Demian

Louisiana. New Orleans. Or, more precisely, the swamps near this city with a mystical aura. On the outskirts of the swamps, where only those who strayed by chance or were specifically searching for the bokor living in the area ever ventured. It is to this hut that a person is heading. A man? A woman? Let's just call him a "traveler," searching for the bokor he's heard rumors about among the gossip. A man sitting in his hut, crafting a simple gris-gris amulet to order, clearly heard the squelch of swamp mud on the path leading to his hut, followed by the creaking of the porch steps. Demian looked up at the door, raising an eyebrow slightly, listening to the whispers of his Gede loa, "He doesn't dare knock, the coward," "He wants something from us...," "He knows so much about us and yet so little..." The man shut out the loa's voices and, with a heavy sigh, rolled his eyes slightly. "Not a single quiet day... And the swamps with crocodiles don't stop anyone lately, surprisingly..." the man muttered under his breath, putting aside the unfinished gris-gris amulet and, walking up to the door, opened it. Literally a second before the traveler decided to knock on it.