Long ago, French fur trappers would return from deep within the marshes of southern Louisiana with strange and terrifying tales. Far from roads and civilization, the men would venture out into the desolation of the swamps. There, beneath the blackened canopies of the cypress they worked with nervous haste as countless reflecting eyes watched motionless from shadows of a meager oil lamp. In the darkness, a sinister chorus of creatures sang their warning to Man;
"You are no match for us in this place. For we who lurk just beyond the flicker of your fire are are made of shell and scale and claw and barb and fang and venom. We are of ancient kind, much older than man. We survive on the blood of those who fear... just as you do now."
Click on the link below. Envision yourself seated in a small rowboat drifting deeper through the shallow waters of the swamp. Your vessel floats over the glossy, black surface, occasionally bumping against invisible obstacles beneath and sending metallic echos into the night. All around you are the noises of the marsh. Your oil lantern has been carelessly neglected and should give you enough light for another five minutes... unfortunately for you, your journey is ten.
As your eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, you notice an iridescent mist hanging above the water ahead. The fur trappers have spoke of it before... they call it "feu follet" (pronounced FEE fuh-lay). It drifts closer and closer, wafting over the edges of your little boat, weaving back and forth through the buttons of your jacket. Heed the advice of the trappers and remain as still as a statue, for they say that if you show fear now - if you try to get away... Au revoir.
"You are no match for us in this place. For we who lurk just beyond the flicker of your fire are are made of shell and scale and claw and barb and fang and venom. We are of ancient kind, much older than man. We survive on the blood of those who fear... just as you do now."
Click on the link below. Envision yourself seated in a small rowboat drifting deeper through the shallow waters of the swamp. Your vessel floats over the glossy, black surface, occasionally bumping against invisible obstacles beneath and sending metallic echos into the night. All around you are the noises of the marsh. Your oil lantern has been carelessly neglected and should give you enough light for another five minutes... unfortunately for you, your journey is ten.
As your eyes strain to adjust to the darkness, you notice an iridescent mist hanging above the water ahead. The fur trappers have spoke of it before... they call it "feu follet" (pronounced FEE fuh-lay). It drifts closer and closer, wafting over the edges of your little boat, weaving back and forth through the buttons of your jacket. Heed the advice of the trappers and remain as still as a statue, for they say that if you show fear now - if you try to get away... Au revoir.
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