The New Alveri Chronicles

Dreams of an Orphan

The orphanage was no small distance away. I had to fly clear into the southern side of New Alveri from the gate where Fangorn had trounced me, but with my leg, flying was easier than walking. With two fights in one day, I was already fearing what Lady Ramoth would say when I walked into the giant doors of the dragon orphanage.

To my distress, my mistress was already waiting for me, wearing that all too familiar scowl.

"Where have you been Darzhja!! I was about to close the orphanage for the night, young drakka!!" she hissed. Standing over me at a full adult height, she made an imposing sight in the darkened doorway. While I was close to her height nowadays, I nonetheless found myself feeling like a tiny hatchling in her presence. She simply had an air of authority about her that was impossible to describe.

"I’m back though aren’t I?" I answered with my usual angst. Hopefully, she wouldn’t notice the slight limp or the small cuts that I had obtained, a hope that was soon dashed.

She gave me a quick glance. "Darzhja!! Did you get yourself into a fight again? You know I don’t tolerate any fighting out of any of you!!" she hissed. She then leaned in to sniff me.

“I smell drake on you,” she added, her tone becoming more dangerous. Ramoth seemed to imagine that something far more lurid might have happened to me than what really did. "You will tell me what went on or you will be going without supper tonight..."

I gazed back at her. I had defied her many times before, and had been willing to pay the price for it, but I thought this time it would be better to tell her the truth.

"Lady Ramoth, it wasn’t anything like that!” I replied, growing red for a moment. “After I beat Krieg, I went around New Alveri looking for another fight. Kaj declined, but then I traveled to the gates of the Grand Temple, and challenged one of the Holy Knights guarding the entrance."

"Are you insane Darzhja?” asked Lady Ramoth, her hazel eyes widening, “You got into a fight with a Holy Knight? I thought Jyscal had more sense than to…”

“It wasn’t the old drake Lady Ramoth. There was a new younger guard there…” I answered, and I turned my head, still feeling ashamed and bitter despite my present scolding. “I lost.” The mere thought of Fangorn sent my blood boiling.

“You're lucky you just came back with a few bruises…” Somehow, Ramoth seemed more relieved now in her tirade. She sighed, but then rapped me over the head with a cuff from her wing, “The knight could have easily had you put in the dungeons for assault!" she hissed.

“Argh!” I growled reactively, but under her baleful glare, I relented, “Yes, I understand Lady Ramoth.” Lady Ramoth simply shook her head at me with disdain, not even bothering to tell me just how much of a fool I was for doing such a thing. She was about to chew me out further, when a high pitched wail rang out. As much as she worried about me, there were still others in the orphanage who were far more helpless.

"Get something to eat and then go back to your cot. I don't want to hear any more of this Knight business..." she growled.

"Yes Lady Ramoth," I responded obediently.

"Go then my child, and may the Great Ancestors above protect you..." she chanted before turning to tend to the younger dragonets.

"Yes... may they protect us all..." I answered dutifully. I briefly watched as Lady Ramoth moved down the hall to tend to one of the hatchlings who had tripped over and broken her tooth. The old matron seemed to have endless energy, and despite the fact she was often terribly strict, we all knew full well that had it not been for her, we would have all likely been on the streets with nobody to help us; welfare was almost exclusively the domain of charity in New Alveri.

For as long as I could remember, I had lived in the orphanage, and Lady Ramoth had been my mistress. Despite my earlier defiance, I owed her everything, and I really wasn’t trying to get her mad. She always worked so hard each and every day... I sighed unhappily as I limped my way into the dragon-sized stone building.

I made my way past the entryway and into the large central hall. By far the largest chamber in the entire orphanage, it was utilized for a variety of purposes, from prayer service, to play area, to classroom and currently, a mess hall where all the orphans would eat their supper. Aside from Lady Ramoth, there were a large number of humanoid priests of the Ancestral faith, the predominant religion of the Draconic Empire. Many of them saw it as a means of showing piety by directly helping dragonkind, and they could be seen setting up food pots for all the orphans.

As I made my way past the entryway, and then into the large mess hall, a greenish-brown drakka around my age was busy chewing up food for one of the little ones. She opened her jaws and let the tiny dragonet, no bigger than a large dog, eat the pulped meat and grain porridge from her mouth. “Ahhh…” cooed Ophelia as she enticed Kylanth to eat with sounds and subtle bobs of her head; she really did have a good head for hatchlings, far more so than I did at any rate. The hatchling began chewing down slowly; she wouldn’t eat unless Ophelia was around.

