She was barefoot; in a loose shirt and rolled-up pants. Practicing magic in a dress and high heels was often ill-advised, especially when it'd been some five thousand years since she'd done any significant magic. It was comfortable enough. Pegasus was often warm enough that it wasn't usually muddy.

The grass was soft when she stepped out into the open meadow, dry and firm underneath her. Her fingers flexed, before she reached back behind her to tie her hair right back into a ponytail. She didn't have a plan for the time being-- only to cast magic until she couldn't anymore.

Aethril knew she was capable of it, at least. Her attempts to corrupt a plant had gone quite well, but she could tell that she was weakened significantly-- and she couldn't spar Isra or any of Vargas's creations until she got herself back up to speed.

With a breath, her hands reached out. His magic was always close; she grasped it and before she knew it, flooding out of her fingertips, was sickening, black-violet lightning. It cracked like a whip, reverberating into Pegasus's ceiling, as it thundered into the meadow ground.

It left a scar; black and burning and smoking, hungrily eating away at the grass and flowers that surrounded it. With the damage came a spasming, cramping sensation up Aethril's forearm and with gritted teeth she clenched her hands and shook them out.

There was no real sense of pride in it; only the calculations-- she was getting better, certainly, but it'd still take time to catch up again. At least this was progress, for now.

@Elayne

Tranquility was broken in an instant by a crack of peeling thunder. Bird song was turned to terror and silence, leaving only a wake of feathers flapping as entire flocks fled from the sound. The forest was silent in the aftermath.

Elayne had been taking a peaceful stroll when the roar broke the calm. By nature, she wasn't a foolish, curious thing, and in fact she was just as likely to ignore it and go on about more important matters than some stray, freak magical burst of energy.

The massive valk had no interest in changing her path to avoid the caster, however. So perhaps it was some stray course of fate that led her to walk to the edge of the clearing, her dark frame stepping out into the meadow and stopping upon the corrupted crack that interrupted her walk. Her claws dug into the sickened ground, feeling the fresh tingle of energy rushing up from the earth itself. From Aethril's perspective, she may have seemed like a huge statue of a panther when frozen like this: her tendrils were slicked down her broad back, and the scales and fur glistened like a shimmering ebony stone in an unseen sun.

But then Elayne turned her head, and the frill that guarded her face spread, turning the glow of the Pegasus into a spotlight. From behind her mask, the valkhound's golden eyes seized Aethril's form: beautiful, heavenly, and haunting.

"Hello," escaped her otherwise still lips in a deep voice. The single word betrayed a hundred meanings and intentions, and for once, she could not be certain that the stranger before her was clueless. No. No, this one... This one was different.

Her body shifted in a singular, purposeful movement. Tendrils split from her body, the frill about her face shifting in a slow, shimmering wave, giving her entire body a sudden sense of movement. It was not intended as intimidating, though it certainly was a display of sorts. The earth at her feet began to squirm, and chasing down the line of corruption, a tendril slipped like an eel through the ground. It smoothly reached Aethril, breaking free from the ground to rise up to the woman's height, and then it curled down into a hook. The end of the tendril reached forward, stilling within hand's reach. It was up to the stranger to accept, naturally.

@Aethril

Aethril took a breath and cranked one arm backwards, shoulder arcing in a half-circle. She was about to start casting again when a figure in the distance caught her attention and she paused, letting the breeze whip hair from her face as she studied it.

It moved, and the Hand tensed briefly. Before she could process the greeting it offered it was moving and a oily tendril lurched from the ground. She recoiled, teeth gritting-- this was bad timing for her to get attacked right now; without Obieth, without Isra, without proper collection of her own magic.

She tried it anyway. Something-- anything --to protect herself, but the magic flickered and died at her very fingertips. Aethril winced, pulled back, and paused.

"Oh," she whispered. The tendril wasn't moving; curled towards her like a hand. Aethril reached out and, carefully, shook it. "You are, perhaps, one of the more polite ones I've met." She hadn't shook anyone's hand in a very long time-- even before hibernation.

"Who made you?" Aethril asked, gaze flicking across to Elayne. "You don't seem like one of Vargas's."

@Elayne

Instead of asking who she was, the ethereal woman (whom she had startled, to a private satisfaction that sizzled in the back of her mind like a hot coal pushed into ice) wanted to know who had created her. Fascinating. It occurred to her that this might be an enemy of her goals, but already Elayne felt the upper hand in the cusp of her palm.

Her greeting had been accepted, the shake of the tendril promising. If this was a problem, let it be handled with calm calculation. Perhaps with equal weight, she would have an ally standing before her. "Master Farina," she answered simply, her body slowly rippling with chaotic movement. She would give no other information, of her being or otherwise, until she had ascertained the woman's motives.

