On the other side of the table, and down the ways a bit, a chair creaks uneasily as the man sitting in it shifts irritably and cracks his knuckles from boredom. If a single word could be used to describe him, it would be 'huge' - even sitting down, his head comes closer to the ceiling than anyone else in the room, and his body could have doubled for most professional football players. Colorful tattoos of swirling designs and arcane symbology decorate his cheeks and shoulders, trailing down onto his chest beneath the oversized suit jacket that stretches tightly over his muscled frame. When he speaks, though, his voice is surprisingly soft, not the deep rumbling growl that would be expected from that sort of man-mountain. and his Creole accent is just faint enough to be noticable.<br/><br/>"Mah name be Mordechai Morris, and I be a<em>houngan</em>priest of the voodoo arts. I can bring de blessings of de loa on dose who wish it, build wards against de spirits, and see de ghosts of de dead before I banish dem back to de underworld. Mah patron be de Bawon Samedi, and he done bless me with de strength of de gods if I call upon him for it, and see through mah eyes to know what death awaits dose I look at."