“Darzhja! You’re back! I was worried!” exclaimed Ophelia, wiping her snout clean. I winced very slightly at the volume of her voice. Usually my 'sister' was calm and softly-spoken, but when she got emotional it was impossible to ignore the fact that she was a 'screeching' ridgeback.

“There was no need to worry about me,” I assured her, shaking the slight resonance out of my ears. “What’s for supper tonight?” I asked in an attempt the change the subject.

Before she could reply, a small earth render drakka bounced forward, dragging a pot of food, “Belima’s wonderful meatcake special!” she chirped. “I made it all by myself!”

A pair of humanoid staffers lifted a dry, reddish brown slab of meat down onto my mess pot. I took a sniff… well, Belima was improving in her craft at least. I dutifully took a bite, and it tasted rubbery with perhaps too much salt, however, it would definitely fill my stomach- somewhat, which is what my body was demanding after being roughed up worse than usual.

“So… how does it taste Darzhja!?” said the little forty year old drakka with hopeful eyes.

“Hmm… not bad. You’re really improving Belima!” I replied with a smile, even as I reached for a bowl of cool water to wash the salt from the back of my throat. Belima beamed. She wanted to be a great chef when she grew up, and regardless of her variable skill, I could not fault her enthusiasm. Many dragons were ‘enthusiastic’ about their dinner, so dragon chefs actually had decent prospects. It certainly struck me as a greater profession than carrying logs or stones from here to there.

“Is she? This tastes rather like aged leather!” said Blaze, a fire drake on the opposite side of the low table from me. He poked at his ration with the tip of his claw dubiously, as if anticipating that it would come alive like a giant maggot and then leap up and begin sucking on his snout.

“Then maybe I should boil some real leather for your share next time!” hissed Belima, plumes of smoke coming out of her two little nostrils.

“It’ll probably taste the same,” replied Blaze, still wrinkling his nose before shoving his bowl away so hard it clattered onto the stone floor. The little drakka stuck a tongue out at him, before she stormed off. Two of the humanoid church members were left to pick up the bowl and set it back upon the table.

“You shouldn’t be so rude, Blaze,” lamented Iskierka. The solar gold female was carefully slicing her ration of meat cake into perfectly symmetrical slices, as though she was trying to craft a mural out of it within her bowl. When she deigned to pick up one of those beautifully crafted slices between two talons, she chewed her meal daintily, making sure not a single driblet of meat fell from her jaw. She had always been the prissiest drakka in the entire orphanage for all the decades I’d known her.

“But it doesn’t change the fact that it's true!” replied Blaze. “The food she makes is terrible!”

“It's not like its her fault that’s the case,” replied Ophelia, “You know how hard it is to get decent ingredients around here.” She delicately plucked another meat sliver from her bowl. “At least for what we can afford…”

“Yeah… I know,” he said glumly. Blaze did end up eating the ration he’d been given after all; it wasn’t as though there was much food around to waste.

Afterwards, he turned to me, “Anyhow Darzhja, I saw a group of humans dragging a pile of gemstones into your dorm! Does that mean that you beat up Krieg!?” asked Blaze excitedly. The little fire-lord was an excitable young drake who looked up to me as an older sister. I supposed that from his point of view, unlike Ophelia and Iskierka who nagged and nagged at him, my escapades were always a source of excitement for him.

“Oh, I certainly did!” I answered. I then described in great detail how my fight with Krieg had gone, and Blaze was at the edge of his seat, soaking up every word. There was a little bit of embellishment of course, but it was pleasing to see Blaze entertained. Indeed, after the thorough and disheartening beating I’d received later in the day, it felt so good to be able to recount my victory to an enthusiastic Blaze and soothe my own bruised ego.

“You haven’t seen anything yet Blaze! Just you wait, I’ll fight even stronger opponents, and I’ll make even more money!” I replied, despite my earlier rebuke from Lady Ramoth.

“You sure will Darzhja! Nobody can stop you!” answered Blaze, flaring his wings and letting out a tiny tongue of flame in spite of himself which started more than a couple of the church members still milling about and picking up empty dishes.

“That all sounded very dangerous Darzhja,” said Iskierka, her tone slightly distressed.

Ophelia then examined my cheek where I had taken a blow from Krieg, “And that’s quite the bruise you have there. Does it hurt?” she gasped.

