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Udunshraa (Ancient Tongue: Citadel of Life, fortress of the Davir Sria) in Thuban is what appears like a single massive domed structure growing out of the ground. It doesn't look particularly organic (dome shape notwithstanding); the most organic substance that might come to mind while walking through its halls is some strange mix of ivory and bone.
Its true shape (above- and belowground), while not perfectly spherical, can nonetheless be best understood in terms of a sphere. Approximately nine tenths of Udunshraa are below ground. Meanwhile, two thirds of its habitable area are underground. Iisharsria, a manifestation of pure order, is nearly central to the sphere, raised just enough to be nestled at the bottom of the habitable zone.
In its habitable area, it consists of concentric corridors framing segmented rooms. Below what is designated 'the habitable area', the clear architecture melts into incoherent and sometimes inaccessible shapes, making its organic nature infinitely more apparent. Eventually, these shapes turn into a branching tunnel system difficult to navigate as they're not aligned with much respect to gravity; and ultimately, the branches turn too fine to pass through. The branching 'tunnels' can be understood as roots.
Capabilities
Udunshraa is a complex and powerful piece of biotechnology. It is sapient, if only barely. It can understand language and respond verbally (psychically). It responds to creatures as would be most familiar to them; younger dragons are addressed psychic-verbally, older, more experienced Chosen are interfaced with more viscerally, granting a much larger array of information and outright permitting symbiosis.
Within itself, it is quasi-omniscient, though it would be outright hard-pressed to tell you what the weather outside is, even if its hailing. Psychically speaking, it can be considered omnipotent within itself, which it uses as its primary form of defence against intruders.
It can light up parts of itself as necessary and in a very fine-tuned manner that it happily puts to use as directional markers.
If need be, Davir Sria can delegate whole thought processes to Udunshraa if they need to free up their conscious mind for anything, e.g. they can ask it to take over their motor control to get them somewhere within the Citadel while they focus on other things.
Finally, it can birth other biotechnology. It can create small creatures filling the role of certain tools, e.g. a medkit.
Notable rooms
Library
Example interactions
With young dragons:
With a better sense of vision - and the dim light is plenty to supply enough to soothe - a lot of his unease dissipates. This is just some long-abandoned building. What could possibly be frightening about such a thing? In the dim light, he shoots a glare across at Demarath for his snort, in part secretly happy that the expression can't be discerned. “Come on, Demara',” he prompts. “At worst, it won't react. No loss.” A different part of him points out that there are two things that immediately come to mind that might also occur - one, the Citadel might be alerted to their presence and decide that Ashernath needed to be purged in some way; two, the abandoned Citadel is not so abandoned and making light would attract undue attention. Both seems unlikely, but he does feel a tinge of embarrassment at his negligent statement, though he makes no move to correct it, hesitantly glancing across the room.
Demarath utters a soft growl at Ashernath's insistance. This is such a silly idea. It's completely pointless. But knowing Ashernath, he'd keep pestering him until he eventually gave in just to shut him up. He's almost tempted to reply with a scathing 'If you're so eager, why don't you try it?' But of course then, if it did somehow magically work, Ashernath would likely be harmed by the attempt, not being a Chosen himself.
“Fine,” he replies snappishly. He shifts his posture to stand up on his hind legs, raising his crippled arms above his head. “O great Citadel of Life, hear my plea and fill this room with light!” If he's going to do something silly anyway, he might as well do so in the silliest way possible. For a few seconds, nothing happens. Demarath shakes his head. “See, I told you it woul-”
What happens next is unexpected. It begins with a tension in the young dragons' antennae, followed by a headache that quickly escalates to ludicrous proportions, like something was exerting intense pressure on the insides of their skulls. It quickly becomes clear that there's someone, or something, inside their minds - some massive, foreign telepathic presence. It initially communicates a series of emotions: Disorientation, confusion, momentary panic, defensiveness… and then, at least to Demarath, something like recognition with perhaps a hint of pleasant surprise. ~Davir Sria.~ The unbearable pressure quickly fades, the last traces of hostility evaporating. A moment later, the room is illuminated with a soft, white light.
Claws skitter across the stone as Ashernath's weight tips him down onto his left elbow, muzzle lightly ajar as he struggles to breathe. Something is in his head, abrupt, absolute, pushing into his skull like an assortment of painless needles, like a weight growing against the back of his head. A hollow, flimsy breath escapes him in his disorientation, head coming to rest against the floor, eyes swiveling, distantly aware of the sudden light, wholly unimpressed given the numb threat of extinction crushed against him. An exhale, barely forced from his increasingly unresponsive body, breaks apart into jitters. There's no time for terror, just an incredulous, stunned, dawning realisation that he's dying.
