NationStates Jolt Archive

Arshaw Mîriel smiled, and sat down behind her new desk, adjusting the name plate a little. It read ‘Arshaw Mîraglariel, Minister for Advancement and Oversight of Developing Peoples (C’tan) Prefect of Xenocultural Development (Menelmacar)’

She looked at the schedule of things to do, and smiled, this should be a joy. Firstly she went through orders related to Tnechati relocation. That was most important in the short term, and it could be combined with the first phase of the Silvae operation. She’d heard that they’d started the initial phases of the Silvae project, the construction of innumerate small nutrient containers, and sure enough she found a copy of the designs of an individual pod and overall structures to hold a million {eventually} like that. Fascinating stuff. They planned to retrofit an almost empty tomb-world, turning stasis-sarcophagi into nutrient vats that would nourish and protect children to adulthood.

The reason for this was simple enough. An integral part of what it was to be Silvae was learnt behaviour, and so, using templates for mind-machine interface and artificial reality, as well as the large amount of data on the Silvae that Mephet'ran had at his disposal, a simulation of the Silvae world would be created, and they would live that out until their ‘parents’ died, slowly having their simulated world changed into the one chosen for them to live on. In any case, Arshaw signed off her approval on that proposal and gave it to her secretary, Shai, an elven woman she’d drafted from the general palace staff, one of two who came with the post. Shai smiled and took hold of it, walking off to send it back from whence it had come.

A random leaf from a book on the Silvae, produced as a brief guide for those who'll be working with them.

"The Silvae ritual of adulthood

The Silvae, in their home environment, live much like the silvan elves (this, as far as we have been able to discern, is a co-incidence in naming). The culture of the Silvae is far less developed however, like many groups of elves they have a great love of their environment, which is normally woodlands with more than a passing resemblance to what we would call a rainforest.

Upon reaching fifteen years of age, and passing through their puberty, the a Silvae is traditionally given herbal sedatives and taken down-river to a place of the parent’s choosing, often a ‘sacred place’ or burial ground, within a certain area, from where they must go on a ritual journey.

This journey leads to a temple built by the Star Gods. Cut off from all civilisation, naked and alone, (though a ‘magic’ obelisk erected by the gods protects the young Silvae from dangerous animals within a radius of roughly four miles, and it is traditional to place them within this area) a young Silvae takes an average of a week to complete this journey, and at this point their powers develop. It is speculated that the parents can tell in advance when this formative stage is about to occur and time the journey to co-incide with their development. The events of this journey are widely believed to dictate the abilities a young Silvae gains, and lives with for life.

It should be noted that this is not done to surprise the young Silvae, and numerous regional rituals for the night before have been observed, not least last meals as children, general feasting and other such things.

Upon arrival at the ‘temple of passage’ a young Silvae takes numerous oaths of adulthood and gains advice and instruction on the usage of their new abilities, In general they swear to uphold the honour of their ancestors and loyalty to their gods."

Arshaw leaned back on the reclining couch of her study. She'd become used to this over the past years, in no small part because she frequently visited the peoples her office concerned. Soon of course, visiting the Silvae would be a damned sight more difficult than it was now, but that hardly bothered her, she had a fast ship at her disposal. She was indeed, in it. Deciding to hold off for a while, she leafed through the reports from the terrain matching division. This was apparently about the last of the planets they'd had earmarked, which meant she was probably going to have to requisition another five hundred wasps and send them off to likely candidates. The bureaucracy for doing that always took an entire day. She'd have to talk to Mephet about just giving them to her ministry, it was only her that used the damn things these days anyway, and given how many of the little probes had been cranked out in the only serious attempt to locate Tor Yvresse, it wasn't as if they were hard to come by. Hard to maintain, but not hard to come by. She flipped through page after page of notes on cartography and matching the construct subtly to the chosen location, with the ease of a well practiced professional.