“Oh not at all, besides, any good fighter should be able to handle a good hit every now and then,” I answered and punched the air at a few invisible foes for emphasis. On the contrary, I considered small wounds like these badges of honor, ones that indicated that I had been in a real fight. Fangorn’s beating, though, had not left any visible markings on me, except against my pride.

“Lady Ramoth’s right that you shouldn’t be getting into so many fights!” reiterated Ophelia, much to my chagrin. “Since we’re, well… older orphans now, we’re really going to need to think about what we’re going to do in the real world.” I could barely keep myself from scowling across the table at her.

More and more often, Ophelia seemed to be determined to follow in Lady Ramoth’s footsteps, and as such had begun increasingly taking on her mannerisms. However, she did bring up a good point. Many of us were reaching the age where we would not be able to live at the orphanage much longer. Ophelia clearly intended to stay with Lady Ramoth as a full time employee, but as much as I loved my brothers and sisters, I had no intentions of aiming that low.

“I told you before, I plan on becoming a Holy Knight one day,” I insisted, and did not add out loud that even a stupid jerk like Fangorn was not going to stop me.

“Darzhja,” said Ophelia, “I don’t know how realistic that is...” Her tone was all concern, and that’s why it made me much angrier than it would have otherwise.

“On the contrary Ophelia, I think it's good to dream big, even if Darzhja’s dream is a pretty dangerous one” said Iskierka. “As for me, there’s going to be an exhibition in the market district over the next week, and hopefully I’ll be able to show my drawings!”

Blaze rolled his eyes, “Art is boring…”

“Nonsense, Blaze!” said Iskierka loftily and patted the smaller drake on his head with her golden wing. “Art and culture is what separates dragon-kind from feral beasts after all,” replied Iskierka, arching her neck slightly upwards. “I have to make sure that I look my best!”

While I agreed with Blaze in that I didn’t see much point in art and the other aesthetics that Iskierka was obsessed about, I was glad to see that the gold drakka had formed her own big dream she was devoted toward.

“And what is it that you want to do Blaze?” asked Iskierka, finally tucking her wing back into place.

After he had finished shrugging her off, Blaze gazed about diffidently, “I dunno. I like starting hot fires for the smiths I guess...” He had that immature pouty expression on his face that I thought looked so cute, but that Blaze would fight me over if I ever told him.

Blaze was a quite a few years younger than Iskierka, Ophelia and I, so he had a bit more time before he had to really make a decision. For myself, I was more than happy to let him be a kid while he still could. I gave him a thump on the back with my wing, “Just what we need in New Alveri, another little arsonist!” Iskierka snickered with me, while I earned only a dark glare from Ophelia.

As we finished up with our meal, Lady Ramoth then came back into the mess hall. All of us young dragons immediately sat up straighter on our haunches. The older drakka was almost like a force of nature in this house.

“Are you all done with your food?” said Lady Ramoth mildly.

“Yes Lady Ramoth,” we all answered at once.

“Then you can help me round up all the little ones to get them to bed. All of you in fact!”

“Right… right,” replied Blaze a bit late. He was still getting used to being tasked with chores like the rest of us older orphans.

The affair proved to be quite the adventure. While there were four of us adolescents, there were a great number of little ones crawling around; sometimes literally crawling on the walls! They could be seen playing with their food, chasing each other around the main hall, whining and crying about, and other things small ones did. Once and a while, there were even fights that broke out, but those usually ended when they saw me. For my part, I had to pry a dragonet off of the back of a poor church goer who had been the subject of repeated pouncing and as always, there were the eggs to check on, even if the humanoid tenders did most of the actual work of incubation.

As the older orphans, however, it was often our duty to help Lady Ramoth out in the day to day running of the orphanage; such as earning money as I had done earlier today, or the tasks that revolved around caring for the little ones. The draconic church offered us a lot of support, but nothing completely replaced dragon-to-dragon interaction in the raising of young dragonets. In fact, it was largely our responsibility to make sure none of the very young ones ended up eating any of the humanoid caretakers, in particular, the witless ones.

“But I’s not sleepy Darzhja,” whined little Keldran, a small common bronze drake currently resting on my back as I carried him up to the sleeping chambers with the others.

“But it’s bedtime,” I said as patiently as I could, nudging the little one with my nose. “You’re going to need lots of energy tomorrow for when you play tag with the others aren’t you?”

