When they first connected almost a decade ago, Luis Felipe Zschoche, 33, and Cécile Misse, 32, lived on separate continents. But through their shared love of music, an online friendship blossomed into a romance and a life together at the heart of Paris’s vibrant music scene.

Mr. Zschoche was a self-taught guitarist and songwriter who had formed his first band as a teenager in Chile, playing occasional small gigs near his home in Santiago and recording albums whose sounds were heavily influenced by Nirvana and other American grunge bands of the early 1990s, family members said. Yet while his music was his passion, Mr. Zschoche never harbored dreams of becoming a rock star.

“He had this incredible natural talent, but he was also a realist,” said Mr. Zschoche’s sister, Rosalia. When he went to college, Mr. Zschoche chose to major in business rather than music. “He knew that it would be hard to make a proper living as a musician,” she said.

Mr. Zschoche found Ms. Misse, a native of Provence who worked in theater production, in an online forum for rock music fans that she had created. The two struck up a correspondence in Spanish and, over the course of a year, grew close enough that Mr. Zschoche decided, in 2006, to fly to Paris to meet Ms. Misse in person.

He came for a three-month visit, but never returned permanently to Chile. Over the next eight years, Mr. Zschoche mastered French and, through Ms. Misse, quickly plugged into a network of fellow artists and musicians. He found a steady job at a freight forwarding company and devoted nights and weekends to his music.

Three years ago, Mr. Zschoche founded Captain Americano, a high-energy hard-rock band, of which he was the lead singer and chief songwriter. The band’s members, from Mr. Zschoche’s circle of Parisian friends, described him as a natural leader and a patient collaborator.

“Luis was someone very strong,” said Erwan Sarcelet, guitarist for Captain Americano. “He had an aura and generous spirit that drew people to him. In music, he knew exactly where he wanted to go and he worked with us to guide us there.”

The band had played its most recent concert, in Paris, on Oct. 24, and was finishing post-production of an album that they had planned to release early next year. Then three gunmen burst into the Bataclan music hall on Nov. 13, where Mr. Zschoche and Ms. Misse were in the audience, and both died at the scene.

Mr. Zschoche’s brother Oscar said the couple had recently talked of leaving Paris for Nantes, near the west coast of France. They were looking for a quieter environment to raise a family, he said.

Lately, Oscar Zschoche, who recently married, said his brother had begun to tease him about his own family plans, sending him frequent text messages to ask, “When are you going to make me an uncle?”

“I always answered back with the same question,” he said.

Two weeks after the Nov. 13 attacks, which left 130 people dead, the multicultural band of friends and colleagues who spent their time at La Belle Équipe are trying to rebuild their lives. But it is a wrenching task made all the more difficult by the fact that so many of the victims were intimately connected.

Manuel Colaço Dias, 63, was a shy, self-effacing man whose devotion to family, friends and colleagues was expressed not so much in words as through small favors.

His son Michael, 30, said his father, a retired chauffeur for a shuttle service in the northeastern French town of Reims, always insisted on driving him to the airport when he traveled on business. Manuel Dias would sometimes call ahead in the early hours of the morning to make sure his son did not oversleep and miss his flight. If he arrived a bit early, Mr. Dias would sometimes polish his son’s shoes while he waited.

“In the car, he was always quiet,’’ his son said. “It was a silence that was always loving and that I understood perfectly.’’

Mr. Dias, known as Manu to his friends, still took pleasure in accepting the occasional driving job from his old employer, where some clients continued to request him by name. Friday, Nov. 13, was just such an occasion.

Mr. Dias, an avid soccer enthusiast, had agreed to drive a minivan full of fans to Paris from Reims to watch France play Germany — a four-hour round trip.

“He did it as much as anything for the human contact,’’ Mr. Dias’s son said by telephone. “He enjoyed talking about soccer and would have spent the whole time talking about the match.’’

Moments after dropping his clients off at the Stade de France, Mr. Dias called his wife, Elia, to say that he had arrived and was heading to a nearby cafe for dinner and to watch the game on television. Not long afterward, his son said, the family heard on the news about a suicide bombing outside the stadium, the first of three blasts that were so powerful that they could be heard over the roars of the crowd.

Alarmed, Mrs. Dias called to check on her husband, but there was no answer. He had been standing just feet from the bomber and was killed instantly. He was the sole victim of the stadium attacks.

Mr. Dias grew up in Portugal, but he and his parents moved to France when he was 18. He worked variously as a steelworker, in restaurants and in retail before becoming a chauffeur. He was active in the tightly knit community of Portuguese expatriates in Reims, where he met his wife. Both were from Alentejo, the south-central region of Portugal famous for its cork trees.

Jean-Jacques Bouscatel, Mr. Dias’s former boss, recalled his generosity and his spirit of collaboration. Being of service to others “was in his genes,” Mr. Bouscatel, told attendees at a memorial service last week. “It was something that simply made him happy.’’

