF MEXICO/NORTH ATLANTIC OCEAN

The sea air was thick with anticipation as the ship cut through the waves, leaving behind the shores of Algiers, Algeria. Captain William Hawkwood, an Englishman who was as foul as the sea, stood at the helm of his vessel— The Annabeth, his gaze fixed on the horizon with heavy droplets dripping from his black-bearded face. The crew, a mix of experienced sailors and eager adventurers from France, England and Spain, carried a sense of excitement and trepidation as they embarked on a journey into the vast unknown. Their destination: the uncharted territories of the North American Continent.

Since Christopher Columbus’ arrival to the Americas in 1492, rumors had spread among the seafaring community of untold riches and lands awaiting to be claimed in the New World. Captain Hawkwood and his crew were determined to be among the first to explore the uncharted lands of what was to be known as the Southern United States of America, and carve their names into the annals of history.

Onboard the ship, Nathan Noir stood at the bow, his eyes scanning the vast expanse of the violent North Atlantic Ocean. He had joined Captain Hawkwood's crew as a cartographer and navigator due to his majors in Astronomy and Navigation that he obtained from the University of Paris. Eager to explore new lands and document their discoveries, Nathan's knowledge of Native American languages and cultures would prove valuable in establishing connections with the indigenous peoples they might encounter along the way.

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As the days turned into weeks, the ship sailed deeper into the Gulf of Mexico from the North Atlantic Ocean, facing treacherous storms and unpredictable currents. Nevertheless, the crew's spirits remained high, fueled by their shared sense of adventure and the promise of uncharted lands ahead.

“I think we’re lost!”, Nathan exclaimed amidst the thunders of the storm, “For all we know we could still be making circles in Bermuda! We should have stopped by Saint-Domingue!”. “Listen!”, rebuked Captain Hawkwood, “I got us out of Algiers! I can get us out of this! Those Berber Pirates…didn’t stand a chance against the likes of us! We've faced worse dangers on the open seas before!”. Captain Hawkwood's voice boomed over the crashing waves and the howling wind. He stood tall at the helm, his weathered face illuminated by the flashes of lightning. The crew, drenched and weary, looked to him for guidance, their eyes reflecting a mix of fear and determination.

“We have a duty to our mission!”, Captain Hawkwood’s steady but loud voice continued, “We carry valuable cargo that must reach its destination! No matter the challenges we face! Stay vigilant! My crew and I shall navigate this stormy tempest as we have done so many times before!”.

Nathan, still gripping the railings of The Annabeth tightly, glanced at the captain with a mixture of respect and apprehension. “If it wasn’t for Abraham Duquesne! The Barbary Corsairs would have sent you halfway back to Plymouth on a cannon!”, Nathan exclaimed. Hawkwood simply just laughed back in response. Despite his initial outburst, Nathan trusted Captain William Hawkwood's experience and leadership. He knew that their journey through the treacherous seas was fraught with danger, but he also believed in Hawkwood’s and the crew’s ability to overcome any obstacle.

That same evening, as the sun began its descent, casting a golden glow over the horizon, Nathan noticed a peculiar shadow in the distance. It appeared to be a massive landmass, shrouded in mist and mystery. The crew gathered at the bow, their excitement mounting as they realized they had stumbled upon something truly extraordinary. Captain Hawkwood ordered the crew to change The Annabeth’s course, guiding them toward this newfound land. As they drew closer, the mist cleared, revealing a breathtaking sight before them. Towering cliffs and lush greenery stretched as far as the eye could see, promising untold wonders and the possibility of a new home.

Nathan in excitement rushed to his mentor’s cabin, bashing open the door without even the slightest of permissions. His mentor, the famous French explorer— Robert de La Salle, laid in his bed… seemingly lost in thought as he pored over maps and charts spread across a small table. The sudden intrusion by Nathan startled him, causing La Salle to sit up abruptly and gaze at his young protégé with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance. “Nathan, mon garçon, y a-t-il une raison à une telle hâte et à un tel mépris de la vie privée? — (Nathan, my boy, is there a reason for such haste and disregard for privacy?)”, La Salle asked in French, his voice tinged with a hint of sternness. He adjusted his disheveled attire and gestured for Nathan to enter, his eyes reflecting a curiosity about what had brought the young man to his cabin in such a fervor.

Nathan simply uttered, “Nous sommes arrives. — (We have arrived.)”. It is as if those very same words had absolved Nathan from his previous intrusion. The 39-year-old explorer found himself suddenly infected with Nathan’s enthusiasm as he rushed to the upper deck of The Annabeth, pushing aside any awe-struck sailors in his way. He simply looked at this God-given beauty. Untouched, Untamed and Unspoiled by Man. Robert de La Salle couldn't tear his gaze away from the mesmerizing sight unfolding before him, as the sunset kissed the horizon, casting a golden glow that bathed the newly discovered landmass in a surreal beauty. “Nathan, mon garçon, nous l'avons fait. — (Nathan, my boy, we have done it.)”, that was all Robert could say at the sight of true glory and destiny.

Tuesday 9th January, 2018- NEW SALEM, STATE OF WILLOW, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

The winter air hung heavy with a chill as The Artist stepped out onto the streets of New Salem, their breath forming misty clouds in the frigid morning. It had only been a day since The Artist’s return to their hometown, and the familiar sights and sounds brought a mix of nostalgia and uncertainty.

New Salem, the capital of the State of Willow, was a big city known for its rich history, artistic community and vibrant food cuisines. The streets of the French Quarter were lined with quaint shops, art galleries and cafes, creating an atmosphere of creativity and inspiration. However, the recent military lockdown had cast a shadow over the city, adding an element of unease to the once-familiar surroundings. As The Artist made their way through the streets, they noticed the increased presence of State Police Officers and U.S Military Officials, a reminder of the restrictions and heightened security measures in place. The recent encounter at the Willow-Mississippi State Border served as a stark reminder of the tension and scrutiny they might face during their stay.

