Creative Corner

@Cerastes

Once again, thou hast brought tears.

Aww, I'm sorry for making you guys so sad :( (but as a writer, at the same time it's sort of a weird compliment!) I promise the next chapter will not be so depressing!

@Solaristigres I drew your name for Clem, so I'll be sending her over shortly! A huge thanks to both you and Zexeos for offering to take her in :3

[center][b]Chapter 25: Fool’s Errand[/b] [size=2]@LagMonster @Khoshekh @Tempestuous @starslang @Scyras @excessnight @pensandink @Solaristigres @Nihilo @WillowWhisper @Averis @SolarPhoenix @RizuChan @ArgenteaMoon @Elzerei @eeeeel @tigressRising @hotdoge @Dragonfang @Whimzica @Soleil @Zexeos @windsway @Neige @KIMJA @rax @PandragonsBox @Silurian @Wolcan @AnnaStar353 @Rhyvendra[/size][/center] Quint hadn’t realized it would be so [i]heavy.[/i] He dumped the sack on the ground in front of him and plopped down next to it, somehow feeling overheated even though his feet and hands were frozen solid. At least, he was pretty sure that they were. He’d been to the Icefield before, but it had been a few months ago, when there were actually normal things here like plants on the ground and a sun in the sky. Now it was far too monotonous: white tundra under a field of stars, only occasionally interrupted by the alien light of the aurora. Almost without thinking, he undid the bindings of the sack and pulled out a chunk of pyrite, turning it over in his hands. The light glinted off it prettily, but he was becoming less and less fond of the stuff the further he had to carry it. Fool’s gold, his father said it was called. Not much good for metalwork, but apparently it was an important ingredient for potion-makers. So sought after, in fact, that his father or one of his siblings hauled a load down to the Icefield a few times a year. They could get quite a lot of money for it here, turning fool’s gold into real gold. That was the goal...if he could actually find another dragon to sell it to. He hadn’t seen a single soul since he’d gotten off the ferry. [i]“Head straight south!”[/i] the cheerful ferry-guardian had told him. [i]“You’ll see the outpost once you hit the cliffs. Can’t miss it!”[/i] Yeah, okay. He’d been heading straight south for several days now, and had hit the cliffs last night. Still no sign of the outpost, which was a little worrisome, since his food stores were almost completely gone. Sighing through his nose, he hefted the pack once again and trudged on under a quiet sky. His mind wandered as he walked; there was nothing here to distract him or catch his interest, so his imagination filled in. What was going on back home? Probably business as usual. He supposed his father would be furious with him, if he’d noticed that Quint was gone at all. Quint didn’t miss him...but he had to admit that he missed the lair. He’d trade this snow for that nice hollowed-out plague tree in a heartbeat. “I said, hey there!” Startled, Quint fumbled with the pack and nearly dropped it. He turned to see another dragon – yes, really! another dragon! – loping towards him. It was a mirror, small and scrawny for its species, with hide the color of dirty snow. “Hey,” he called out tentatively, once he had remembered how to make his mouth form words. The newcomer quickly caught up, dropping into a walk beside him. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” “That is fine,” he told her, trying to slow his heart rate back down to acceptable levels. “Just not use to seein’ too many dragons this far out. Specially not the little ones like you. Faes.” “Yes,” he buzzed. “Actually, I am trying to find Daedalus’ Outpost. Do you...?” He was glad that, out of all dragons to run into, he’d come across a mirror. The Abiding Boneyard was home to quite a lot of them, and they made up the majority of his father’s trade partners. You could trust a mirror to be direct, if nothing else. “Oh, yep. You passed it by already. Turn around, head northwest for maybe like...half a mile? You’ll see it. Or hear it.” “Thank you,” he told her politely, expecting her to move away, but she continued walking beside him as he changed direction. “Now,” she drawled, “not to pry, but what’s a young’n like you want with the Outpost?” “I am old enough,” he retorted, fins quivering with resentment. “I have pyrite to sell. Family business.” “Ah. Alrighty. Well, good luck then.” She turned away with a flick of her tail, and he walked on in the direction she’d suggested. He was grateful for her help, but there was something off-putting about those flat white eyes, and he’d be happier once he was out of their reach. Regardless, her directions were good, and the rusted heap of metal came into view when he crested the next hill. It made him want to laugh with relief – he wasn’t going to die an icy death out here after all. He could see movement on the glacier below: shopkeepers going about their business, setting up their booths for the day, most likely bickering with each other as they did so. Feeling almost giddy, he trudged down the slope to join them. The Outpost was comfortingly familiar, even though he’d only been here once before – the metal patchwork under his feet, the grinding of gears as the unlikely platform shifted, the smell of rust and oil heavy in the air. Traders glanced up as he passed, some giving him friendly nods, others eyeing him curiously. He headed straight for the manager, passing over a few gold pieces to the snapper in exchange for a day’s sales permit. As he was turning to find a place to set up, he heard a voice call out over the hubbub. “Nocte, hello!” The speaker was a little orange-and-white fae, perched on the shoulder of an enormous guardian dragon. Quint