Yasmine Canga-Valles contributed reporting from New York.

Kheir Eddine Sahbi, or Didine, as his family called him, was returning home when he was struck by a bullet in front of the Casa Nostra restaurant on Nov. 13. A violinist from Algeria, he had been in France for only a year, pursuing music. He was finishing a degree in ethnomusicology at Sorbonne University.

The attackers killed five people that night on Rue de la Fontaine au Roi and 125 more in other cafes and the Bataclan concert hall. “He was not even supposed to be there,” his older brother Elyes Sahbi said. “He had already passed his door. He just chose to continue a discussion he was having with his friend and then went back. That is how he was: friendly and passionate.”

Kheir Eddine Sahbi, 29, was described by his friends as a quiet and peaceful man. “Even when he had problems, he never let it affect his mood while he was surrounded by friends,” said Khaled Bensaid, a longtime friend and mandolin player. Mr. Bensaid had started playing with Mr. Sahbi in festivals in Algiers, and the two continued to collaborate in France.

Mr. Sahbi was born in Rouiba, an eastern suburb of Algiers, and had two brothers and a sister. His father was an agricultural engineer, and his mother, who died nine years ago, was a teacher. Mr. Sahbi last saw his family when he came back last summer for Ramadan.

Although he started studying civil engineering, his passion for music got the best of him during his two years of university. He chose to instead earn a diploma in musicology from the National Institute of Music in Algiers. “We grew up in a family where music was everywhere,” Mr. Sahbi’s brother said. “No one was a talented artist, but we loved Arabic and Andalusian music. Kheir Eddine started to reach for a guitar when he was only 5 years old.”

When he was a teenager, Mr. Sahbi had joined Essendoussia, one of many music associations in Algiers, and he started playing the violin, according to an article published after his death in El Watan. “I remember that he started to be attracted to this instrument because of the Dutch violinist André Rieu,” his brother said. He wound up taking violin classes with the famous Algerian violinist Djamel Kebladj.

He used a technique often seen in Arabic and Andalusian music: playing the violin on his knees in order to be able to sing as well.

“He was very talented both with his voice and his instrument, and he aimed at perfection,” Mr. Bensaid said. He added that Mr. Sahbi was also fond of Turkish music and the Armenian violinist Samvel Yervinyan.

After taking part in festivals and concerts in Algiers, Mr. Sahbi left for France for further music study. “Every time I called him, he said that he was home rehearsing,” said Meriem Laribi, who trained with him in Algeria. “He was a hard worker but always available for his friends.”

While working a day job as a monitor in a high school, Mr. Sahbi continued playing with different groups. “We had just finished rehearsing for a new project mixing jazz and Arabic music the night he died,” Mr. Bensaid said.

According to his brother, Mr. Sahbi’s goal was not only to pursue his career but also to help people discover Arabic and Andalusian music. “He wanted people to see the culture of his country he loved so much,” he said. “He wanted people to know that Algeria was more than the memory of civil war and terrorism in the ’90s.”

Mr. Sahbi did not plan to stay in France. He wanted to improve his technique and teach professionally back in Algeria.

“He started to teach others in the association very early, at 21 years old,” Mrs. Laribi said. “He was very patient and a good teacher.”

Mr. Sahbi’s brother remembered a time in 2003 when Algeria was struck by an earthquake. It killed thousands. When Mr. Sahbi’s family left Algiers for a safer place, he chose to stay. “He just got a job for the summer, and he did not want to give up this opportunity,” his brother said. “He was very brave for a teenager, and he already knew what he wanted in life. That is how I will remember him.”

Amir Jalal contributed reporting from Rouiba, Algeria.

Cédric Mauduit lived for rock ’n’ roll and Clint Eastwood movies. On Nov. 13, he headed from his home in Lion-sur-Mer in Lower Normandy to Paris to catch the Eagles of Death Metal at the Bataclan concert hall — one more rock ’n’ roll road trip in a lifetime of them. He was surrounded by four of his closest friends when assailants started shooting.

Fabienne Chevalereau, his partner, said she heard from one of his friends during that long night of waiting. “He told me Cédric was running behind him. Then they lost each other during the panic,” she said. “But I had still some hope he had managed to exit the place.”

By morning, after she had still not heard from him, Ms. Chevalereau went to Paris with Mr. Mauduit’s younger brother, Matthieu. That was when they learned that Cédric was among those killed in the concert hall, among the 130 who died in the attacks.

“It has always been the two of us,” he said. “He was my idol. I was constantly trying to impress him.”

Mr. Mauduit decided that the best tribute would be to reach out to his brother’s rock ’n’ roll heroes.

“I think it is the best way to honor my idol: make his own idols come to his funeral,” he said.

He started a campaign on social media to invite the Rolling Stones and David Bowie. So far, only the Rolling Stones have responded. In an email, they declined the request but offered their “deepest condolences.”

