"Always with this piety," the man says. "Always so righteous. You call yourselves people of the spirit world, but you do nothing but talk and talk and give things names. Endless talk about the Wyrm and the Enemy and the defiled and the impure, endless labels to apply to the people you hate and hurt."
You and this man probably aren't going to settle things with a philosophical debate about the virtues of the Litany, because you think you know what this man is: a living man whose malice and cruelty has opened him up to Bane possession—a fomor.
The fomor rises. He's tall enough to scrape the domed ceiling. His hand lingers on the dead man's skeletal fingers. His hands—his arms, his chest, parts of his face—are covered in blades, hooks, and other tools. You've been investigating Jasper Heaney for long enough that you recognize leatherworking tools. Is this the man himself?
"Do you know what they said—what your people said?" the fomor wheezes. Spittle drools from his slash-mouth down to his chest. Old stains mark him from jaws down to crotch, the damp slash sticky with flies. "They said I collaborated with the Wyrm, that I made weapons for the Enemy. I was a weapon maker! I sold guns! But they didn't care. They didn't care that I was from the oldest of the Three Families, that we had served this land before them, and when they came, we served them. Good little servants."
He leans down again, touches the corpse's face. Scraps of beard still remain on the dead man's gaunt cheeks.
"It was Jasper who deceived them, who claimed that he'd sold the weapons. So they killed him. They tortured him and killed him, because he loved me so much that he was willing to die for me."
A weapon maker. This is David Banicki. Or what's left of him.
"I'm sorry they killed him." I'm not going to defend the laws of the Garou.
This is the problem with human servants: they're faithless and honorless. "The Garou here were fools to ever trust someone like you."
"You sold weapons to the servants of the Wyrm! What did you think would happen, you damn collaborator?"
"And now you're, what, some kind of leather monster? Shouldn't you be a gun monster since you're a gunsmith?"
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