“Okay…” he nodded and was already drifting off by the time I ascended to the level were we kept the young dragons.

The little ones, mostly those between the ages of 10 and 35, slept in a large communal chamber that featured long rows of cots that were filled with hay.

“Darzhja, are mommy and daddy going to come back soon?” said another young drakka as I put her to bed with pleading eyes.

“I hope so, but I know they care about you so much Wirenth!” I encouraged, touching her with the tip of my soft snout even though I knew that was not the case. That realization would kick in before too long. First, it was the forlorn hope, then the crying, then the despair of knowing that they weren’t coming home, and finally, the resigned acceptance. It was a cycle that I had seen happen far too many times already. Caring for the little ones didn’t just entail feeding them, picking up after them and putting them to bed, it also meant keeping their spirits up and not letting them dwell on the circumstances that led them to becoming orphans in the first place.

As I rounded up the smaller orphans and led them to their little cots, I found myself wondering like I had many other times why nobody had wanted me, or the other little ones for that matter. What kind of dragon would abandon a hatchling? Well, I knew the reason for the orphans that were adolescents around my age, like Ophelia and Iskierka; the Draconic Civil War had killed so many dragons and disrupted the existing social structures to the point where there was no alternative. When I had been about twenty, I recalled that there had been many more orphans that had been my age or just a little bit older. Yet also during that time, there had been a general movement pushed by war veterans to seek to help these unfortunate orphans and give them a more comfortable life. Most of them were the new mixed race couples who for reasons of genetics could not breed children of their own and thus adopted them. Others were genuinely kind people who wanted to help out. There had even been a couple very rich and powerful humanoids willing to take on the challenge of raising a young dragon.

I recalled chatting excitedly with Ophelia and Iskierka at the time about who was going to adopt us. One by one, I had watched as the other orphans got adopted, and giving them my fond farewells. It had always been a very mixed feeling for me; on one claw, I was happy for them that they had found parents, but on the other, it meant that it was another friend who was leaving and who I would never see again. There was also the dismay of not being picked, that somehow I wasn’t as worthy for having parents as those who were lucky enough to be adopted. Still, I always imagined that they had happier lives once they were adopted; they wouldn’t have to struggle for food anymore; they would receive a proper education and most importantly would now have parents.

That spirit of ‘charity’ had eventually past, however, as life had stabilized and the draconic population moved on from the war, and as such simply forgot about those who had been victimized by it.

By now, we had long given up hope that we would one day get adopted; we were simply too old for anyone who was willing to adopt to be interested in. However, every now and then, there were often shady looking people who inquired about ‘purchasing’ the older drakka. Lady Ramoth had always turned those type of solicitors away quite ‘vigorously.’

Yet I would have expected that there would not be little ones that came in once the fallout from the war had subsided, after all, a dragon orphanage was almost unheard of in New Alveri before the civil war, and yet they continued to do so. Perhaps it was because Lady Ramoth had managed to become so successful in her job, that more orphans ended up in New Alveri’s orphanage due to her reputation. More likely was the fact that there were still parents who had neither the will nor the means to care for eggs or dragonets, or that for whatever reason, they had met their untimely demise, thus leaving those orphans nowhere else to turn to.

I also remembered times when there had been orphans who had died. Many of them were those who had some kind of medical problem; they would have problems chewing, or a physical defect of some kind, or a terrible behavioral problem. Those poor souls were often kept away from the rest of the relatively healthy orphans, as they got sick often, and their despair often times affected the other hatchlings as well. The orphanage doubled as a hospital, but for many years, there had been a fear that when you were taken to ‘the room’ as we called it you never came out. That was not true, and there were cases when orphans did get cured, but it was a reminder of how fragile life could be for an orphan. Thankfully, nothing like that had happened for about ten years now, but when I was small it used to happen more often. I thought that maybe many of us had been traumatized by the loss of family or the violence. I certainly sometimes had very bad night terrors, but have never been able to recall a single one.

All in all, it took about an hour and a half to finally get all the smaller hatchlings to sleep, and I was pretty exhausted myself at that point, and my leg was throbbing where it had been wrenched. The room I rested in was one of the larger rooms of the facility, but one that I shared with Iskierka and Ophelia. Blaze shared his own smaller room with another younger drake named Alrin, a common bronze. Sensibly, Ramoth had decided upon a policy that when the orphans got to a certain age, they would ‘graduate’ to the larger rooms, ones that were no longer unisex.

