Kif was born alone, unbonded to the clutch with which he shared blood. A bastard hatchling, his father having fled with his stolen children. He alone was forgotten, left behind in the arms of his broodmother, by whom he was cared for deeply. As the son of a traveling merchant, he was no stranger to leaving everything behind for the next place, though this never brought him understanding for his own situation. As he grew older, this never changed.
As his 5th birthday approached, he and his mother came unto a small town, where she intended to peddle her wares, he soon met a pair of patrolling military men. Following a hasty physical examination, the decision was made on the spot that Kif would be the latest of the young men of all races drafted to fight for the region. A shortsword and shortbow thrust into his hands, the scared young child was pushed onto the battlefield. It didn't take long for Kif to learn that with his stature, he couldn't afford to be captured. He taught himself to move through his environment undetected, striking his would-be assailants at their most vulnerable points. It isn't known how many lives he took, only that he was only ever seen before and after the battle. This war would only be waged for a single month, however upon his return to the town he was taken from, he was distraught to find no trace of his mother, leaving him truly alone.
Some years later, a local tavernkeep began to notice a steep decline in the quantity of pests his traps were pulling in. Taking it upon himself to investigate, he found a malnourished young kobold had taken up residency in his cellar, living on the rats and roaches he was hunting down. By now, Kif was 7, but wouldn't last much longer. The generous tavernkeep, Marcel, made the decision to adopt the youngling, naming him after the small coughing noise he tended to often make, specifically in the moment Marcel demanded to know who he was.
Initially, Marcel intended for Kif to assist in the kitchen, however his first attempt at cooking went quickly awry as Kif displayed an awakening in his red-scaled heritage, the kitchen going up in flames as a result of his Spark. Marcel opted for Kif to keep at the extermination gig in the cellar until he had better self-control.
Eight years have passed. Kif is now 15.
He still keeps the tavern pest-free, occasionally helping out in the kitchen on especially busy days. He's all too aware his life is half-over, his mortality more fragile by the day. He clings to his childlike demeanor, dreading his inevitable death and resenting his absurdly reduced lifespan. Despite his closeness to his surrogate father Marcel, and the toll time has taken on his body too, Kif knows he doesn't want to die here. He knows his way of living is comfortable, yet shallow, He craves adventure.