Avishraa Reloaded

The Inner Court was the Oldstone's most prestigious neighborhood, and contained its oldest sections. The Founding Families of the Citadel had made their homes here, and still did, although they had graduated to much more opulent dwellings than the simple chambers they'd started with. While the Citadel had grown around and away from them, the Inner Court was still very much their own territory; though they suffered others to live there, these fell only into two classes: the families of those who were influential, like themselves, and those who were their servants and employees.

Dlyss quite obviously fell into the first category. The Third Level tended to be inhabited by those who were, so to speak, nouveaux riches, newcomers to wealth and influence, and while their homes were not so large as those of the Founding Families on the First Level, they were larger by far than those of most other Chosen. As Einriss made his way along the West Corridor, eyed curiously by the ostentatiously-adorned passers-by, he could see elaborate carvings and tiles and metals inlaid into the floor and walls.

The addresses of the homes were not marked, but since there were not that many in any given corridor, they were not difficult to find. The doorways alternated on each side, rather than being directly across from one another, and that of Dlyss was the first on its side after departing the Third Level's main hall. The doorway was arched and ungated, but led directly into a sort of vestibule; set in the opposite wall from these was a large opening that was not merely gated, but guarded.

But the guards, who had evidently been told that Einriss was coming, admitted him politely, where a russet-scaled servant guided him along a corridor into what was evidently a sort of audience room of the sort favored by the heads of important families. Upon one side was a divan set upon a raised dais, and reclining on it was a blue-violet takma, clothed in a white robe that gave her the air of a priestess, who watch them enter with an impassive gaze.

Facing the dais were a collection of plush cushions for visitors to curl up on, and it was to the centermost of these that Einriss was guided. The servant dipped his head and departed the room, and there was a quiet moment while Dlyss scrutinized her visitor. Then, in a voice as impassive as her expression, she said, “Welcome, Einriss. I am Dlyss.”

Einriss wasn't sure if he had an opinion on the relative opulence of the Inner Court, or if he was expected to have one. For the moment, it was just data - he'd never been in this section of the Citadel before. If there were associated customs, for example, he could only guess at them - and no doubt would be informed if he was out of line.

As he was guided to Dlyss, he remained quiet, as he was prone to, inwardly noting that from his perspective, the abode was a bit bleak, owing to its relative lack of vegetation. An Oracle, he presumed, was simply likely to have different aesthetic tastes than a Lifegiver.

And then he was in what he could only describe as an audience room. The cushions looked inviting and given he had been led to them, he presumed it was entirely okay to- he inwardly shrugged, aborted the thought, and settled himself down comfortably, tucking most of his limbs under him, unintentionally advertising his complete lack of concern.

“A pleasure to meet you,” he said - and meant it. He'd carved out some time for this, and with no immediate obligations to occupy his mind, this was out of the ordinary enough to kindle his interest. “I don't imagine you're short on Lifegivers past, present or future. What information may I contribute to your visions?”

Dlyss' gaze remained fixed on the teal male; she gave the impression of trying to look through his head. “Why indeed?” she murmured, half to herself. “You said to Enneth that you design organisms… particularly plants. Tell me of such ones as you have designed, and whether the patch upon your wing falls among their number.”

The prompt kindled an almost childish joy in him, tempered by the strangeness of explaining his personal interests to an Oracle. “The patch is mostly another matter. Flesh has a habit of growing into all directions, and simply reminding it of the wound and encouraging its healing or even ushering along pure growth would have left me with a misshapen lump of some degree - scarring, or a tumourous growth. This is best understood as something of a transplantation, and I would not want to claim the material itself as my design. That said, I have certainly tweaked in it - in its natural state it would reject my body and vice versa, and not grow quite large enough to fit, nor fill the exact shape needed.

“Generally speaking, though, my humble talents do guide my projects into the more mundane and practical. It is all fine and well to imbue vegetation with the strength to overcome obstacles on an individual basis, but this must be done again and again and requires much of the Citadel's Lifegivers' attention in general. But what if you could simply redesign it so it no longer needed that help? Many plants, left to themselves in this environment we have chosen as our refuge will become sickly, lose nutritional value both to takmar or any other creatures that might feed off them, lose their sturdiness, or simply wither and die… assuming they sprout at all.

“There have been some obvious fixes for seeds brought in from Unchosen civilisation. For example, trading growth speed for the ability to grow at all - essentially convincing certain fruit-bearing trees to expect less energy and to make do with what they have. They can still be encouraged by those so inclined, but I do have self-sufficient strains of some popular fruit-bearing trees in the gardens I tend to, which will proliferate themselves entirely naturally. …in a manner of speaking.

“But I've also successfully worked on more ambitious projects. Of potential note is a species that can anchor itself into solid rock - its roots eat their way through hard stone. This is not a tactic that yields high nutritional load for the plant, but it does allow it to grow on vertical or even slanted surfaces. It is a project I am still working on, as it is a little short-lived at the moment, requiring metabolic tweaks. I think with an altered metabolism I may produce even something that is edible and worth using as more than a structural element. You see, the initial notion that drove the design was to grant sturdy foundations for such things as bridges or other fortifications that might otherwise struggle for stability.

“Or another project is a species that does not, as plants are prone to, require light to thrive. Given the multitude of shadowed areas we must contend with - in fact, the interior of our homes especially comes to mind - rearing a plant that is both edible and requires no light during a turn may help us prosper even if all Lifegivers happen to be taken from us in some future conflict with the other takmar, or the xtauh. We could not subsist on it alone as it would poison the atmospheric composition of our valleys, but it could serve as a useful addition to our agricultural repertoire.

