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       #Post#: 20443--------------------------------------------------
       Multiversal Story: Bargg’s Bayou Bistro - Chapter 1: In the Begi
       nning 
       By: Raven Tepes Date: October 18, 2025, 11:51 pm
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       The smell of shrimp and garlic drifted down the New Orleans
       docks, wrapping itself around the humid air like a lazy jazz
       tune. Dockhands stopped to sniff the breeze and grin, their eyes
       drawn to the crooked building wedged between a fishmonger and a
       voodoo curiosity shop — Bargg’s Bayou Bistro.
       Inside, beneath the soft glow of mismatched lanterns, a hulking
       figure stirred a massive gumbo pot with a ladle the size of an
       oar. Bargg the Mountain Troll hummed a gravelly version of “When
       the Saints Go Marching In,” his tusks clinking against a pair of
       reading glasses perched precariously on his nose.
       It wasn’t easy being a troll in the Crescent City, but Bargg had
       carved out a niche — literally and figuratively. Years ago, he’d
       stumbled upon a crystal in the Dark Tower, a smooth shard of
       azure that pulsed with an inner light. When he’d picked it up,
       it whispered knowledge into his mind — language, logic, recipes,
       even the delicate art of customer service.
       So, he followed the Mississippi south until he found a city
       weird enough not to ask too many questions.
       Tonight, his restaurant was full — sailors, locals, and even a
       few curious tourists brave enough to dine where a troll cooked
       their étouffée. Bargg moved gracefully between tables, apron
       tied around his barrel chest.
       “More cornbread for ya, Captain Duval?” he rumbled in a
       surprisingly gentle voice.
       “Aye, Bargg, if you please. Never tasted cornbread so fine,” the
       old sea captain said, patting his belly.
       Bargg grinned, revealing teeth like chipped marble. “Secret’s in
       the honey… and the crystal’s advice on leavening ratios,” he
       muttered under his breath.
       In the kitchen, a small brass bell rang. It wasn’t part of the
       restaurant — it was part of him. When the crystal was near, it
       occasionally “spoke” through sound, chiming softly in his mind
       when danger loomed or opportunity knocked. Tonight, it chimed
       once, sharply.
       Trouble.
       Bargg ducked his head out the back door and saw three men in
       slick suits and crocodile shoes approaching. Their stride said
       business, their eyes said trouble.
       “Evenin’, Mister Bargg,” said the tallest one. “Name’s Lucien
       Moreau. Me and my associates, we represent some of the fine
       dining establishments uptown. Seems your little bayou bistro’s
       been takin’ some of our clientele.”
       Bargg wiped his hands on his apron. “That so? Maybe they like my
       crawfish gumbo better than your overpriced bisque.”
       Lucien’s smile thinned. “We think it’s… unnatural. Folks say
       your food’s got magic in it.”
       The crystal pulsed against Bargg’s chest — hidden in a leather
       pouch under his apron. Lie to them, it whispered in his mind.
       They won’t understand.
       But Bargg had lived among humans long enough to know when it was
       time to show strength instead. He stood up straighter, looming
       like a mountain over the trio.
       “Magic?” Bargg growled. “No, gentlemen. Just good food. And a
       chef who knows his spices.”
       Lucien’s companions reached into their coats. Bargg sighed.
       Ten seconds later, they were running back toward the street,
       their suits drenched in gumbo and their pride left somewhere in
       the kitchen. Bargg had hurled his cauldron like a cannonball.
       He dusted off his hands, adjusted his apron, and turned back
       inside. The diners, unfazed — this was New Orleans, after all —
       applauded. Bargg gave a little bow.
       “Apologies for the noise, folks. Tonight’s special dessert is on
       the house — praline beignets with bayou berry glaze.”
       The crowd cheered. The jazz trio in the corner picked up the
       tempo.
       Later, after closing, Bargg sat on the dock, the moonlight
       rippling on the river. He pulled out the crystal, letting it
       glow faintly in his hand.
       “You think I did right?” he asked it.
       The crystal pulsed once — calm, content.
       “Good,” Bargg said with a smile. “’Cause I ain’t goin’ nowhere.
       The people love my gumbo.”
       A pelican landed nearby, eyeing him curiously. Bargg tore off a
       piece of cornbread and tossed it its way.
       “Yeah,” he murmured, watching the bird catch it midair. “A
       troll’s gotta eat too.”
       And down by the docks, the soft hum of blues mixed with the
       scent of spice, smoke, and starlight — all drifting from Bargg’s
       Bayou Bistro, the only troll-run restaurant in New Orleans.
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