Delia Toussaint - Voodoo Priestess

City:  New Orleans, the Big Easy has never been so tough..
High Concept:  Psychopomp Mambo
Rising Conflict:  Black Magic Woman

Phase One Background: Where did you come from?

Delia was born to a poor, mixed-racial Creole family on the outskirts of New Orleans. She was raised in a mixed Catholic and traditional voodoo home, a tiny shack that never had enough room for all of the family that lived there. She did well in elementary school and actually walked herself miles to attend high school. Her parents were proud of her, because she maintained her heritage and looked like she would actually be able to drag herself out of their historical poverty while not forgetting her roots. Then in high school she met Tyree and they ran off to get married at 17. Delia put college on hold to try to build a family with Tyree. He was Jamaican, by way of Miami, a student at Tulane University and like Delia's family, his had a long heritage in the voodoo tradition. They set themselves up as houngan and mambo of a small community on the edge of the swamps.

(Delia Toussaint gave up her chance to go to school and rise above her origins for love. She married her lover Tyree at the age of seventeen and the two of them set themselves up as houngan and mambo for their community.)

Aspect: That Voodoo that You Do


Phase Two Rising Conflict: What shaped you?

Things were falling into place, Tyree and Delia had a small and growing community of followers and friends. Delia was seven months pregnant and finishing up a GED so she could apply to university to take some classes when Hurricane Katrina rolled through New Orleans, bursting the levees and destroying hopes and dreams across the region. Tyree and Delia stayed behind to help evacuate their community (those that would evacuate) or entrench those that refused to leave. It was during the early storms that Tyree was swept away by heavy debris. Delia, heavily pregnant, continued to help as many people as she could, fighting on against the despair that threatened to overwhelm her, promising herself she would look for him after she made sure her community was safe. It was a week later that the body was found.

Bodies don't do well in water and heat and it was barely recognizable as Tyree. Delia cleaned up what she could of the body and made preparations for burial. She wandered about listless and distant for over a month, aiding people with their dead when they came to her, but hiding herself away when she was not specifically sought out. Her people began to leave her food and clothing and other supplies, because they realized that something was wrong with their mambo. A plan had hatched in the recesses of her mind.

On All Hallow's Eve that year, Samhain to the Celtic peoples that had brought Maman Brigitte to the new world to become wife to the Baron Samedi, Delia disinterred Tyree's body and took the remains to St. Louis Cemetary #1 and the tomb of Marie Laveau. She also brought with her a full jug of rum, some sweet cakes and a black rooster kept quiet stuffed in a sack. In the dark of the night she laid out the body, cleaned and prepared as best she could. She opened the jug of rum and set it upon the ground by the tomb of the voodoo queen along with the sweet cakes. She pulled the rooster from the bag and with a quick slash of her knife, severed its throat with a spray of red blood across the door of the tomb. She prayed to Marie Laveau, Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte to guide her to the gates of Guinee that she might enter the realm of the dead and seek the lost soul of her husband.

Coincidence or faith, Delia stood before the gates of Guinee, and when she laid her bloody hand upon them, they opened with a cold November wind. “Tyree!” She called into the land of the dead. “Tyree St. Fleur! Tyree my husband! Hear me! Come back to de land of de livin'! Come back to me, Delia Toussaint St. Fleur, your wife!”

Tyree's body, which was little more than bone and rotted flesh and bits of skin, filled out. When he was whole again, his eyelids fluttered and then snapped open.

The cold, November wind blew out from the Gates of Guinee and Delia fell crying across the body of her husband, her sobs like a deep, slow heartbeat, and he wrapped his arms around her.

The Warden of the White Council entered the cemetery with his silver sword unsheathed and gleaming. He looked around for the Lawbreaker, the necromancer, whose head was forfeit, and he saw the young man and woman on the ground. A quick assessment. Her then, he thought to himself. He stepped forward, raising the sword to a striking position as he walked.

Necromancer!” He called out. He was a Warden after all, not an assassin. “You have broken the Fifth Law of Magic and I have come to collect payment.”