A name would be nice, too. Perhaps, had she felt more generous, she would have offered hers first.

"Tell me," instead: a request. Her tone did not insist, merely inquired. "how do you feel of traitors, miss?" Her words were reserved, but there was a fire in the molten core of her eyes, and the faint smile on her lips betrayed all implication. Friend or enemy; with the traitors, or with Farina? Time would tell. Her first impression of Aethril left her wanting, how she had flinched at the magic sent her way, only to recover and press where she had no ground.

Oh, how Elayne wanted to know more.

@Aethril

Farina, of course. Her and Artio often had the most beautiful creations and Farina obviously hadn't held out with this one. Her smile turned a little wistful as she let go of the tentacle and shook the oil from her palm.

This one, admittedly, might have been her favourite alongside Obieth's dark simplicity. Aethril was turning away with a breath, half-considering Elayne's question as her wrists twisted and focused. "I'm not fond of them," she said-- and this much she wouldn't needed wheedled out of her.

But what Elayne did get was, "the rebellion kept me trapped in the Palace for thousands of years." Her hands lurched and bouts of deep black flame bellowed from her palms, licking up her wrists. Aethril's teeth grit upon the pain but she aimed the roaring fire into the scorched ground.

The flames latched onto the dry grass like a moth to flame, burning into the skies and leaving whatever ground the lightning hadn't touched black and corrupted. "There's worse places to be trapped, of course," the Hand continued, shaking blackened ash from her aching hands. "But not being able to do anything while good creations die weighs on the mind."

Still wafting her hands in the air, she glanced back to Elayne. "Have you seen any, recently?"

@Elayne

Recognition flashed in those sapphire eyes, and Elayne noted the softening of her smile. A name that the stranger knew, for better or worse. Elayne was inclined to the former, though. With the grace that the woman held, the calm energy that seemed to resonate with the valkhound's own.

The woman's words were simple. They implied much more, and though from this angle Elayne could not see the same fire burning behind the windows of her soul, she could hear it. She went on, offering information. An ancient, then. Master or not, she had been trapped as Farina had.

Immediately, Elayne allowed her a drop of sympathy. It wasn't much-- the black beast rarely spared any for any creature-- but it was simply unnecessary as well. The flame she couldn't catch in the woman's eyes instead flared from her hands, lighting her in a violent, striking silhouette as the earth was devoured in an instant.

Elayne watched the ash rise, drifting up into the air with a sickly smoke.

"I have not," she answered, "those who I have met so far have been ignorant and unhelpful. Master Farina tasked me with the destruction of one of three traitors. Jupiter," she began, prowling closer to her new found ally with head held high and eyes gleaming. "I've been warned not to let her see me coming, and so I must be careful who learns of my task."

Did it seem hypocritical, to tell someone she had just met of this? What if this stranger was a spy, a plant? That was only a concern if Elayne did not trust her own sense of judgement. As it was, she knew that this person was one of the betrayed. An ally, and a powerful one. "There were two others," she explained, "made to kill Nemean and Tamulus. I have not seen them since our missions' declaration." Perhaps they failed, or perhaps they were biding their time wisely, as she had done.

"My name is Elayne," the valkhound offered as she stopped at the woman's side. Her tendrils spasmed for a moment, and then fell back in to place along her back, smoothing her form back into a perfect silhouette of a massive beast. "The traitors' time is running out, miss."

@Aethril

The Hand wasn't very surprised to hear that the others had been unhelpful or ignorant-- from what Isra said, most of them were new, and others (like Aethril herself) had only just awoken from hibernation.

The name Jupiter stabbed at her heart a little, however. She liked her and it was a shame what she became-- another rebel in the crowd. "Many of us have been asleep," she told Elayne, in case this was news to her. "Others are too young to know of the rebellion."

For a moment, Aethril side-eyed Elayne next to her with furrowed brows. Tamulus had little meaning to her other than a creator-- but Nemean was news to her. "Nemean is a rebel?" She asked the Valkhound straight up, but she couldn't see it.

She could see Farina tiring of Nemean's.... Nemeanness.

A little sigh loosened the muscles in her face again, and she half-turned to face Elayne, politely. "My name is Aethril," she returned. "I'm a Hand."

It was a title she carried quite proudly, but her preening was shortly interrupted as her mind cast back on the rebellion. "I hope so," admitted Aethril. "Isra says the rebellion is over, but I can't shake the feeling that they're still out there, biding their time."

Her nose wrinkled, briefly. "Jupiter is a good hunter, but I haven't seen her in years. If you do find out where she is, I'd like to come with you to hunt her down, however."

