Eaton sat at his desk, chin resting on his palm as he mulled over what to do with the young mosquito spirit. A greater part of a year had passed since the Houston Crusade, but every moment since then was still hectic for the Galliard. After the arduous task of relocating the Garou of White Ash to the Forked Path caern- the newly titled, “Forked Ash” sept, making sure his family was settled, he finally had some time for what would become of the spirit. He had several papers torn from his journal laid out in front, depicting items that a blood-devouring creature would like. Several crumpled ideas sat next to them, proving he had been at the task for quite some time.
“What if it were put inside a bowl that an ill folk’s blood was let into, and meditatin’ over it would let the wielder know what was afflictin’ ‘em? Whether it was of the Wyrm or a simpler ailment?”
He then winced, “But can’t Zoe just already cure ‘em? I don’t think we need to addin’ in an unnecessary step.”
He rolled up another sheet and tossed it aside. He looked again at the paper that depicted a sword carved with runes of blood and hunger, but still, it didn’t grip him.
“A sword that causes the wounded to keep on bleedin’, no matter how many bandages they soak through.” Again, his brows arched in disapproval, “But that’s so . . . bland. I don’t want to take advantage of a young spirit’s naiveté on what’s unique- I want it to be special.”
He crushed another idea and turned to yet another- “A set of false teeth that allows the wielder’s jaws extend to bite from a distance.” Eaton blinked once, “. . .even by my standards that’s just gross,” before he rejected that idea. With a dissatisfied exhale, Eaton rubbed his forehead, “These are just graspin’ at straws- why would the mosquito spirit want to go into any of those, anyhow?”
His eyes widened pensively as he reasoned, “Maybe I’m goin’ at this the wrong way- what would convince a bug like that go inside an object anyway?”
Straightening up in the chair, he thought, “Well, they like blood. And buzzin’ around all anoyin’ like- but mostly blood. But still, goin’ in a sword is so boring. I guess it would be able to get it’s fill there- but what would convince it to cooperate? I don’t think the rest of the pack would approve if I crammed it in, not to mention we’re ain’t supposed to hang on to these things forever-I’d prefer if it was plump n’ happy when it’s released.”
Still tapping his chin, he looked as he journal as he reminisced about how they found the spirits. What if it was put into something it was more familiar with, instead of being jammed into any old object? They had given over the syringe to the Ratkin, but maybe there could be more that survived the wreckage of the building? Or maybe he just find something similar, something that it would be comfortable spending its formative years strengthening itself in.
His eyes widened in realization- he reached into the pockets of his robe and produced a handle with a crank. He frowned as he reached back into his pockets and took out the rest of the saw- the chain of blades and the spring loaded shaft severed from the rest.
He had put off getting it repaired after those Zavala bitches broke it, having picked up his sword shortly thereafter. It rusted even before he took ownership- clearly, this was not meant to be used on the living unless to inflict serious harm. Though that wasn’t surprising given its previous owner.
This should be perfect. He thought to himself.
The Galliard spent the greater part of the next month preparing the skull saw. It wasn’t a complicated fix- Conner had pointed out the steel shaft could be soldered back together with enough heat. The object working again wasn’t enough- it should be worthy to hold the spirit. Eaton carved a rune on each of the teeth- glyphs for hunger, growth, life, repeated on the entire chain. He used his own blood to write, as it was the only way for the rusted runes to match the corrosion already accenting the saw. Upon finishing his inscriptions, he examined his hopefully soon to be fetish thoroughly- he could prepare this until the apocalypse and all he would do is delay his bargaining with the spirit. With the amount of stories he had heard about this part going wrong, he prepared himself with what he would say. Though he wasn’t bargaining with a Celestine or avatar of Gaia- how hard could convincing this gaffling be?