Mr. Mauduit said he would not be discouraged. He has focused his campaign on David Bowie. “I am confident one of them will come or send a message,” he said on Wednesday. The funeral is scheduled for Nov. 30 in Caen.

Cédric Mauduit, 41, was a financial auditor and father of two. Born and raised in Rouxeville, he is the son of a teacher and an agricultural salesman. Music was the thread that ran through his life.

“He was so passionate about rock ’n’ roll,” Ms. Chevalereau said. “In a way, it is better that he died while living his passion, that’s what I am trying to tell myself.”

When she met him 13 years ago, working for the local government in a suburb of Paris, “it was love at first sight,” she said.

“It was certain we would be best friends,” she said. “It turned out we became so much more, mostly because of him.” They lived together in Paris before buying a house in Normandy.

Matthieu Mauduit said that he and his brother attended many concerts together. “AC/DC was one of the best,” he said. “We looked at each other and thought we were so lucky to have seen them.”

Many evenings, they sat over glasses of wine and listened to records on a turntable.

“When I was a teenager, I gave him a key chain with Elvis Presley’s face on it,” he added. “Everything was about music with him.”

Cédric Mauduit’s passion led him to open a small concert hall in St.-Lô, not far from his hometown. With Nicolas d’Aprigny, a childhood friend, he opened the hall, called Le Normandy, in a building that housed a carousel from 1810. It still hosts festivals and performances by independent musicians.

“He was here from the start,” Mr. d’Aprigny said. “We will always remember what he has done for this place.”

Mr. Mauduit had two children, ages 3 and 7. “He left us with thousands of CDs and vinyls,” Ms. Chevalereau said. The children, she added, already love music as much as their father did.

Christophe Foultier, 39, a husband and father from the western Parisian suburb of Courbevoie, was among the scores of people killed at the Bataclan concert hall on Nov. 13 when four men brandishing assault rifles fired indiscriminately into the crowd. Mr. Foultier, a freelance artistic director, attended the Eagles of Death Metal concert with four friends. He was the only one of them who did not survive.

Mr. Foultier may have worked in advertising by day, but by night he was a rock musician, working on his latest album. It was his love of music that led him to attend the show, though he had seen the band just months before with his wife, Caroline Jolivet.

Ms. Jolivet said that her husband had a real passion for music and that they were regulars at the Bataclan and other concert halls across Paris. “We went to our first concert together at the Bataclan,” she said, “and a thousand more afterward.”

Her husband spent much of his time playing and writing music, she said. “Our living room is more like a recording studio than a living space,” she said. “We have less furniture than instruments.”

Mr. Foultier played the bass guitar for more than 20 years. He had founded his current group, Nite Nite, with his best friend, Rudy Fagnaud. At the time of his death, the pair were nearing the completion of their first album.

Mr. Foultier’s other life passion was his children. He leaves behind his daughter, Mila Pearl, 6, and his son, Tom Jeff, 2. His children’s middle names were chosen in homage to Mr. Foultier’s favorite band, Pearl Jam, and its bass player, Jeff Ament.

Ms. Jolivet said that her children were already big music fans. “We used to listen to music all the time, and the kids would stand in the living room and dance,” she said.

Jennifer Cherney, a longtime friend of the family, said that above all else Mr. Foultier loved his family. He had two brothers with whom he was close, and the way he treated his children was rare, she said.

“The kids were his main priority,” she said, and the couple wanted their children to experience everything they did, including taking them traveling across America. “He had a zest for life,” she said.

Before Mr. Foultier died, the family was considering moving to Seattle or Vancouver, British Columbia. “We loved the spirit of the West Coast,” Ms. Jolivet said. Most of the couple’s favorite bands come from Seattle, and Mr. Foultier enjoyed the outdoors. “He belongs in nature,” she said.

A keen snowboarder, skater and runner, he was also fascinated by the Haida, an indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest. The Haida symbol of the thunderbird was tattooed on his leg.

“We loved to take the car and drive,” Ms. Jolivet said. “We had so many places still to go, and that’s hard to accept.”

She described her husband as strong and tall, with dark brown hair and eyes. People knew him as “the bear,” she said, adding that he looked like the kind of man you would not want to tangle with but was in fact one of the kindest, most gentle people she knew. “He would protect everyone around him,” she said.

Ms. Cherney agreed, describing Mr. Foultier as “a teddy bear dressed in grunge and cool skater-guy clothing.”

Mr. Foultier and Ms. Jolivet met in high school over 20 years ago. “We thought of ourselves as the luckiest people alive,” she said of her relationship with her husband. “We had each other, and we had the children.”

After the attacks, Ms. Jolivet spent sleepless days and nights looking for her husband. On Nov. 15, she was told that all the wounded had been named, and that she could assume her husband was among the dead. It was not until the evening of Nov. 16 that Mr. Foultier’s body was identified.

“Anytime we met new people, they’d fall in love with him,” she said of her husband. “I’m not sure he knew how loved he was.”