Searching for the father that abandoned him, as well as a place to call "Home."
Constant aura 2. When using half-dragon powers increases to aura 5 until a short rest is taken.
Kairon was born to a normal Tiefling family on a normal day in a completely normal fashion. But the boy himself could have never been more abnormal. Not only was he considerably larger than a tiefling baby, but had tiny wings attached to his back and shining black scales. As if that weren’t enough, with the boys first cry he expelled a strange mist from his mouth that caused physical pain to all who were near. Nemeia, the child’s mother was thrown out in the streets by her husband. It was obvious she’d had an affair with a dragon, and Morthos Fiendline was a noble at heart. He would not accept any disrespect in his household, and this was the greatest of them. Not only had his wife had an affair, she’d had it with—what Morthos saw as—a mere beast. Nemeia did her best to take care of her child, but with no medical treatment so soon after such a trying birth, she was lucky to have lived the five years she did.
After she died, Kairon went to his father’s household to beg for shelter, and there Morthos saw a chance to get his revenge on his unfaithful wife. He took Kairon in, but treated him like a slave. He set the child to menial tasks, but because of his draconic heritage and claws he made a mess of anything he tried. Morthos beat Kairon often, with malicious glee, and gave him just enough food to keep an average tiefling from starving. He only survived by sneaking out at night—an easy job, as he was given a rundown shed to live it—to hunt in nearby forests. At night, Kairon gave in to his bestial urges, and let himself go. When around people he had to constantly do all he could to hold back the aura that threatened to consume any life that drew near him, and he barely succeeded. The beatings continued, and the starvation averted, for another ten years before Kairon lost control. During one of the beatings, Morthos was using blades now as Kairon’s scales had hardened in a bid for self-preservation, the dragon in him came shooting to the fore. The fifteen year old attacked his surrogate father with a bestial gleam in his eye, and almost killed him before he was restrained.
Morthos saw, that day, the potential to increase his wealth. He sold his bastard son to an arena for a share in the profits made off of him. For fifteen years, Kairon was forced to fight against his will on a daily basis. Because of his scales he did not scar, and because of his muscular draconic form and mentality he was abnormally fast and strong. The only thing that kept him from becoming a mindless beast was daily meditation and training, and the memory of the day his mother had died. She’d pulled him close and whispered the name of his father in his ear before passing. It was a name passed down in legend, one that should have brought pride. But because of the violent upbringing, Kairon resented his heritage, he wanted nothing more that to be happy with his mother again. His frustrations grew more and more, and the scars of his memory poisoned his mind. One day, in meditation, he came to a conclusion; he would escape this farce of a life, his surrogate father, and the memories of his life. He killed the men who ran the arena, and his father in vengeance, and ran from that small kingdom forever. He tried to blend in with society, but his great size and appearance was only met with fear and prejudice.
“Why must I be persecuted?” He thought. “What have I done to deserve this?” He lashed out and killed any who cringed at him, out of anger, and only grew to detest himself more, but he couldn’t stop. He would find a place he belonged one day, and he would confront his real father and ask why he’d ruined his mother’s life, for what purpose he had been conceived. Every night he thought about his father’s name and it burned his tongue every time. He would meet the great Ancalagon one day, and finally get his closure.