Sleep didn't come easily to me, however, my mind was too alive. I couldn't challenge Fangorn again, not soon. I'd have to build up by skill and strength first. But how? Round and round my thoughts chased, going nowhere. I suppose I must have been twitching unconsciously a little, for eventually Ophelia asked, sleepily, "Darzhja, what's wrong?"

"What," I stammered, "Nothing, nothing's wrong."

"Then can you stop fidgeting," Ophelia said, "You're keeping me awake."

"Wzt," Iskierka mumbled, then yawned, "C'n you two go t' sleep."

"I'd love to," Ophelia replied, "But Darzhja's being restless."

Iskierka was silent a few moments, then raised her head tiredly and asked, "Darzhja? What's on your mind?"

I took a deep breath. The two had been my friends since we were tottering about in a nest. I trusted them with some of my deepest darkest secrets.

“I got into another fight today… other than with Krieg,” I admitted.

“You did?” said Ophelia.

“Yes,” I sighed, “I got into a fight with a Holy Knight at the gate.” I then had to explain that no, it wasn’t old Jyscal, “I challenged him. I told him if I won, then I would get into the Knights. But I lost… badly. In fact, he beat me with a single move.”

“Oh Darzhja…” sighed Ophelia.

“He must have been pretty experienced though,” reasoned Iskierka and she settled her neck against me as we lay in a heap together.

“No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t… that much older than me, apparently it was only his first day, but he beat me so easily.” I confessed.

“Was he handsome?” asked Iskierka curiously and I could feel the tips of her claws in against my flank.

“W-what!?” I nearly shrieked. It took all my effort not to be loud and wake up all the other little ones. “What kind of question is that?”

To my dismay, my hearts were pounding against my chest as I couldn’t help but envision those blazing orange tinged eyes, and the way he had breathed against my cheek as he had subdued me in that submission hold. However, my sudden shuddering had caught the attention of both of my lairmates.

“I couldn’t get a good look at him under his face mask. But he was very strong, very muscular,” I admitted. I found myself praying to the Ancestors that he was ugly under that face mask, because the thought of Fangorn being handsome made me even angrier. To my dismay, Iskierka and even Ophelia were suppressing snickers.

“He was an arrogant jerk though!” I resolved, “Oh Ancestors I hate him so much!” I hissed. “If I ever see that… that jerk again I’m going to… to…”

I wanted to scream and rend.

“Um… Darzhja, you should quiet down a little or else you’re going to wake the hatchlings…” said Ophelia worriedly.

“Sorry…”

“Well, I did tell you that looking for anyone to fight wouldn’t be a good idea, but… why do you care what he thinks anyhow?” whispered Ophelia. That was a good question. I’d definitely been insulted far worse in the ring but that had never affected me. Maybe I was irritated with Fangorn because he had actually backed up his talk, a rarity among drakes in my experience.

“I don’t know… After what he did, I just see how much better I need to get, and I can’t let that go...” I replied. Ophelia sighed.

“It will be alright Darzhja. I know you’ll beat him one day, but… it doesn’t have to happen right away. You’ll get there, I know you will.” said Iskierka, nuzzling against me again.

“Did you at least find out his name?” Ophelia added.

“Fangorn of Clan Irontail,” I admitted. I wouldn’t ever forget it. Those who still emphasized their clan name, a practice that was no longer as prominent after the Civil War, usually came from rich, well to do families with long bloodlines.

“Well, if you hope to beat him, maybe find out a little more about him and what makes him strong despite the fact that as you say, he’s a jerk,” suggested Iskierka. I let out a soft growl.

“But… for tomorrow, why don’t you spend some time with Blaze tomorrow?” the Gold mentioned, and I could tell she was trying to steer me away from the topic now.

“With Blaze?” I asked.

“Yes! He’s still trying to work out where to make his deliveries, and since he doesn’t listen to us, I thought you could help straighten him out a little,” said Iskierka. She was probably trying to divert my mind away from the subject of Fangorn, but the prospect of helping out Blaze did appear like a much better change of pace from thinking about my loss or the more abstract concept of increasing my own strength. Despite the fact he could often be obnoxious, I really liked Blaze, and I thought of him like a younger brother who looked up to me.

“I guess… I’ll do that then,” I answered, calming my breathing. I still wasn’t over what had happened, but at least telling them about what happened was cathartic. It had been quite a long day.

I closed my eyes. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep.