Time becomes a blur, events become disconnected. Toiling away within her morbid workshop, Nil finds herself drenched in blood and gore. Fending off faceless assassins, Nil finds herself drenched in blood and gore. Hiding beneath a table or balled up in a corner, Nil finds herself drenched in blood and gore. Occasionally some of the others will come to visit and they'll have pleasant conversations while she is drenched in blood and gore. Other times she finds herself within the arms of her father as he comforts her to sleep, probably still drenched in blood and gore. Blinding light fills the workshop and Nil rolls off of a table into the massive hand of a flesh golem. The hulking construct is dark armor and bulging tendons, eyes hidden beneath a large helmet. It helps her to a chair and Nil examines herself.  All but her black shirt and trousers have been discarded beneath a table, but she is thankfully no longer drenched in blood and gore. Scanning the workshop Nil notes the absence of other corpses. The tables are cleaned save for two covered in papers. Even the bones are gone aside from the dangling effigies above. The elevator doors open and Balen slowly approaches with a familiar wine bottle and two glasses. The bottle is half full of wine alchemically mixed with blood to allow vampires to enjoy the taste without projectile vomiting after the fact. His own concoction, Nil never cared about the finer aspects and privileges of nobility. "How you feeling today, kiddo?" The reassuring smile he wears is a mask to hide his concern, and it sickens her. "Parched," she rasps through cracked lips. Placing the glasses upon a nearby table, Balen pours a small amount into each and hands one to her. Nil snatches and shoots it back then holds it out with a look that says 'dude seriously?' "Let's take it slow, okay?" Setting the glasses and bottle aside, Balen takes a seat. "Where's Winnow?" Nil speaks first. Normally the two would be together, sometimes with Sal or Gorlok, though they're often busy elsewhere. "Upstairs, still sour after you tried to kill her when last she visited," his eyes scrutinize Nil's every move, "You've tried to kill me several times aswell. Thankfully, the Pact prevented you from inflicting killing blows." "Sorry." "You've apologized several times aswell," smiling sadly, "I've lost more suits to that liquid rot you weep than the hails of bone shards you summon." "Is that where they all went?" Gesturing to the mostly clean and tidy workshop with one hand, Nil reaches for the bottle with the other. Balen slides it out of reach and pours a bit more for her. "No, you pulled them from your own body," he grimaces, then looks to the hulking flesh golem, "I'd assumed everything else went into your construct. Which you had the forethought to instruct it protect others from yourself aswell, if that brings you comfort." The construct gives a small bow, massive arm rising across its broad chest, and Balen returns the gesture. The familiarity of the display along with his practiced words and caution give Nil pause. "How many times have we had this conversation?" "A few. You've been in and out for a little over a month," through the growing buzzing in her ears Nil faintly hears him continue, "You haven't been murderous in nearly a week and have steadily become more coherent each night. Nero must have-" Darkness grows around Nil's sight as she tries to recall the meeting, then a sharp tone and a headache causes her to jump. "It's okay, everything's fine," calmly, Balen folds his hands upon his lap, "We don't have to talk about that." "Gods, the tension in here is strangling me. Wipe that expression off your face before I do it for you, I've had my fill of pity thank you ever so much sir!" Nil stumbles from the chair she had stood upon and the construct catches then sets her back down. "To business then, my lady," he fakes a smile and mockingly raises his glass. -blam!- the bottle and clinks it before taking a big sip as he continues, "You've mentioned a note you've written, but approaching your workplace usually activates murder mode, and it's all written in dead script that none of us could read." Pinching her brow, Nil pushes through the pain and stumbles towards one of the tables strewn with chicken scratch and diagrams, settling on the one that makes her head hurt more to think about. Written in the dead and forgotten tongue of her mother's people it reads; [i]Do not read this aloud. Our name is Annilese Arynezeal Volariden, named for our father's mother and our mother's mother. Eldest of five children.[/i] A few details only she and Balen would know, but he barely understands the spoken language. Nil hasn't thought of her siblings in ages, atleast three periods of a thousand years each, and Nil has crawled under a table at some point. Balen watches her solemnly and she fakes a smile, "Eyes were sore. Too bright." "Of course." He responds with a slow, enabling nod. The letter continues; [i]Trust my written words and no one else, not even yourself. Nero has given us the locations of the Lady Unknown, who has allied with Eddie, and the drow assassins.[/i] Instructions to said locations are written aswell, then the letter continues as Nil picks dead skin from her lips; [i]Demand to be present in exchange for this intel. Tell them they will require your arcane expertise and that too much is at stake. Watch all of them closely. I've left further instruction within the black notebook with the violet ribbon. Keep it on your person. I've converted the pockets of our trousers into extra dimensional storage. Hopefully you are not too addled to recall how a Bag of Holding functions. Do not turn out the pockets, I've placed twenty skeletons within each of them. DO NOT TRY TO RECALL LOST TIME. Hugs and kisses, You-But-Stronger.[/i] Rising quickly Nil hits her head on the table, then crawls out and rummages through the remaining papers until she finds the book. "I have the locations of two key targets," she announces. Balen raises a brow and a slight smile begins to form, then fades as Nil adds, "and I must be present when we strike." "Annie you're-" "Please don't call me that." "-not well." "I've recovered faster than the last time all those..." Nil trails off searching for the right word. Time is funny. "That this happened again shows you never truly recovered," Balen produces his phone and begins texting, shooing her away to get a signal, "The others can handle it. You should rest." "They'll need my magic touch." Nil wiggles her fingers, the nails have been bitten short, "If they get zapped to ash we're boned." "And if you have another episode?" "Then Gorlok can kill me," Nil slips into her boots and begins to tie the laces, "Should warm him up to the idea." "Hold a moment," looking up from his phone, "you mean to go now?" "It's been a month, they could have moved on by now," sliding the book into her cloak, Nil glides past him to the elevator. "You've spent months hiding away down here. What changed?" "I don't want to go, but I was very adamant with myself and I trust me. I think." "Gorlok won't like this." "Gorlok doesn't like anything." "True, but Winnow and Sal vouch for you," putting the phone in his coat pocket, Balen looks up to her and Nil sees all the centuries he's lived, the stress and worry, the loss and pain. Nil leans down, bottle in hand, and wraps her arms around him. "Thank you for all you've done, uncle," she feels his hand on her back and his shoulders fall, then stiffen once more and she pulls away to find blood welling at the corners of his eyes. "Stay safe kiddo," Balen smiles, wiping the tears away. The elevator doors slide open and the two step inside.