Paladin

When one meets Paladin for the first time, they see a strong young dragon, full of vim and vigor. She helps in the clan wherever she can, whether she is joining Azareth and Tiamat on patrols, or carrying in logs to help keep the Embersol's forge stoked, or even shelving books in the library with the other scholars, humming old hymns to the Lightweaver as she works. She is the first to volunteer and often the last to walk away from a job once completed.

However, when one looks into those yellow eyes, they may not know what they had seen--and didn't see--before she arrived in the warmth of the Sunbeam Ruins. In truth, Paladin was born in the Tangled Wood, a shadow dragon, without a name, without a past. She was raised by a group of misguided zealots obsessed with the Shadowbinder, desperate to evoke her and raise her from the murky darkness. In the pitch darkness of the Foxfire Bramble, they trained the young Veilspun to speak the chants, and though she never understood, she did what she was told and enjoyed the praise.

Until the night they succeeded.

The young Veilspun sat in the center of the crescent of dragons, facing the plinth. She spoke with them, raised her arms with them, and she saw the shadows stirring in the darkness. Was that the Shadowbinder? Was that really her? The other dragons continued speaking, but the Veilspun did not. She just stared. Stared. Stared...

Then her vision swam. It blurred. It grew dark. Her eyes hurt, and she reached up to touch them, just to feel sticky wetness dripping from them. She screamed, then everything went silent.

When she stirred awake, she heard the other dragons speaking in hushed whispers around her. Her eyes had turned to liquid shadow, like what dripped from the Shadowbinder herself. There was a heated argument--half believed it was a great boon that their new acolyte had been blessed in such a way, others considered it the evidence that she had failed them. She had not passed the test. She was not worthy of being in the Shadowbinder's presence. Back and forth they argued, until the winner emerged--the Veilspun was clearly not worthy to be in their group.

Thinking she was still unconscious, they dragged her to the surface of the wood, out of the tangled mess of brambles, and left her there.

How she made her way to the Sunbeam Ruins, even she wasn't quite sure. Some consider it luck, others consider it fate. Paladin herself simply thanks the Lightweaver for guiding her, regardless of how it happened.

She was first found by a clan of merchants who traded occasionally with clans on the fringes of the Tangled Wood. They found her near the border, noticed her eyes, and hoped their healers could cure whatever affliction ailed her. They returned to the Sunbeam Ruins, they fed her, they bandaged her wounds from when brambles scratched her, and they nursed her back to health. No medicines stopped the shadows from oozing, though, and eventually, they decided they couldn't help her, and decided to let the Lightweaver take her in.

The guided her to the temple where the Lightweaver's acolytes worked, told them the Veilspun's story, and the acolytes took her in, looking upon the bedraggled shadow dragon with pity.

"Don't worry," one of them spoke to her. "If anyone can help you, it will be our Mother Lightweaver."

They washed her, they dressed her in soft raiments (and after the fifth time they were polluted by the shadows, they also draped her with a heavy cape that felt like leather and asked her to keep her eyes closed), they perfumed her with sweet-smelling oils. Finally, they guided her up a set of stairs. The sun was warm, and the sound of birdsong and the western wind was finer than any music to her ears.

Finally, at the top of the stairs, they guided her to stand in a particular spot, and then, from behind her, they spoke. It sounded like the evocations from the shadow dragons in the tangled bramble temple, but the words were softer, more gentle, like speaking to a grandparent or old friend rather than yelling at someone to listen.

Warmth enveloped Paladin, and soon the chanting of the acolytes stopped, and a softer, warmer voice--a motherly voice--filled the Veilspun's head.

"You poor child," the voice murmured, and the Veilspun felt an embrace tighten around her, as if she were being cradled like a hatchling. Her eyes opened on instinct, and the liquid shadows spilled out once more. The voice made a sound, almost like surprise, then a gentle tutting. "You poor, sweet child. Even now, when the darkness has taken so much from you, you still seek out the light. The darkness in you is strong, no doubt her doing..."

When a gentle touch brushed near one eye, her eyes shut tightly again. The feather-light touch brushed over one closed eye, then the other.

"Open your eyes, my child."

The Veilspun hesitated.

"Don't worry, it's okay," the voice continued. "It's okay. Open them."

Slowly, her eyes opened just a crack, then screwed shut at the blinding light. It burned.

A melodious laugh. "I know, it's hard to open your eyes to the light when you've spent so much time in the smothering darkness. But it is time. Open your eyes, see the light that the shadows have denied you."

Once again, the Veilspun opened her eyes slowly. The light burned, making her eyes water...

Wait. Her eyes were watering. The light burned them! Solid white soon faded, and a shape emerged. A towering dragon, golden hide glittering in the blinding light around them, cradled her, gazing down at her.

"There we go," the Lightweaver whispered. "There we go. Feeling better now, my child?"

Before the Veilspun could reply, the goddess spoke again. "I have done what I can to save you. Now it is up to you to carve out a new future for yourself. Your new life awaits."

The blinding light softened around the edges, the Lightweaver's outline began to blur, and soon, her vision swam and shifted and became a new scene. Rolling hills studded with towering redwood trees. Gleaming white marble ruins poking up here and there. Off to the east, the sea glittering in the distance, stretching all the way to the horizon. She sat upon a small pedestal, before a gigantic statue of the dragon she'd seen before, wings open to their full span and head curved in an arc so the statue's eyes would rest right on the dragon seated upon the pedestal.

"Are you awake?"

The Veilspun whirled around to see two dragons, both much larger than her, both with long manes and a single horn in the center of their foreheads, both draped in the same white and gold robes. They both gasped, almost in unison.

"Your eyes!" one squeaked. "Oh, Lightweaver be praised!"

They both rushed forward and hurried the Veilspun off the terrace, back down the stairs. Only, this time, she could see where she was going and kept up with them easily.

"Her eyes, her eyes!" the other acolyte called. "Mother Lightweaver has restored her sight!"

They celebrated with feasts and singing, each song new to the Veilspun's ears, but each one full of jubilation and praise for the Lightweaver and her brilliance.