recognized him – he had some sort of funny long name. Maybe it started with an M? “Actually, my name’s Quint. I am Nocte’s son.” “Oh, of course. You look very much like him.” The other fae’s fins waved slowly, changing from surprise to something like vague suspicion. “You seem a little young to be here on your own. I remember you coming here with your father a few months ago – you were not much more than a hatchling.” “I am old enough,” Quint found himself repeating. He was trying to keep his fins still, but the orange fae still seemed suspicious. “I thought your father said he wasn’t going to send you kids alone anymore, after what happened to your brother.” “Oh, Vesper?” Vesper had gone down to the Icefield to trade two months ago, and hadn’t come back. Their parents had assumed the worst, but Quint had a nagging suspicion that he had taken the opportunity to chase after some pretty girl faes. That would be just like him. “He changed his mind.” The M-fae (Merit? Macchiato?) flicked his fins up and back down in a shrug. “I see. Well, good luck with your business today. May your customers be many and generous.” “You too,” Quint replied, feeling no small amount of relief as the other dragon turned away. Not that the fae would be able to drag him back to his parents, or anything...that guardian might be another story, though. Shaking it off, he made a beeline for an empty booth, arranging some of his higher quality pyrite on the table in the manner his father had taught him. It was early, but customers were beginning to arrive, circulating from booth to booth. Quint perched on the edge of his table, adopting what he hoped was a friendly and welcoming demeanor. He’d just made his first sale when he started feeling prickles of unease – someone was watching him. Trying to appear casual about it, he glanced around. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the female mirror he’d been talking to earlier. She was now with a soot-colored male, equally scrawny, and a big male ridgeback. He was careful to not look directly at them, but if he pricked up his ears and angled his fins just right, he could hear what they were saying. “I thought the bounty was for a female,” the ridgeback muttered. “Nah, I’m pretty sure it was a male,” the white mirror replied, glancing in Quint’s direction. “And this one seems pretty suspicious.” “Yeah,” came the other mirror’s gravelly voice. “Small, dark-colored male. That sounds right. I’d say he matches the description.” “If you say so,” growled the ridgeback. “I’m willing to go for it. The Polar Night always pays handsomely. Now, we can’t cause a scene, so I say we just—“ Something tapped Quint on the shoulder, and he jumped about a mile. “Shhh, sorry,” came an urgent voice behind him – it was the fae shopkeeper. “Listen. I don’t know what you did, but you are in danger. Those dragons over there are talking about you, and I know the ridgeback – he’s a nasty type. You need to get out of here.” Quint’s mind was racing. Had he done anything wrong? His father wouldn’t have been mad enough to set dragons on him, right? “What about my...” He gestured at the glittering display of fool’s gold. “You cannot take it. I will hold onto it for you. Listen, you must go – I can cause a distraction, but you must go quickly.” “Where do I go?” The whole thing felt unreal. Is this actually happening? What in the Plaguebringer’s name is going on? The fae fin-shrugged again. “I am sorry – this is all I can do.” With a flick of his wings, he was gone, appearing back at his guardian’s side. He whispered something in her ear, and she rose, sidling over a little closer to the three dragons whispering among themselves. She shook herself, and apparel went flying, nearly burying the three in bird-skull apparel and floppy hats. Quint was already in the air, fear lending speed to his wings as he zipped between stalls. “Greta!” he heard the fae shout behind him, along with outraged shouts from the ridgeback and his mirror sidekicks. “I’m sorry, she just forgets sometimes...” Their voices faded into the background as Quint cleared the Outpost, skating along the ice as he headed for the ridge he hoped would hide him. He wished desperately he was any color except glittering black, so easily spotted against the snow. The goal was to get far away, as fast as possible – but then what? He had very little food, even less gold, and absolutely nowhere to go. What had he done? [center][img]http://flightrising.com/rendern/350/182596/18259541_350.png[/img] [size=2](And now for something completely different! HUGE thanks to @eeeeel for donating young Quint – I’m going to have fun with him! And on a side-note, ¾ of my dragons now have midnight primaries. This was not planned, haha. ALSO, if you're reading this and have a Nuzlocke/lore of your own, please direct me to it! I'd love to put links to your stories in my first post!)[/size][/center]

@Cerastes
Quint a cute! I like his personality, and I hope he finds the group soon! I want to see how him and the gang interact especially with Shrike's grieving.

Also Polar Night, why you do this?! Isn't turning Shike into a fae and leaving her for dead enough for them? ;-;

Edit: Feel free to link to my clan story, even if it's garbage. XD
http://www1.flightrising.com/forums/cc/1623876

@Cerastes
Hooray, new chapter already! I love how you worked Quint's lineage into the story. I put a few lines in Nocte's bio to match his new background. XD

Oh dear, what does the Polar Night want with Shrike? You would think changing her into a fae and abandoning her would be plenty. Perhaps she knows something...? Ahh, this story has me on tenterhooks waiting to find out!