A Year & A Day: Feu-Follet

Changeling: the Dreaming

Homebrew Rules

Character Creation Guide Download: Feu-Follet.pdf

Quoth the Feu-Follet:

“I declare, this evening is simply enchanting. I don’t think there was ever a fairer night for finding a verdict.”

Kith Excerpt:

The Feu-Follet are an old-world French Fabian (Kith). All are the gentlest of folk, and to a one of them they are Ben Socio (Seelie) if not one of the rarest of rare, a Marcra (Double-Seelie). They are keepers of hidden forests and wielders of ancient secrets that the modern High-Fae (Such as the Sidhe) have forgotten. Wise, gregarious, and gentle, it was with heavy heart that they left for New Worlds – literally America. This arose during that debacle with the Overthrow of the French courts, and the unseemly revolution in its wake. In the early 18th Century, the majority of them departed for Louisiana, with only a handful left in France proper. Only the Portunes were truly aware and gave their quiet blessings. No one was sure why this exodus had to transpire. Yet the very nature of the Fabian marks itself in performing seemingly odd tasks in the moment, only to reap the rewards later. This is evident in their birthright, which the rest of the French Fae are still waiting to see how it might manifest. That is, those of the French Fabian who still remember the Feu-Follet. Time has passed enough that some of the modern Fabian don’t even remember who the Feu-Follet were.

Nowadays the Fabian remains silent and proud in the backwaters of the American South. Places where Creole and Patois are still spoken, can boast whole coveys (Called soirée) of the Fabian. They are set up in old and Grande manses among the willows and swamp-grasses of the Louisiana back-waters. Their new moniker of Swamp-Witch stems from these new homes, and the Feu Follet welcome the Epithet with waggish grins.

The bonhomie, the Pluck, and most of all the warmth of the Swamp is what keeps the Fabian happy. Using their Ball of Fire birthright to flutter and play among the Spanish moss and hanging willows, the Feu-Follet are happier here with their Cajun Kin than they ever were in the old country. Of course, there are still that few remaining in France, but they too make plenty of sojourns to visit cousins in the New Worlds of the America’s.



“Tout partout au ras du bayou, La mousse-lá balance dans les gros chênes verts. Cocodries dormir en cyprière. Fifollet itle re cimitière. Vent plein de cris des loups-garous, Pieds itl rythme-là fou. Moune-là connaît y’olé Zydeco.”

“All around the heart of the bayou, The moss balances in the large green oaks. Crocodiles sleeping among the cypress trees. Feu-Follet dancing in the cemetery. The wind full of the cries of the werewolves, Feet tapping the crazy rhythm. People there know the Zydeco.” – BeauSoleil, “Zydeco Gris Gris”


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