“Another project is one of alternate arrangement. It is one I keep in my home - it grows through the ceiling, where I have made a hole for it that it itself has already sealed with its trunk, and dispenses its fruit near the ground while its frost-resistant leaves stretch above my home. The fruit need not be hardy as they are indoors, which, if I may say so, greatly improves their texture and taste. This is less of practical concern as gardeners have other promising arrangements that will likely yield the same result, but I am fond of it nonetheless.

“I do have other projects, not all of which are focussed on vegetation. Understand, the whole matter is difficult to draw successes out of, because I must to do the design at the start based entirely on the substances involved, since trying to alter a creature when it is already grown risks outright rejection or malignant growth. I must understand how a subtle change in one substance of the seed will turn into a specific feature later in the creature's life - it is not as simple as to simply will a particular feature into existence. The elements interact, governed by certain rules, and the interactions become increasingly complex as the seed matures, ultimately forming shapes and functions.

“It's barely possible to predict how it will go, though I have hope experience will allow me to, for example, eventually create fish that are easier to raise in artificial lakes,” Einriss commented, tone part excitement, part apology.

Dlyss had leaned forward as Einriss spoke, an intense look in her eyes; but toward the end of his description of his activities, she relaxed. Her expression was neutral enough that it was hard to be sure, but she gave the impression of one who had heard, and been pleased by, something she'd been waiting to hear. “Very interesting. And useful. You appear to have an appropriate awareness of the impacts your work could have upon Chosenkind.”

She rearranged herself on the divan in such a way that she was more directly facing Einriss, and then added, “Tell me… have you ever performed such modification on animals more advanced than fish?”

Einriss seemed to consider the matter for a moment, perhaps going through a mental inventory of the creatures he had tampered with and ranking them on a scale of complexity. Gradually, his distracted expression returned to the conversation at hand. “Not in past or present. I would hope that once I have sufficient experience I might advance to such subjects in future, though,” he offered.

Inwardly, a part of him mused what an Oracle might possibly find useful about a gardener's tales, regardless how unusual his methods were, but he supposed he would find out eventually, right along with whether her assessment of his usefulness was in any way realistic.

“Yes,” Dlyss replied cryptically. “I suspect you will.” She tapped a claw idly on the edge of her seat with a faint click-click-click. “And your progress in your work… what restraints are there upon it? Other than those imposed by your own ability, that is. Are there any factors that prevent you from devoting your time and energy to those projects that you wish to pursue? Time? Resources?”

The Oracle's 'I suspect you will' brightened Einriss' expression. The prospect was certainly delightful, even if he saw no avenue toward it at the moment. On the very far end of the scale, imagine what difference he might make if he could make the takmar themselves hardier! What a romantic notion.

“At the moment they are a personal interest only,” he commented. “Owing to the failure rate I do not have anything resembling a sponsor for the effort, so I devote most of my time to regular gardening and agriculture as is required of me.” A pause. “Time, I suppose. Just time.”

Dlyss lifted her head, as if peering at something in the air that could not be seen. She did not respond for some time, but at last, almost absently, she said, “This can be remedied.”

Her gaze refocused upon Einriss. “There are valuable outcomes to be obtained from the acceleration of your work. I cannot yet see their chances of success; but they are not so small that they should be ignored.” The end of her tail began twitching gently back and forth, like a cat's. “You may have my sponsorship, Einriss, provided that you fulfill two requirements. The first is that I be provided with regular reports upon your progress, which shall be easy enough.

“The second is this: I may, at times, provide you with specific tasks to undertake. When I do this, you must focus on those tasks. Sometimes this may even be to the exclusion of other work. Is this understood?”

Silence. While he was no doubt dumbstruck, Einriss' expression betrayed no surprise - not directly. Perhaps he hadn't fully understood what was being said. Perhaps he was still digesting it.

There was no mistaking the Oracle's offer for generosity. If she was making it, she had reasons to consider the agreement fruitful. That made it no less intriguing, of course, and his instinct was to accept immediately, full of enthusiasm and delight. However, neither of them existed in a vacuum, and neither Dlyss' name nor the Inner Court meant anything in particular to him in that context.

“If the tasks you seek to give me are of the same general nature,” he mused. “Then I would like the arrangement very much and you would have my utmost loyalty and focus. Nonetheless, I must first speak to the people that currently rely on my handiwork - my work can certainly be replaced and I know of some candidates who may fill in for me, but it nonetheless strikes me as prudent if the affected are permitted to plan accordingly. Is this permissible?”

The blue-violet takma on the divan, for the first time since the conversation had started, betrayed enough emotion in her expression to take notice of; her antennae stiffened briefly in annoyance.

The moment passed, and when she spoke, she remained as impassive as before, but her words were suggestive. “If you deem it necessary,” she said. “If they are reluctant to accept an alternative, direct them to me. I shall explain to them personally the relative importance of their needs in the shape of the future.”

“I don't anticipate any resistance,” Einriss clarified. “At most perhaps for a few vigils as other arrangements are made. I do believe they will understand.”

“Good,” she replied shortly. She paused, glancing at the doorway. “Enneth,” she added pointedly, “shall visit you on my behalf to hear your progress in this - since she evidently maintains an interest in this subject.”

The psionic senses that takmar were born with might have picked up a tiny spike in chagrin. Then Enneth sheepishly slunk around the edge of the doorway, head bowed in submission. “Yes, Dlyss. I was only, er-”

“Yes, yes,” Dlyss replied impatiently. She stood up slowly. “Improper, perhaps, but not damaging. Unpleasant consequences, however, shall attend any future eavesdropping upon topics that are not intended to be heard.”