
In Laveau, whispers crawl thicker than the bayou mist. Yesterday, the buzz drifted from the Barracuda’s flickering neons to the velvet shadows of the Den. Folks are talking about a certain regular coaxed into a pole dance—awkward, sure, but there’s speculation it was more dare than desire, and some say it might’ve caught the eye of those that matter. Elsewhere, a stranger’s sudden, tense suspicion on the sunlit sidewalk has tongues wagging about new blood stirring up old ghosts. Over cold beers and sly glances, the consensus is clear: in Backwaters, innocence is just another mask, and everyone’s hiding something.
In Laveau, the gutter’s tongue is restless. Whispers say a bloodied brute—shoulder gashed and eyes hungry—darkened the marina with threats, unsettling even the serpent-hearted. Some swear the heat flushed more than sweat: a blade-wielding woman sparked chaos outside a red convertible, leaving neon-lit witnesses rattled as threats flew in a storm of tangled languages. Meanwhile, in the shadows of the Den, a fever-dream dance tangled pain and sin with something not wholly human—a ritual they say lingers in the sticky bayou air. And behind the scenes, the real business pulsed—dancers dealing secrets with every stolen glance. The city watches, waiting for the next fracture.
Yesterday, Laveau’s shadows danced wild with rumor. They say the Pride celebration spun out of control—something about a nearly naked man flaunting chrome hardware in places best kept private. That spectacle had the crowd howling and the dive’s bouncers twitchy, forcing more than one set of legs to scatter before the law got ideas. Meanwhile, whispers ripple from the rink to the cyber cafés: a clutch of young women, shaken from police violence, sought safety under neon’s flicker, their trust in order thinner than bayou mist. And those twin sisters? Folks wonder if they’re plotting something, silent as snakes, always watching from the edges. In Laveau, nobody’s secrets stay buried for long.
The Bayou Takes Its Due, One Soul at a Time
Deep in the forgotten south, where the roads crumble into dirt and the air hangs heavy with heat, you’ll find the town of Port Laveau. It sits low in the bayou, hemmed in by swamp and silence, far from the reach of clean law or clean conscience. The land is soft beneath your boots, and the past presses in from all sides.
Laveau is not loud. It does not roar like a city. Its power whispers through backrooms, bloodlines, and the hush of trees that never stop watching. Here, the Sheriff’s Department is not just a law office. It’s a tool, one of many held by a syndicate that runs deeper than any badge. The crews answer to the same masters, though they’ll never say it out loud.
This place is old, not just in years but in spirit. You can feel it in the cracked paint of the churches and the long shadows on the water. Some folks say the town is cursed. Others believe it’s protected by things older than scripture. Either way, there’s no denying the pull of the bayou. People vanish without a sound. Others return changed, speaking of lights in the fog and voices that never came from a man.
The town feeds on secrets. Everyone is hiding something. The preacher’s boy runs with a crew. The waitress reads fortunes between shifts. The deputy turns a blind eye, not out of fear, but out of loyalty to something he no longer questions. You don’t rise in the backwaters by being honest. You rise by knowing when to stay quiet and who to bleed for.
There are no clean slates here. Just paths marked in sweat, smoke, and sacrifice. This is a place for the broken, the hunted, and the damned. Maybe you came to find peace. Maybe you came to run. The town does not care. It already knows who you are.
So ask yourself:
What brought you to Backwaters?
And how long before the swamp makes you part of it?
The water waits. It always does.
Down Here, the Bayou Chooses Who Rules.Crews, Curses, and Badges All Serve the Same Snake.
Official Criminal Factions in Laveau
Tucked deep in the southern swamps, the Backwaters moves at its own pace. Quiet, eerie, and heavy with things left unsaid. This isn’t a world of street wars or flashing sirens. Power here is older, slower, and buried under layers of legacy and fear. Factions rise from family lines, local legends, and whispered debts, all circling back to the Syndicate, a shadow network that trades in loyalty, silence, and control. In Port Laveau, nothing stays buried forever
The Salopri
- Leader: Kingston Varriale
- Tags: 105
- Last Tag: 2 weeks ago
Top Recently Active Associates:
The Bowies
- Leader: baneelden Resident
- Tags: 38
- Last Tag: 1 month ago
Top Recently Active Associates:
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Read the roleplay guide, then follow the steps to register your character and join the Backwaters.
ALTERSCAPE presents a BACKWATERS production by NADIR TAOV. directed by BANEELDEN and KINGSTON VARRIALE. starring CLIVIASANKO, SYDNEY MCALPINE, DEADLYSALEM, KIT ABSINTHE, BYTETHEDUST, TANITH KARAS, NASTALYA DEVINNA, EIRAOFNOAKUP, PAINTMEWITHWORDS and COUNTESS CHICKENWING. featuring the narratives of THE BOWIES and THE SALOPRI. An untold story of blood ties, quiet wars, and survival deep in the swamps of PORT LAVEAU.