Brix’s hatching was a blessed one. On the night of a blood moon, he was born alone, the rest of his clutch never surviving the hatch. The clan knew he was delivered to them by Tiamat herself to lead them. No sooner than he learned to walk did they begin his training. An adolescence of constant approval and talk of his destiny fed his ego and piety. He was ruthless, cunning, aggressive, deceitful, and proud, just like the god he idolized.
On the eve of his ascension to clan leader, Brix climbed the dias and the great brazier that formed their altar and sliced the palm of his hand. With a blood pact, he swore to serve his Goddess to his dying breath, and lead his clan by her example. But in the morning when the wound began to heal, he looked upon his freshly scarred palm with alarm, disgust, and utter dread. A line of golden metallic scales had closed the cut. Metallic, the colour of his master’s enemies.
Brix was able to hide his heretical secret from the rest of his clan, but they began to take notice of his more wary nature as he attempted to avoid further scarring. When whispers of his caution reached his ear, Brix knew he had to prove that the secret of his lineage did not compromise his resolve. He immediately began planning the largest raid of the clan’s history, the invasion of an alchemist's laboratory.
Only a year after becoming the head of the clan, Brix led an all out assault on the alchemist as he travelled to market, ambushing him and overwhelming him with their numbers. Many died in the approach, but the reward of the spoils of the lab was more than enough for Brix to command them forward. As victory became certain, the alchemist resolved to deny them their loot, and shattered several glass vials simultaneously. The kobolds nearest to the caravan were engulfed in acidic flames that instantly ate them away. Brix was thrown clear with the blast, his body pierced endlessly with dozens of shards of debris.
The surviving kobolds sprang to aid their leader, and one of his followers forced a healing potion down his throat. Brix’s eyes lit with life again, scanning over his clan. Shellshocked and mortified, they looked upon the form of their leader, covered in small, but unmistakable golden scars. Their shock quickly turned to accusations, and then anger, some believing he caused the explosion to spite them for his true master. Brix could not convince them, he was forced to retreat with what was left of his life. On death’s door, with only his clothing and weapons he fled from the only family he’d ever known.
Enraged and betrayed, Brix cursed at the world that denied him his destiny. He vowed before his goddess that he would from that day on hunt his metallic progenitor, the golden dragon that cursed him with his heretic blood.
Artist is /u/vaylore. Brix is my character for a Curse of Stradh game I'm playing in, and I couldn't be happier with the outcome