The woman, old or young, it was hard to tell in the dark of the night, stepped out of nowhere and laid her hand on his arm. Her touch was freezing cold. “No, boy. She be mine.”

He started to protest, but he was so cold, standing in the grave wind that blew from Guinee. “Call me Maman, boy. De offerin' be made: rum, sweet and blood. All it need is some hot peppahs, but I forgive de girl dis one time. Love be sweet, non? But it took loss for dis one to come to my notice.”

The woman was corpse pale in the night, and the Warden couldn't tell if it was her fair Irish skin that gleamed like bone or if it was actually her skeleton, her skull, he was seeing through the flesh of her face. Bright copper hair cascaded down around her, bright against her skin and bright against her black and purple dress. She smiled at him, lips pulling back until it was a skull's fleshless grin. “Normally I ride me horse when I come up outta Guinee, but she be busy dis night, so you get me ownself. Give a hand, boy, carry de girl home fo' me. I be nothin' but an ol' woman alone in de night. I go call me 'usband to take care of she's. He good wit' such t'ings.”

The Warden was about to protest, but the woman suddenly did look old and frail in the night. Instead, he sheathed his sword and knelt by the woman, gently lifting her away from the man's body. He stood, staggering a step, he hadn't realized she was pregnant, and very much so. He turned to follow the old woman and, on a whim, looked back over his shoulder. A tall, lanky man stood over the body by the old tomb. The man tipped a black tophat to the Warden, his grin flashing in the darkness, and he, too, knelt to collect his burden. When he stood, the ectoplasmic flesh that had taken the likeness of Tyree came with him, leaving the old, decayed corpse behind. The cold November wind blew again, and the corpse disintegrated into dust and the man, grinning one last time, stepped backward and vanished into the night.

The old woman laid her death-cold hand on his arm again, tsking him in displeasure. “You ain't nevah s'possed to look back t'rough de gates, boy. You got lots t'learn. Dat fancy gray cape and dat shiny sword doan mean you know all. Now follow, and keep you eyes on de road dis time, boy.”

He didn't exactly follow the old woman. It was more like the Warden, somehow, knew where to take the girl and the old woman showed up by his side again, once he had laid her down on her bed and stepped outside the house. “She's still a Lawbreaker, ma'am. I can't change that,” he told the old woman, not really sure why he felt he had to explain it.

 

"Oui, boy. She done broke de Law, but she be mine. You and you Council jus' forget 'bout her. Maman takin' care o' de girl now. I teach her de right path for she powah. She gonna have t' pay for it. De rum and a de roostah be bringin' me heah, but it not quite enough for de rest. Too bad. She make a good maman for de chile, but she also be good auntie for she people. Close de door now, boy. Let she rest inside de rest o' dis night.”

The Warden pulled the door shut and when it clicked to, a pattern of power flashed into being on the door. “Dere,” the old woman said, looking not so old anymore, but like the fine, young redhead he had seen earlier. “Now dey all be knowin'. Time to go home, boy.” The cold November wind blew one last time, skirling around the black and purple dress and the bright, copper hair. It swirled around the gray Warden cloak and when it died away the woman was gone.


(When Tyree died during Hurricane Katrina, Delia opened the Gates of Guinee and brought him back from the Afterlife. A Warden came to take her life as a Lawbreaker, but Maman Brigitte, the Ghede loa intervened, claiming Delia as her own. Marked by the loa, Delia's power grew from mortal faith into true Ritual. The Baron Samedi took Tyree back to Guinee and Maman Brigitte claimed Delia's unborn baby as payment for her powers.)

Aspect: Veve on My Door


Phase Three The Story: What was your first adventure?

On the one year anniversary of the loss of her child, Delia sacrifices an ox to lay the child's spirit to rest. But the scent of meat and blood draws in hungry ghouls.  Can Delia fight off the ghouls and still put her daughter's soul to rest?

Aspect: Ti Bon Ange


Phase Four Guest Star: Whose Path Have You Crossed?


Aspect:


Phase Five Guest Star Redux: Who Else’s Path Have You Crossed?


Aspect: