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 The Restorationist Camp: 

Looking at Hezhatin, the Lightdancer's eyes suddenly narrowed. 

You said your father told stories of me in Azarath. Answer me a second question, is this Arsharzhin Hezhatin, or is it Shanar? 

Vizornii blinked. 

"My father is Arsharzin."

The Lightdancer blinked in turn. 

That does explain things. 


She favored Vizornii with a cryptic smile before saying: 

I have such things to show you.....

With that the universe seemed to warp and wend and twist, a strange sense of weightlessness jarring her instantaneously to a strange place. It was an eerie extension of the universe that seemed: 

"This is a fortress."

The Lightdancer retained the cryptic half-smile and then said: 

My Fortress of Eternity. From here the Iron Fist of the Universal Empire assails forth to confront the darkness that clusters and jibbers and aims for the throats of mortals of any level of sapience.


Looking around, Vizornii Hezhatin blinked, unable to tell which was up or down, or which angles were convex or concave. 

I brought you here to ask you a question that I must know the answer to, in a realm where the Truth shall set you free. 


The Lightdancer, casting off the armor assumed a brilliant, almost checkerboard-pattern dress with merely a slight gleam of her eyes. 

You have seen beings like me before. I could see in your memories familiarity with my sister, Arazakanu. The one you fought on the Jehexaderavcal Moon. There is another like us, who strides forth, who moves from time to time amongst mortals. You know of Azarath since you know of her. 

Her eyes narrowed. 

You and the red-skinned creature that look like you look physically identical to one of my kindred, we call her Zee. I take it that she is a parallel of yours, and I know what secret she hides. You........you are somewhat different but you all reflect a design. That of the monster that in origin was my kindred, whose power extends into the very fabric of existence itself as a festering virus coursing through both existence and its immensity with a terrible and debilitating fire. You have convinced me that you are not her work, in full. But having experience with Azarath, I have brought you here to see that her kindred are not all like her. We, all of us, are above Gods and Mortals alike-Hezhatin's breath caught with the casual utterance of what seemed profound blasphemy but had an undeniable kernel of truth to it that made the sensation choking her no less powerful-but we are not all giggling lunatics boasting about ourselves turning that power to work ill. 

And-Hezhatin looked as she saw a very tall and armored Barane moving, sharing with most of his kind the odd faces of that world, and she realized, too, the strange protuberance on the chin that made the Baranir unique-I have come for my closest ally and for a few weapons. The curse of bearing and using the black smoke is that as I am invulnerable to whatever forces others assail against me, so are my own creations in the hands of those other who seek to wield them, for good and ill alike. 

With that, the Lightdancer went to her compatriot and the two spoke in the coughing and sometimes throaty sounds of the Baranir, as the Lightdancer gathered a few strange devices, some of which were clipped around her belt, others seeming to vanish into thin air. 

Returning, the Lightdancer smiled with a more than cryptic and somewhat-sinister smile given the width and breadth of that smile across her face. Holding the hand of her compatriot in what seemed a Baranir gesture of affection, space warped and wended and there was that oh so strange and terrible sense of disorientation and she returned to the camp. Expecting to be arrested for going AWOL, she was shocked to see her timepiece registered a real-time passage of less than two seconds. Shrugging, she then saw her father going over to herself and the Lightdancer, and was shocked when instead of returning to the Beast at the sight of her with one of the Beyond Ones, her father embraced the Lightdancer in a hug that for most would have literally taken their breath away but for her was simply friendly, and then greeted the metallic-organic Baranir with a friendly nod. 

"You've come to help with Suvacel, then?" 

I have. The Lightdancer smiled. 

"Good." And with that, Arsharzin nodded to his daughter, who nodded back. The Lightdancer then calmly levitated, legs crossed, and began to check her weapons for both maintenance and performing any needed, as well as zeroing them in. It was a fortunate aspect of her own designs that they did not need to be maintained in the same sense that the manufacturing of mortal minds did.....

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