@Elayne

Elayne inclined her head by an inch, tilting amongst the plush bloom of her mane. "Traitor," if there was a difference among the two words, Elayne emphasized it, "according to Master Farina, those three betrayed her, and I would assume you as well, if you were in a similiar sleep." There was doubt in Aethril, but the best traitors came from those whom you were closest. It was clearly a shock, but that only made it more likely.

She did not spell it out as such; was not keen to presume that this being could not figure it out. Especially, especially when Aethril told her that she was a Hand. A bold claim, and not one made lightly. Though Elayne was only a mere Valkhound, created within the last year, she instinctively knew that placed Aethril above her.

Hm. What do to with that information?

The beast was surprised when Aethril offered up her individual aid without missing a beat. "That would be most welcome," Elayne answered, "I am not too proud to accept assistance." In fact, if it was up to her, well. She would not put her neck so carelessly in the line of fire. It made more sense to pull strings and send more capable creatures into the fray. The Hand was stronger, with a much greater capacity, certainly. She would walk this fine line carefully.

"She has not been easy to find. As I said, many are clueless. There isn't much in the way of leads, at least, that I have found. I would not like her to know I am coming and become the hunted, either." A word of warning. Preferably, neither of them would be put in danger.

"Any assistance would be greatly appreciated. In return," because an allyship like this required both give and take, "should you require aid, I will be at the ready. Though, I warn you, I am much more a scholar than a brute." Read: Do not expect me to fight to the death for you. She figured Aethril could defend herself, regardless, judging by that fire power. It was respectful, but direct in a way that she offered to only those she truly respected.

@Aethril

Aethril blinked gently. Was Nemean somehow responsible for falling asleep? How did she manage it? "Did Farina have proof of Nemean's betrayal?" the Hand asked-- not in a particularly demanding or accusing tone, but one of genuine curiosity. "I trust your word, of course, but Nemean has been known to have.. her own priorities."

Now that she said it out loud, it sounded more suspicious.

She listened to Elayne quietly as she turned to continue practicising; corrupted magic left her and sept into the ground, slithering into the roots and infecting one of the plants. Ferns turned black and lifted weakly, weighed down by the oil that was gathering on the stem and leaves and dripping onto the rest of the grass.

As Aethril twisted one wide fern backwards to guide where the oil was dripping, she said, "there are plenty of brutes out there. Scholars are few and far between and there aren't as many Valkhounds around as there used to be." Even with Vargas making more, there didn't seem to be many around.

Though, she did seem to attract them. "It'd be best to focus on one Master at a time-- and I'd suggest Jupiter," Aethril went on. "I plan on having a little scholar made myself; something small and flexible to fit into tiny spaces and find whatever we need."

Another leaf moved; growing larger and stretching itself out as it rose above the others under her command. She considered in the meantime, thinking, drawing plans up in her head. "We just need to find Jupiter's den. We can send the creation in to scour rooms, when it's ready. Do you have any idea where it might be?"

@Elayne

"I have no reason to doubt my Creator," Elayne promised with a voice treading on sweetness. Her words were direct, and simply honest. "She did not provide proof, nor did I ask it of her." Oh, but with the seed of doubt planted, the valkhound would be remiss to not consider it in the future. She had followed perhaps a bit too eager, too blind, and now she lacked critical information. A mistake. Nothing too damning, but not to be repeated.

Irrelevant as it was, Elayne watched as Aethril continued to stretch her magic through the earth, twisting plants into a sickly dance as they were stained throughout with oil. Her molten gaze was not broken by a single blink, her mask perfectly still and emotionless as she observed. She did not make any motion to join in the magic on display, instead studying it with the muted interest of a scientist.

"Is that so?" She inquired politely. "What of the other creatures in these caves? Are they a new development, then?" The Valkhound did not have much information in the way of the past, and it struck her as curious. She had the feeling she was one of a very select few, but the knowledge that thousands of cycles before she would have been among the masses was a strange thought. And of her kin, valkhound creations of Farina, had they all been destroyed in the great sleep? That seemed to be Aethril's implication when speaking of 'good creations'.

The Hand went on to suggest a way forward. Elayne listened politely, not one to turn away advice or critique, invited or otherwise. "I know that her den isn't in Fornax," she offered. Again, she admitted to her lack of information freely-- her Master had warned her not to get caught, and she showed that she was not about to hurry into her death. The only thing that mattered was success, no matter the lengths she went to nor the cost. "But I have not found any trail that is not long stale. However, I have been limited in my search, both out of caution and need to stay close to sources of..." What was the correct word, again? "Corruption." The word felt thick upon her tongue, like a mistranslation turning a smooth flowing poem into a clunky mess.

Oh well.

"When your scholar is made, have it seek me, and I will relay my findings through it. It may be easier to keep up a correspondence through a quick, small scout, rather than meeting in person." That was her suggestion, anyway, unless Aethril had some higher magic that she herself had yet to tap into.

@Aethril