Fizzwick Sparktail, barely fifteen summers old, isn't your average Absolom alley rat. Sure, he scampers and squeaks with the best of them, pilfering trinkets and scraps from unsuspecting humans. But beneath his dusty scales and oversized goggles beats the heart of a dreamer, a dreamer obsessed with dragons. Not some fire-breathing behemoth, mind you – no, Fizzwick believes he is a dragon. A noble dragon named Dras Enga, trapped within a scaly kobold shell by some cruel twist of fate.
 
He was raised in the bustling, chaotic Warren of Whispers, where stories of ancient drakes were traded like glittering gemstones. Each tale fueled Fizzwick's growing conviction: the scales that gleamed faintly in the undercity's dim light, the bite that cracked nutshells with ease, the untamed spark of curiosity that ignited every new concoction in his rickety alchemical den – all proof of his true draconic blood.
 
His mother, Gnawga, a seasoned scavenger with a heart of gold (and a stash of stolen moonstones), tolerated his delusions with amused exasperation. "Dragons eat gold, Fizz," she'd scoff, "not stale bread crusts." But she secretly tucked aside trinkets she knew would spark his fascination, fueling his ever-growing "Dragon Hoard."
 
One fateful day, Fizzwick stumbled upon a faded alchemist's scroll, its cryptic symbols whispering of elixirs and transformations. His eyes glowed with conviction – this was the key to unlocking his true form! He joined the Seekers, the city's motley crew of relic hunters, drawn by their access to forgotten lore and forbidden ingredients. He wasn't there for wealth; he was after the ingredients for his ultimate concoction – the Dragonheart Elixir.
 
Fizzwick's path is littered with mishaps and explosions, his potions more likely to dye your hair neon green than turn you into a fire-breathing behemoth. Yet, there's an undeniable spark of ingenuity in his madness. His concoctions, while wildly unpredictable, will save the party from a few sticky situations.
 
Now, he's stumbled upon the Kai Hunters, a group dedicated to safeguarding powerful artifacts. Fizzwick sees this as a stepping stone, an opportunity to access forgotten draconic secrets. They see a reckless, overconfident alchemist with a knack for trouble. Will Fizzwick prove his worth to these seasoned relic hunters? Will he finally unlock his draconic potential, or will his delusions lead him down a fiery, self-destructive path?
 
Only time, and a whole lot of bubbling beakers, will tell. And as for his party mates? Well, they've learned to adapt to his self-proclaimed leadership, sometimes indulging his theatrics, other times rolling their eyes at his pronouncements. After all, who wouldn't want a "dragon" as their slightly eccentric alchemist, even if he does call them his minions?