Fae were notorious for making deals with humankind; contracts, covenants, concordances… whatever you chose to call them, there was nothing more that the Fair Folk loved more than bargains, and Scar was no exception to this rule. He was a swindler at heart, a charlatan and conman, a schemer and a fraud. He loved to make deals with mortals, and even moreso, he loved when they fell pray to their own folly and he exploited a loophole in the arrangement, which often ended up in him gaining property of their soul and a new bargaining chip for all of eternity. Occasionally, he stumbled upon a human who could outwit him, but it wasn’t often; for the most part, when you sealed a deal with this Fae, you sealed your own fate. Scar was the ruler of these woods; this place was his domain. Whether you believed in the folktales of fae or not, everybody strayed clear of the accursed forest, for those who dare set foot in rarely ever returned. Time was a fickle thing, for a fae, but it had to have been — what — at least a few years, or so, since a human had wandered in Scar’s clutches? Too long. He was getting quite lonely. Unfortunately, it seemed, the place’s reputation seemed to have gotten the better of it, and most mortals were wise enough to steer clear of the enchanted woodlands, nowadays. …Most, anyway.