One evening, he decided it was time. After the sun had gone, he approached Aura and explained what he planned for the spirit. The two Garou found a quiet, shadowed place a short distance from the Forked Ash sept where the ritual could be done without interruption. The theurge made one last call to the infant insect, and departed swiftly before it would see her. Alone among the sounds of the spring night, he waited for his quarry to arrive.
“It’ll be fine.” He thought, “I mean, what’s the worst that could happen? Besides upsetting Aura, the rest of the mosquito spirits, and perhaps even the Wedigo? What sort of curse could this spirit even have, anyway?”
Eaton let out a long exhale in anticipation, he heard something crawling through the tall grass. A second later the spirit revealed itself, no longer an infant but instead a small pale child with large insectoid eyes, its mouth halfway between a human’s and proboscis, elongated yet flesh-like. It stood up and glanced at the Garou, before looking around the location and spoke in the spirit tongue, “Where’s Nana? Where is she?”
Slightly surprised, Eaton composed himself and replied, “She’s back in her house, but she wanted us to talk. I have something I wanted to show ya.”
The spirit seemed uneasy yet intrigued, allowing the Gallaird to produce the saw but not display it yet. He smiled he said, “Young one, it wasn’t justa chance that allowed us to find you. I know it’s Gaia’s will that you and your brood are destined for greatness, so be awed and respected among the other spirts. My pack made a promise to yer mother that we would make that happen. To do so, we gotta power you up.”
Eaton held up the skull saw in both hands, the enthusiasm in his voice rising as he said, “To see that come to pass, I ask that you come with us on our travels, residin’ in this weapon. You will feast upon our enemies, drain ‘em of their blood and make their power yours. In my hands, I’ll ensure you reach the potential Gaia has seen in you!”
His heartbeat in his ears, the next several seconds dragged for the Galliard on as he awaited the spirit’s reply. The anthropoid’s eyes proved difficult to read, and Eaton was unable to gauge its reaction until it said, “That’s all I need to do? Just eat whatever you kill?"
“Well,” Eaton said, still keeping his tone excited, “This is for your benefit. I only ask is that your share your vigor; you needn’t share any of your actual meal. That way, I can keep fightin’ and you can keep feedin’. It’s gonna be a nice little cycle we’ll get going.”
The mosquito sprit actually appeared interested at this point, it’s near-proboscis starting to salivate. However, it’s demeanor quickly soured as it said in a whimpered voice, “But . . . I won’t see Nana, will I? I’ll miss Nana.”
Eaton’s fervor drained as the spirit voiced its reservation. He took a deep breath and spoke in a softer voice, “No, you wouldn’t be able to see Nana. But you cannot stay with Nana forever- we gave your mother our word that your brood would return to the Pure when ready. Staying with Nana will not make you strong or prepare you for what’s ahead.”
Nodding back to the saw, he added, “You won’t stay in here forever, either. This way, we can make sure you are safe but also able to feed. This way, we can honor your mother’s wishes and Gaia’s plans for you.”
The air went still, Eaton trying to anticipate what the spirit might object to next. Its gaze was fixated on the saw he was holding, and it took a step towards him. In a distance voice, the spirit said, “. . . Mama . . .”
Only a second later, it looked toward Eaton and gave a single slow nod.
Eaton gave a smile, before he tossed the saw up into the air. The child dissolved into a swarm of biting insects before they surged skyward, meeting the weapon as it reached its hovered briefly. They attached to the saw and seemingly disappeared before it fell to the ground. His heart racing with anticipation, he knelt down and picked up the newly minted fetish, humming in his hands as he heard the buzzing of a swarm of insects in his ears. He smiled at what he had accomplished, adding, “Now let’s celebrate with your first meal.”
He stood up and was about to shift into Crinos, ready to go howling off chasing some Wyrm creature before he stopped and looked at the saw.
“Actually, I think Nana would like to have a look at ya first- give her approval.”
The fetish seemed to sing louder before going dormant as Eaton walked back to the Forked Ash proper to display his new fetish.
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