Meadowlark Prairie to hold a flame to a gas filled lake

“No soul is worthy our mercy”

Vaati liked the sound of that. Perhaps he had misjudged his uncle’s willingness to see the dark woods fall, for clearly honour was a fickle creature indeed. Vaati had very little of it, and what he did, it was to himself. It shouldn’t be a surprising notion; he had learned to become quite self-serving in the aftermath of the war, finding no peace in the service of others. And yet, he pledged his tooth and claw to an uncle he once scorned, for a cause he had once vowed to leave behind. How interesting fate was, the man chuckles inwardly to himself within the confines of his thoughts, and briefly wonders what else the unholy gods may send his way. Damien grants him the reward of ending the pale man’s long life should he rebel against the new Melonii authority, and a signature machiavellian smirk behinds to dance across his lips, before he nods to accept the conditions. “In that case, you have yourself a deal.” Vaati quips his brow amusedly, rather satisfied with the conclusions they had come to. But he does not stick around for long, promising to meet his uncle at the water in a few short days time. There was still the matter of the Skullchaser predicament, and Vaati would not simply abandon one venture for another. Perhaps the spine of the cretin who had dared to maim his sister would be the first to decorate the borders of the new and improved Blackfeather Woods, if Damien’s plans were as mighty as his words.