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[Quintin Flynn]

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His mother died giving birth to him. The forest is no place for a birthing, and she paid the price for her fear of the walls of Trinsic. The loss of his mother meant little to Quintin, the closeness of his caravan replaced her well. Even as a child, Quintin's father, Tanen, knew the boy would grow to be a troublemaker. He would often disappear for hours on end, usually returning with more a few more trinkets than he had left with. He was very independent, even at such a young age. Around the campfires, the boy could captivate the whole of the caravan with his stories, all of which, especially the truly extraordinary ones, he claimed were true. Quintin had a wonderful life of no worries nor cares. But, as these stories tend to do, things did not stay that way for long.

Quintin was just into his teen years when his caravan was attacked in the night. Brigands had charged into the camp during the night, intending to slaughter the gypsies and loot whatever they could. Despite the typical prejudges, the gypsies could fight well, and they did. Quintin tried to help, but he had not been trained in combat and fared poorly. He was easily bested by one of the brigands, who knocked Quintin unconscious with a single blow to the head.

When Quintin awoke, he was lying among the burnt remains of his caravan. Many were tending to the wounded, and just outside camp, Quintin could see a large pile, covered with a large blanket. A charred arm had managed to free itself from the confines of the blanket. He quickly searched for his father, hoping that he had made it through the night. Quintin ran from group to group, trying to find his father. While he ran, he saw many of his friends lying dead. He saw Nae Gerheart, a girl whom had given Quintin his first kiss. He saw Andi Callan, a boy whom Quintin had played games with in the woods. He saw Jolin Talsen, a boy whom Quintin had punched in the eye for yelling at Nae. But, it was when he saw his uncle standing next to the blanketed pile that Quintin lost hope for his father.

He ran to his uncle, who was holding back tears. Quintin knew he would never see his father again. He was an orphan now. Quintin felt rage building in him. He wanted revenge on the brigands that had done this to him, his family and his caravan.

"Before you do anything rash, I have a message for you. I found it in your father's hand." His uncle spoke softly and held up a folded piece of paper. On the paper was a symbol of a gemstone, embedded in a large tree, the symbol of Quintin's caravan. Quintin's eyes lit up and swiftly snatched the letter from him, running into the forest to read it in solitude. The paper was badly crumped and burnt around the edges. The letter was so quickly scribbled, the handwriting was barely readable.

Quintin-
I do not expect I will make it through this. I have hidden behind one of the wagons, but I am defenseless, and they will find me soon. I know how you are, boy. Do not attempt to take this upon yourself. You must learn that the past is gone and done with. Nothing you or anyone else does will change that. Learn to live in the present. Living in the past, worrying of the future; That is not our way. I have watched you grow from a young boy into a strong, assured young man who knows exactly who he is and what he wants. Don't let anyone ever tell you who to be.

-Tanen

"You're wrong." Quintin spoke to the letter, hoping his father could somehow hear him. "I can't do nothing. Then they will have truly won." Having calmed down from earlier, Quintin knew he could never face the whole of the brigand camp in battle. But, as his father had said, he knew who he was and what he wanted. He was a master of the shadows and he wanted to let those brigands know the gypsies can fight back.

Quintin trained in perfecting his roguish skills. It came easily to Quintin, as did many things, but this especially. It was months later when Quintin decided he was ready. He would make his assault on the new moon.

It did not take long for Quintin to find the brigands. They make little attempt to hide themselves, and more effort to make themselves known. One with the shadows, Quintin walked among them, unnoticed. The contents of his heavy pouch clinked softly, muffled by the blankets that had been wrapped around it. Quintin made his way to one of the tents, and snuck inside. It was empty. Perfect. Quintin set down his bag and pulled out several large bottles, filled with a syrupy purple liquid. Quintin was about to place the bottle around the tent when he saw a fancy metal chest. Keen on learning what might be inside, Quintin tried to pick the lock, and popped it open easily. Inside he found a strange cloak, the color of flame. Chuckling to himself, Quintin donned the cloak, finding that it fit rather nicely. Shaking his head vigorously, Quintin got his mind back to the matter at hand, the reason he was here in the first place. He hid several of the bottles around the tent, and left the tent. In the camp, only a few of the brigands were still walking the camp. Quintin ignored them. He went to each canvas shelter hiding the bottles inside. By the end, Quintin had places well over three dozen of the potions. Quintin walked into the center of their camp, holding two of the bottles in each hand. The camp was asleep by now. Quintin smiled, in spite of himself, knowing he would provide them a wonderful wake up call.

"You think you kill whomever you wish!" Quintin yelled as loud as he could. He wanted them to be awake. He wanted them to know why this is happening. "You think you can kill innocent people! You think they will never fight back! I come to you tonight to teach you a harsh lesson! The gypsies of Trinsic will not be your victims! Their names will not be forgotten!" As Quintin threw the first bottle into the far tent he shouted the names of those whom he would never forget. "Andi Callen!" Three tents exploded in a fireball that lit up the night sky. "Nae Gerheart!" Quintin threw a second bottle, blowing up several more tents. "Jolin Talsen!" The only tent left after the third bottle was the largest tent, where he knew the leader would have been sleeping. The leader of this band of brigands. The leader who would have had to give the orders to attack his caravan. The leader who ruined Quintin's life. Tears welled up in Quintin's eyes as he prepared to throw the last bottle. "Tanen Flynn!" Quintin hurled the last bottle into the tent, which exploded larger than any of the previous ones had. Quintin burst into tears and fell to the ground. He knew he had to leave. Several of the brigands were shouting, trying to figure out what had happened. He would be found if he didn't leave soon.

From the edge of the camp, Quintin watched the brigands try to gain control of the flames. They would have it controlled soon, but it still ran rampant throughout their camp. Quintin reached into his pocket and pulled something out and tossed it into a small flame that had worked its way towards him.

No one noticed the small flame, compared to the much larger one engulfing their stolen goods.
No one noticed the burning, folded paper with a symbol of a gemstone embedded in a tree.
And no one noticed Quintin walking away from the blazing camp.
_________________
When asked of the future...
The foolish man worries of impending tragedy.
The wise man accepts what he can not change.
The stubborn man attempts to dam the River of Life.
Quintin Flynn laughs and sneaks off with the foolish man's purse.