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 Not Quite the Midas Touch

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Posts : 319
Join date : 2013-10-28
Location : Texas

PostSubject: Not Quite the Midas Touch   Sun 08 Nov 2015, 22:01

After finishing the discussions with his packmates, Eaton decided he was ready for some time to himself. The greater part of the day had been spent trying to piece together the bits of information they had gathered, and now they were about to dive headlong into whatever mess awaited them in Houston. Eaton planned to spend the next several hours refreshing himself spiritually prepare for the battles to come. That’s when he remembered there was something he wished to ask of his rodent allies and he figured now was his chance… but before any bargaining could be made, he’d have to call up the spirits first.

He hurried over to the cabin’s stocked pantry, quickly scanning the shelves and picking over its contents until he found a glass container that held some sort of red preserve. Taking the whole jar with him, he ventured out into the spring night. The sun had long since set, Luna’s face nearly completely hidden as she rose over the great shadowed houses. Under the starlight, Eaton crossed the expanse to the darkened outline of the grove. His keen Garou vison guided him through the foliage to a secluded grove in the wooded bawn. The Galliard hunkered down on his knees and reached into his robe, rummaging in his pockets for a moment before he triumphantly produced a rusty, long-degraded springtrap. He scooped the jam from the jar and splattered it on the trap before he tossed it out a few feet in front of him. Only Eaton’s excited breaths broke the silence for a few short minutes, before the unmistakable sounds of scurrying and crunching needles sounded through the forest. A second later a horde of rats poured from the underbrush, piling on top of one another to feast upon the offering. As fast as they appeared, they began to settle down, though their tails began to tangle and twine together as they formed a writhing circle, all their beady-eyed faces outward, toward Eaton. Their noisome chittering and rustling quieted just enough so Eaton would hear the spirits words:

“You call upon the Doom of Hamelin once again, Tooth of Rat. And as always, we answer those faithful to the Rat God. Blood is to be spilled and lapped up?”

Eaton nodded before he replied, “Ya got that right; my packs ready to dive headfirst into another Wyrm pit. I know I can count on ya’ll to be there when I raise the battle cry, but this call ain’t necessarily ‘bout Houston. We might be getting’ chased down by our own kind, and considerin’ the days we’re livin’ in, I don’t exactly want to reduce the foot troops we’ve got right now.”

The rats gently flailed and curled towards one another, a squirming, slow-turning wheel of vermin. Eaton continued, “Last time I was with other members of the swarm, I heard about a trick ya can teach that might make other Garou’s life a livin’ hell, makes ‘em mighty distracted when fightin’. I’m here askin’ if ya’ll be willin’ to teach it to me.”

The rat spirits chirped at one another briefly before they replied,

“You wish to exploit your kind’s greatness weakness, to impose Luna’s wrath on Rat’s foes. We will be able to grant your request, as you have done much to grow our numbers, strengthen our forces. All we ask is for a sanctuary where Rat’s brood may gather, where we will feed and spawn and wait until called. A curse for a home- do we have an accord?”  

Eaton considered what the Doom was asking; it didn’t sound too hard, from the sound of it. In fact, he thought exactly what sort of offer he would give.

“Sounds like a fair trade; I’ll be certain to find ya’ll a safe place where ya can meet. With everythin’ we keep runnin’ into, I think folk’ll find it in their best interest to keep Nacogdoches as safe as possible. Sounds like we have an accord once again.”

Eaton reached for the jar to offer more of the jam, but saw a pair of rats squeezed inside the glass, scouring it with their tongues. The creatures exited as soon as the Garou picked up the jar, though Eaton caught sight of a faintly shimmering fluid at the bottom of the container. He poured onto his hand a strange silvery substance with the consistency of thin syrup. Wondering what he was supposed to do with it, he then winced slightly as he felt the strange sensation of the semi-liquid absorb into his skin. Only a second later his palm was dry, the Galliard left staring at his open palm as the spirits answered,

“You know our secret, Leper-Friend. May our foes feel Luna’s spite.”

The rats disappeared into the night, leaving the useless trap licked clean. He picked up the fetish and put it away to disappear into his cloak, standing up to venture back at the house.

Ya know, I’m sure Mock’s hasn’t had his flesh turn to silver before. Maybe he’ll be willing to . . . nah.” He thought to himself as he left the woods behind.
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