A rotting hand bursts from the snow and frozen earth as a fresh baked zombie emerges from its grave. Another rises nearby, followed by another as Nil lies upon a bench staring blankly at the starry sky. With a wave of her hand the zombies grab shovels and begin to exhume more corpses. The city has a few cemeteries, but this one sits on the outskirts far from prying eyes. Except for Balen's, leaning against a mausoleum wearing a longcoat and hat. "These rotters aren't too popular in town kid. I thought we were keeping a low profile?" "I'll strip the flesh and bag the bones, animate them when needed." All matter of factly, like discussing what to make for dinner. "That'd work I suppose," he grimaces and tips his hat lower, "We're awfully exposed out here." "I set up wards around the perimeter. If anyone enters without saying the magic words they'll be paralyzed and I'll be alerted. We're fine, Balen." "They had magic sunshine bullets to keep us from healing, what makes you think they haven't accounted for your other tricks?" "These tricks are new." "And yet," he gestures to four approaching figures. "They said the magic words." Nil rises from the bench to stand beside him and greet their guests. The first is a large Half Orc man dressed in blue jeans and a brown jacket, yellow eyes glaring at Nil from beneath a flat cap. He also has a small handgun in his big green hand, which is adorable. "Gorlok," nods Balen. "Balen," growls Gorlok. He's always growling. The next is a knight in dark plate and chainmail with bits of red cloth for flair. His black hair billows elegantly in the wind across his Elven face and bright blue eyes as he rests a gauntlet upon the pommel of his sword, obviously expecting a fight. "My Lady Volariden," Knight-Commander Salvador's words are as flowery as his perfume and he gives a deep bow. "Please don't do that Sal," Nil cringes and he winks. The last is a short Wood Elf with cropped hair a slightly darker shade of brown than her skin. She looks like she came from a skate park and seems totally bored, but her emerald eyes dart between the zombies and Nil. "Sup?" Winnow gives a mocking salute, "We couldn't've met in like a bar or something?" "Too many people," Autumn is also with the trio, smiling between Sal and a statue, but she's not real so she doesn't count. "Alright, elephant in the room, you're all pissed at me." Not the best opening statement Nil's given, "I'm not sure what I could say or do to convince you I'm no-" "Catch," Gorlok tosses a small gray ball and Nil instinctively catches it, then yelps and drops the metal object as it burns her hands. With a satisfied grunt Gorlok stows his weapon within his coat, them approaches to retrieve it, "The other thing was unaffected by cold-iron." "You banked a lot on me not wearing gloves in the dead of winter," Nil chuckles awkwardly, shaking her hands as the burns slowly fade. "Gloves restrict your fingers too much when casting." "Uncomfortable now, let's change the subject!" "You're a lot less saturday morning cartoon villain than I expected," Winnow's brows furrow, "All those old stories paint you cackling on a broomstick surrounded by bats." "That 'Witchsona' from the old days was an act. I was just the face, the conquering empire shtick was all them," Nil flails a hand to each of the other vampires, "They only dragged me out of my library to give speeches or make sure I was fed." There's a moment of silence before Winnow smirks, "So you were just the mascot?"