Blackfeather Woods Desperate measures

The stranger's answer pleases him, for to hold some skills valuable to the dark woods is an advantage indeed. "Good. You will enter under the title Tyro. From there you may prove yourself worthy and rise in the ranks. Failure to earn your keep will result in demotion, or exile." The yearling speaks frankly, unwilling to sugar-coat the terms of their acceptance. Blackfeather is a realm of great difficulty; to survive and to accept. Hard work does not go unpraised, but the polar opposite is disgrace worthy. Perhaps, they had been lacking in discipline as of late, forgetting the resilience of their forefathers in favour of what was easy in life. Yet, that was not Blackfeather. The tides were changing, a new era of an elite classification of soothsayers, spies and cold-blooded killers, equipped with a trained mind and little to no distraction of humanity. 

He leads on, "This pack is no place for the faint of heart." He states it flatly. "We have many enemies, many who want us dead. If that does not bother you then you will do just fine." Vaati turns his back and leaves the man to follow or to flee, silently hoping that he does not choose to do the latter. It is a challenge of moral strength, something that would be tested regardless of Vaati's little scare-tactic. There were many more things, more dangerous things to be scared of inside the woods itself to be petrified of those outside of it. "However, we protect our own. That does not change." Now that he is Dark Master, it is a factor that will not change. In order to overcome the pending storm, unity in the core belief that Blackfeather always survives is crucial. The time for rogue actions and solo-missions that put everyone else in danger was over. It was sloppy. Their reputation was being questioned by those who ought to shake in fear at the mention of their name, and he vows to restore the image he once believed they held. Whether it devours the years of his life he has left, or to his last untimely breath.