The Stormhand, also known as Allan Knight, is an American Superhero currently based in Baltimore. He is gifted with the blood of an Great Dragon known as The Voice of the North storm, and the blood of the Great Dragon grants him Draconic Magic, ahlbeit far weaker than that of his ancestor.
Name:Leon Knight - The Stormhand
Eye Color:Normally green, becomes storm gray when powered up.
Hair Color: Normally black, becomes storm-gray when powered up.
Other Notable Physical Traits: Right hand is halfway between human and a dragon's front talon.
My name is Knight, but that isn't important anymore. As far is practical, Leon Knight is dead. I gave up my old identity when I became the Stormhand, the right hand (or is that talon) of the dragon known as the Voice of the North Storm. She is an ancient beast, a primordial force in her own right. Her Draconic Energy, her life force itself, is tied into our planet's storms. She is wherever the weather is harsh and brutal, battering at our homes.
Like all of the Great Dragons, the Voice of the North Storm is capable of shapeshifting. Also like all of the Great Dragons, she has mated with some of her favored mortals, although she has long since ceased that practice. The bloodlines of these favored mortals have... flowed together as it were. I am the result.
I became the Stormhand when I was sixteen. I lived in Oklahoma then. There was a terrible storm... and my home was destroyed by its fury. I couldn't save it... but I was able to keep my parents and sister alive. My bloodline powers... activated due to the stress. I dispersed a part of the storm, although it drove me to unconsciousness to do so... and my hand became the... mess it is to this day. My ancestor tracked me down, having sensed my use of power.
My family thinks I am dead, due to the copy of my body my ancestor created with her Draconic Magic. She took me under her wing (literally for a time, apparently my Stormblood isn't enough to protect me from hail) and taught me how to use my... gift over the next two years. Now... she is releasing me into the world as a hunter of mortals who she finds distasteful. I am the Stormhand, the hunter of those who abuse magic, knowledge, or the Dragons' Blood. My foes would be wise to fear my coming, for I am relentless as the storm.
The Blood of the Voice of the North Storm grants Allan Knight, the Stormhand, the following powersets:
My right arm is coated in storm-gray scales, and my knuckles each have a quarter inch long claw-like spike that can retract back into the bone, which I use as a weapon at times. My Draconic Arm is also the appendage i use to channel my Draconic Magic. While weaker than the Voice of the North Storm's magic, I am capable of bending the forces of air, thunder, and water to a significant degree.
Additionally, my entire body is partially Draconic due to my heritage. The Voice of the North Storm believes that I am likely to live four times as long as most mortals, due to biological factors alone. If my command over my magic progesses enough, she believes that we may be able to bump that up to immortal-barring-accidents in about a hundred years.
I am also attempting to learn to shapeshift my form with my magic, but I can't do much more than alter my hair and eye color, as well as twist my face slightly to make it harder to identify me.
Another biological factor is my slightly tougher than average skin, its not quite bulletproof (except on my right arm) but it is capable of stopping a dull knife. I'm also about half again as strong as a mortal.
One of the few pieces of Draconic Magic I understand is the creation of my Stormwings. They appear similar to bat-wings made from storm-clouds, with a membrane of mist, and with lightning arcing between the fingers.
I know how to glide with these wings, while I am incapable of true flight without a significant tail-wind. Fortunately, my bloodline excels at creating strong winds. however... if I am distracted or tired I tend to have difficulty marshaling my power enough to maintain a strong wind.
Also, it is easier to maintain such a current in a wind-tunnel environment, such as the trench between skyscrapers.
Short story: If I were much younger, then the fathers of young women would be a threat to my health. As in, shotgun level threats. I have the general look of a troublemaker. My hair is cut between long and short, and normally tied back with a headband if I expect to get into a fight. My eyes aren't exactly narrow, but they are deep set enough to remain shaded.
I normally wear a leather jacket, made from one of my ancestor's discarded hides. Its basically bulletproof, so my internal organs are safe. I tell everyone it was from an albino crocodile who died in Egypt though, and it fools most people. As for my legs: denim jeans. If I get shot there, I know a guy to deal with the bullet. I use some combat boots for my feet, and I also wear a leather gauntlet on my right arm to cover up my slightly... odd hand until I can figure out how to shapeshift it back into its original shape.