From conception, Mictlantecuhtli was always a little... off. Not just in size and color, though he was larger than others even as egg. More troublesome was the fact that everything around his egg would wither and die, tragically including other eggs in the clan clutch. At first, his egg was separated from the rest, but as the clutch nurses began to turn ill, the clan could no longer permit its presence in the nursery. Some amongst the clan, particularly the parents of the lost eggs, called for it's elimination. His mother, in defiance to the council, took her son and departed before such a decision could be made. When Mict was born, it was not to the welcome of community, but to the solitude of exile. Raised by an ailing mother, inflicted by his curse, Mict was kept away from society in equal fear of causing harm and retribution. Despite taking necessary precautions, avoiding direct touch with Mict, his mother's health would inevitably give way to over exposure. She passed when Mict was 8, leaving him to fend for himself. Mict's life was one of simple survival. Foraging and hunting for sure, but more often than not, scavenging. He'd even managed to scrap together enough pieces of armor and weaponry from the corpses of dead soldiers on battlefields and adventurers who'd met unfortunate ends at the hands of goblins, bandits or monsters. An opportunity came when he'd come across a job posting while rummaging through the rubbage outside a tavern. Floral Dragon Research. It wasn't possible. There were other dragons out there connected to plants... like him? Could this be where his heritage lies? Could they tell him what was wrong with him? Where his curse came from... With the aid of a local librarian, he scrawled out a letter of application on the back of the job posting he'd kept, and sent it in for consideration.