Two realizations compete for dominance in Demarath's mind. One is a sense of awed wonder - the Citadel actually responded to him, even if it was a delayed response. The other is the terrible sense of impending doom hammering in on him through the mind-link. Whatever this thing in his head is - he's still not quite sure - it's in Ashernath's too, and is trying to extinguish the life from him.
“Ashernath!” Now it's the younger brother's turn to be immensely worried for his brother's health. He whirls around automatically, eyes locking on his brother's dying form. ~Stop it!~ he cries in a panic to the presence in his mind. ~Stop hurting him! He's my brother!~
There's a harrowing silence as his calls lash out toward the psychic presence, brother's state and friendly light both unchanged, former creature uttering a broken yip, thudding gracelessly onto his left shoulder, spine rolling and twisting in slow motion as if he were trapped in a physical grip he sought to wind out of. Then, abruptly, a fresh breath is sucked in, only to escape him as half cough, half pant, antennae pressed tightly against the back of his neck. ~Disengaging,~ the Citadel informs Demarath. ~Sorry.~ The word is awkwardly intoned in his mind, syllables delivered in separation, granting the building an almost mechanical air.
With an experienced Srian:
Elsewhere within the Citadel and elsewhen in time, a copper dragon manifests like a thunderclap. A heavy breath spills from him, not from the transition, but from the context of his visit. There's a quiver to him and his eyes widen in focus as he extends thoughts out into the fabric of the Citadel like pushing fingers into foam and rakes through it like hot coals combing for signs. A jittery breath born in part of anger and of a nauseating level of concern escapes him and he straightens himself, briefly blind to the world as he interfaces with the Citadel.
They're in the library. They're well, but they can't leave. They have been sent a medkit that they've not put to use. They have not been given instructions because the Citadel does not understand their situation but there are books around them, lots of books, and surely one of them would contain some information.
He sees the outlines of the situation in intuitive abstraction. Something is in them and while it's doing nothing to harm them at present but keep them still, it is a foreign body. He reaches out to their minds, finding a spike of fear he struggles to subdue. Experience and patience let him whittle it down and he surges through their psyches like a flood of calming acorporeal balm, siphoning energy from the negative loop with a concentrated effort.
He's moving, automatically, toward that room, barely taking note of the external cues he's following, driven chiefly by directions almost directly grafted onto his motor control on request, purely needing to be indulged in. He asks for a diagnosis of the rotor above the two, reading fractures and thin, webbed roots of something like a fungus within the resulting data, aged, sturdy, foreign. He feels it pull at him indirectly, sense of unease in Ashernath at each motion not a rapid step in his direction - and pauses. His sons might be afraid of his wrath, but they wouldn't know of his path, they weren't that refined in their sense of pinpointing a linked dragon yet, suggesting the foreign body the culprit. He's too far away for it to punish his sons, but it's reacting to his presence.
He still hasn't spoken to them. They'd know he's here now, or have a deep hunch thereof, but he's been silent despite himself, perception drowned in raw information. He breaks the surface of the ocean of frantic thought and anchors firmly against his sons, and a terse, authoritative bark assures: ~I'll figure something out.~ No greeting, no venom. They could exchange pleasantries and scolding after the situation was resolved.
His thoughts catch up to him: A trap. Someone has put a trap into Udunshraa. Someone has managed to get in here and tarnish this place with some kind of contraption. The Citadel takes the accusation in stride; only Srians have been permitted into these halls, or Srian kin granted Srian authority. It's been loyal and watchful and valiant. It would know if something else had come in. But how could that be? What Srian would lay a trap for another? Unless it was not meant for Srians, but in such a case, the trap is carelessly manufactured, something he cannot in good conscience attribute to his brethren. It's all very confusing.
The Citadel tells him the thing is a symbiont. He believes it. Something entwined with his sons' bodies, in equal part feeding from them and giving back. A biological entity. What have they tried? Only forceful removal and attempts to damage it directly, the memories of the Citadel reveal. Is it soft anywhere? The images don't suggest so. He descends into the depths of the Citadel's knowledge to sift through a list of the medkit's capabilities, specifically the chemical components available to it.
With the preliminaries clear, he takes a deep breath and continues his journey, aware he needs a plan, ideally a better one than the one that he has in mind.