Ichor

Ichor was cursed.

At least, that was what he had always been lead to believe. His father Vaughn spent his days ranting and raving about how the gods were evil, and they always led dragons astray with their lies about exaltation. It was no question that Vaughn hated him, had hated him since the moment Ichor first hatched, and drops of liquid shadow fell from where his eyes were supposed to be - clearly marking him as one of Shadowbinder's chosen. It was a cruel joke, played by the goddess of tricks and secrets on the dragon that hated her the most.

Ichor had never had much luck with making friends. Other hatchlings were originally put off by the pressure of being friends of someone with a close connection to the deities, and then driven further away when they found out how crazy his parents were about it. Admittedly, Ichor's mother clearly didn't hold quite the same radical views as Vaughn, but she could've done more to stop his abuse. She wasn't ever particularly mean, but she ignored Ichor whenever Vaughn was around.

Ichor's siblings of course, didn't want much to do with him, as they were always taught that the deities were bad and they should stay away from anyone that had anything to do with them. Including their eldest brother, if they wanted to avoid being cursed by the deities too. Or something like that, Ichor had never been invited to hang around and hear the examples he was used for.

When he was younger, Ichor always asked himself what he had done wrong. What he was going to do wrong, maybe, since he couldn't recall doing anything he thought would warrant this divine punishment. It must be for something he would do in the future, as it just wouldn't be fair to curse a hatchling like this for no reason, right? The deities couldn't be that cruel, unless his father was right, and Ichor honestly hoped that he wasn't.

It wasn't much of a surprise that Ichor left immediately once he was old enough to survive on his own - if not a little bit before. He didn't mean to leave forever, most hatchlings returned home occasionally, just to visit, to celebrate elemental festivals (Not that one with Ichor's family, of course), eventually to take care of their parents once they were old and failing. Vaughn's teaching's had gotten to him though, more than he'd have liked to admit. He thought maybe, maybe he could find a cure. If he could rid himself of Shadowbinder's curse somehow, his father might like him finally.

Ichor traveled across Sornieth, searching for healers, alchemists, even priests, anyone who might be able to help him with his curse. It came as quite a shock when, the first healer he met (A very nice old snapper, who had interesting tales to tell about a war between two clans her troupe usually traveled between.) asked him why he would ever want to be rid of a blessing like his. He wasn't sure how to respond, other than to mutter that his father thought it was bad. The healer laughed at first, but quickly became sympathetic once she noticed the truth in his words.

Of course, one conversation wasn't enough to unlearn all the hate he'd been taught to hold for himself. He met others, dragons with little or quite a lot of religious affiliation. He stayed for awhile with some of them, the ones that were willing to try to help him and didn't consider his question to be some type of blasphemy. There he'd help with mixing potions, or gathering herbs and whatever ingredients were needed to help other dragons.

Slowly on his travels, he was learning that maybe what he'd grown up with wasn't the only way to view his unnatural eyes. That he didn't deserve to be hated for being born. Most clans didn't see him as a curse, something to be shunned, or feared as some kind of spy for the Shadowbinder. Still, this was the only purpose he'd known in life, and he felt some loyalty to his parents, as they were to thank for giving him his life.

Nothing he tried ever worked anyway. Maybe the magic of the gods was just too strong to be rid of, or at least, potions and herbs wasn't the way to do it. Neither did the Shadowbinder see fit to respond to any of her devout followers whom Ichor asked to help. Exhausted of all options he could think of but one, Ichor bid his latest friend farewell, and set off on his own once again.

It was that night, Ichor sat alone in front of a lake. He tried to look at his reflection, but it kept being distorted by the drip... drip... drip... of the shadows from his eyes as they landed in the water. The moon was full, illuminating everything well enough, not that it mattered. Ichor always could see perfectly fine in the dark. He could see clearly, maybe for the last time ever, the silver knife he held in his shaking claws. He shut his eyes tight as he raised the knife to his face, fear of what was to come mostly, like a mouse spotting an owl too late. Except he was the one doing this to himself, so if he bled out and died it was all his fault. He had bandages nearby, and herbs he'd learned could help wounds heal - he didn't want to die, just stop being haunted by a deity he'd never done anything wrong to.

The knife was less than an inch away from his face when he froze. There had to be a better way. His father might have said this was the only solution, had implied as much to Ichor when he was just a confused hatchling. But this was too far. Too much to go through for a dragon that wasn't even here, hadn't ever been there for Ichor in any way. Ichor finally realized as he sat there in the dark, that he had spent his life trying to 'fix' himself for a dragon that had hardly ever looked at him for more than a minute at a time, and never with any positive emotion. Finally, as the sun began to rise above the treeline, Ichor threw the knife in the lake as far as he could. It sunk below the water with a small, rather unsatisfying splash.

After that night, Ichor moved with a bit less purpose, but quite a lot more... Joy wasn't quite right. Freedom, maybe. He found a couple of the dragons who had tried to help him, who were happy to hear that he'd resolved his problem. He learned more under their teaching, more specifics about how to heal and mend injuries. He was pretty good at it. He had no intrinsic skills for healing, but he found he liked helping other dragons where he could. The topic of the deities still bothered him a bit, but he at least didn't feel like he should hate them or fear that anyone should hate him whenever they were brought up.

Now more at peace with himself, Ichor finally started to learn some of what could maybe be considered a blessing about his eyes. Seeing perfectly in the dark was nice, of course. He could find rare herbs that even most shadow dragons would have trouble finding in the depths of the foxfire bramble or the shrieking wilds. It was hard for other dragons to judge his expression, if he ever needed to lie to comfort a patient. He had very powerful shadow magic, which didn't help any with healing, but it helped with pranks, or if he ever got in a situation he'd rather not be in. Most of the good things about them admittedly couldn't help a healer too much, but Ichor was determined to look at the positives for once.

It was a long time later during a stay at a tavern, that Ichor unexpectedly encountered one of the alchemists who had tried to help him in his initial search. She was a wildclaw, one of the most committed dragons to helping him originally. Also a scientist that bordered on 'mad', Ichor had thought when he met her, but that wouldn't have been nice to say. The alchemist was overjoyed to see him again, as she had apparently been looking for him for awhile now. There had been a recent discovery, one that could help him with his... problem. She shoved a small potion into his claws, and before Ichor could object, she was out the door, yelling something back at him about payment. Ichor assumed, hopefully it was that he wouldn't have to pay for it, because she'd left before he could anyway.

Later in his room, Ichor observed the bottle more closely. It was a small upside-down diamond shaped bottle, with a clearly visible bright blue liquid inside. The label read "Vial of Tempered Sight" in fancy cursive handwriting. Supposedly, it would turn his eyes to resemble a normal shadow dragon's. Pretty much exactly what he'd been looking for most of his life. He uncorked it, out of curiosity, and nearly gagged at the unnatural smell. It didn't seem to contain any herbs he knew of. Of course that made sense, otherwise he would've used them in his search. It smelled very bitter, and sharp. Almost certainly something that wouldn't taste good, and Ichor wasn't sure its effects in changing his eyes wouldn't hurt either.

A few years earlier, Ichor would've done anything for this bottle, and he would've downed it without any hesitation or consideration for how much it might hurt. Now, he barely hesitated to pour its contents out the window. He knew he wasn't cursed, and even though he still had plenty of reservations regarding his unusual eyes that he was trying to get over, he didn't feel any need to prove anything to his parents anymore.