What more perfect environment could there be for the nocturnal 
Kindred than the glorious city of New Orleans? It is a place — 
perhaps the only place — that fully embodies not only the feel but 
the very essence of what it is to be damned to darkness. Even the 
paradox of unlife itself is mirrored in every contradictory facet of 
this roiling city that is at once gaudy and genteel, pious and 
perfidious, daring and discreet. Here, in the bloated belly of the 
Deep South, the wine flows, the dice roll and the pleasures come 
slow and steady as molasses. Nothing is difficult here, unless it 
has to be, and yet nothing is free, either.

Nothing is ever free.

Some readers might think they are familiar with such a place. Some 
might even have been there, a fair number on more than one occasion. 
But the New Orleans you think you know, though it seems to be the 
city of which is spoken here, is not the New Orleans of a
modern-gothic world. No, the New Orleans of the World of Darkness 
is a significantly darker place, filled with more people, more 
crime, more vice, more wine, more desire, more despair — more 
everything than its realworld counterpart. This is where it all 
hangs out, for both Kindred and kine, where dreams intercourse with 
reality, begetting nightmares most unreal — where even the dead 
must toss in endless, fitful sleep.

Welcome to New Orleans.
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