The Artist's mind drifted back to their childhood, to the memories of their artistic endeavors in this very city. They had always found solace and inspiration within these streets, drawing upon the rich history and vibrant community for their creations. Now, as they returned with a desire to reignite their artistic flame, they couldn't help but feel a mixture of anticipation and weariness. The familiar streets of New Salem seemed to hold the key, but they needed something more— a connection, an opportunity to immerse themselves in the creative energy of the town. That's when they heard about JayJay's Jazz Bar, Pub & Grill— a local establishment known for its lively atmosphere and appreciation for the arts.

With a renewed sense of purpose, The Artist decided to pursue a job at JayJay's. They had always been fascinated by the world of mixology and the artistry behind crafting unique and tantalizing drinks. Becoming a bartender at the jazz bar seemed like the perfect opportunity to merge their passion for art with their love for music and social interaction. Dressed in their finest attire, The Artist walked into JayJay's Jazz Bar, Pub & Grill on the afternoon of 9th January, 2018. The venue exuded a cozy yet vibrant ambiance, with the smooth melodies of jazz music floating through the air. Patrons chatted and laughed, creating a lively atmosphere that resonated with The Artist's spirit.

Approaching the bar, The Artist was greeted by the current bartender, a friendly face named Sarah. She explained that the owner, Dan Russell, was in the back office and would be available to meet The Artist shortly. Nerves and excitement mingled within The Artist as they waited for this pivotal moment.

After what felt like an eternity, Sarah returned and gestured for The Artist to follow her. Walking down a narrow hallway, they finally reached the back office. Sarah knocked on the door before opening it, revealing a space adorned with jazz memorabilia and the unmistakable aroma of coffee.

Seated behind a cluttered desk, Dan Russell, the owner of JayJay's, looked up from his paperwork and offered a warm smile. He had a charismatic presence, with natural salt-and-pepper hair and a twinkle in his eyes that hinted at a lifetime of stories. The Artist's anticipation intensified as they realized this was their chance to make an impression. Dan motioned for The Artist to take a seat, and they began a conversation that delved into their shared love for the arts.

There was a sternness in Dan’s gaze as he examined The Artist’s attire and demeanor, and it was clear that he wasn't someone to be easily impressed. The Artist, determined to make a good impression, greeted Dan with a polite smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Russell. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me”.

Dan sighed, leaning back in his chair. “So, you're the one who studied Art and Occult Sciences at Miskatonic University? That's an interesting combination, I must say”, Dan replied. The Artist raised an eyebrow, not expecting such a response. “Yes, it was a unique program that allowed me to explore the intersection between art and esoteric knowledge. I found it fascinating and it greatly influenced my artistic journey”, The Artist replied. Dan chuckled, his tone laced with sarcasm. “Well, I hope those Occult Sciences taught you something practical because your artistic endeavors in New York, Oregon and Minneapolis didn't exactly set the world on fire, did they?”.

The Artist's smile didn't waver as they responded, their voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ah, you've done your research, Mr. Russell. Yes, my previous attempts at establishing myself in the art world didn't quite yield the results I had hoped for. But I believe in the power of perseverance and the lessons learned from failure. It's what drives me to improve and seek new opportunities, like the one here at JayJay's”, The Artist replied.

Dan raised an eyebrow, slightly intrigued by The Artist's response. “And what makes you think you're suited to be a bartender here? You don't seem to have any prior experience in the field”, Dan replied in a crude way.

The Artist leaned forward, a mischievous glint in their eyes. “Ah, you've hit the nail on the head, Mr. Russell. Bartending, you see, is an art form in itself. It requires creativity, the ability to understand people's tastes, and the skill to mix ingredients harmoniously. It's not just about pouring drinks, it's about creating an experience. And that, my friend, is something I excel at”, The Artist replied in hubris. Dan's stern expression softened slightly, a hint of amusement flickering across his face. He leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “You've got quite the way with words, I'll give you that”, Dan replied.

The Artist smiled, a touch of confidence in their voice. “Thank you, Mr. Russell. I believe that a bartender should be more than just a pourer of drinks. They should be a curator of flavors, a conductor of social interactions and a catalyst for memorable experiences. I may not have the conventional experience, but I have the passion, the creativity and the determination to excel in this role”, The Artist replied in much confidence. Dan chuckled again, this time with genuine amusement. “Well, you've certainly impressed me with your quick wit and your ability to spin words. Let's see if you can back it up with your skills behind the bar”, Dan replied.

The Artist's smile widened, knowing they had made an impact. “I assure you, Mr. Russell, I won't disappoint. I'm ready to learn, adapt and bring my artistic flair to the art of mixology. JayJay's will be the canvas upon which I create my masterpieces”, The Artist asserted. Dan nodded, a hint of respect in his gaze. “Alright, you've got the job. Show me what you're made of, and maybe you'll prove me wrong”, Dan replied.

As The Artist left the office, a sense of accomplishment washed over them. They had managed to navigate the critical conversation with a touch of sarcasm and wit, impressing Dan with their confidence and passion. They couldn't wait to step behind the bar and showcase their artistic prowess, ready to prove that their unconventional background and unique perspective would be an asset to JayJay's Jazz Bar, Pub & Grill. The Artist was about to embark on a new chapter, one filled with creativity, music and the camaraderie of JayJay's. Anticipation bubbled within them as they approached the entrance of the establishment, ready to immerse themselves in the vibrant energy that awaited inside, and to start their artistic journey in the heart of New Salem.