[b]Southern Coast of Naqah, Niraph[/b]

At the mention of a single, solitary old man jumping off the town wall and walking up to them, visibily shaking, Warmaster Nemrod came up to meet him. The old Naqah was tiny in comparison to the Warmaster, who stood almost 14 feet into the air, being Nephilim, and a tall one no less. He stared down at the baby-sized elder, regarding him eye-to-eye as he spoke in his strange language, his words quivering with uncontrollable fear, still with hatred in his eyes for whomever had taken his soldiers, his eyes visibly shimmering with red. Resting his left hand on his sword handle, he took a gaze at the town walls.

'Pitiful' was the word he would use to describe it. A Nephilim could easily scale it as if it was a fence, except that they won't need to, for it seemed as if a single ram from a few Nephilim would bring the 'wall' down. Then there were the guards, who were all huddling together in a rough formation on the walls, more out of fear and the cold than discipline. Nemrod lifted his sword slightly out of its sheathe threateningly with his left hand, as if about to break the elder apart... Except that it was merely a habit. A veteran serving with him long enough would know that it meant Nemrod was merely thinking. After taking another look at the town's defenses, the giant Nephilim could not help but to chuckle. It became a hearty belly laughter. Some of the soldiers in the rank and file caught on, and could not help but to laugh either. To anyone unfamiliar with the Daemonrexa, Nemrod's laughter would seem deep and demented. Most importantly, the red glow in his eyes disappeared.

Then he began to consider the old man's words, and decided it had nothing to do with the military. "I fear that I cannot understand your words, old man." The Nephilim boomed, trying to be as gentle as possible, though with a foreigner who had never seen a Daemonrexa, much less of the Nephilim kind before, it may well be out of his ability. As his Overseers began to gather behind him, the Nephilim Warmaster gave a loud, bellowing order: "I need a translator! Find one amongst my men who could speak the region's tongue, and bring him to me! Go back to the ships if it is necessary!"

As Nemrod's Overseers went away to carry out their Master's bidding, The Warmaster decided that the town was of no threat - or at least it was of no immediate threat. Should there be an ambush within, well, the Warmaster would handle it then, but for the time being, the Warmaster decided to treat the situation as one of diplomacy, or if to fall into an ambush was their destiny, at least give the impression that they suspected nothing.

While Warmaster Nemrod was no diplomat, he knew the simplest aspects of the job well enough, having been present when the colonies were created. Putting a hoof behind another, the Warmaster bowed low to the shivering elder. Out of respect for the Warmaster, the entire half-legion bowed lower on a warrior's kneel: one knee to the ground and weapon to the floor, supporting, be it a spear, sword blade, bow or ballista. Only those with chains or smaller weapons need not carry out the last part.

When the Warmaster rose, so did the half-legion. Then there were shouts from the Overseer throughout the ranks, calling for translators of the local region. Daemonrexa were either shaking their heads or reporting a negative. A number of soldiers were ordered to go back to the ship to find a translator. Nemrod gave a great sigh. "I apologise for making you wait, exalted ambassador." He said to the old man.

Despite the quickness of the soldiers, it took ten minutes before the party sent back to the galleys came back. A very strange Daemonrexa was trotting up towards the old Naqah, one that was wearing clothing familiar to the Naqah, even if outdated. He was a Daemonrexiac who was once Naqah, and he was wearing an old-fashioned Chiton made of materials local to the Daemonrexa- Snow silk. Despite having changed dramatically from his acceptance of Saten's gift, he still resembled a Naqah, even if slightly, but it was enough for anyone to recognise it.

Nemrod took a single look at the Daemonrexiac, and could tell immediately that he was a paid oarsman, and one that had served a few years at that, for he was neither completely a stranger, nor too well known amongst the marines and crew of the galleys. The Naqah Daemonrexiac, upon setting his eyes upon the old elder Naqah, was stunned. He could not believe his ears at first that they had reached Naqah shores again, but the sight of one of his former kind confirmed it. His mouth hanged loose as he was at a loss for words.

"Oarsman, I require your knowledge of these people's tongue. Could you do as I order?" Warmaster Nemrod asked, his voice loud as usual.

"Y-yes. My words will be old and cobwebbed, but I will try, my Master." The Naqah Daemonrexiac said in Daemonrexa.

"Very well." The Warmaster then turned to the elder, "I am Warmaster Nemrod of the 5th Naval Legion, serving the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes under the eminence of Sovereign Drengard."

"The enormous demonic one says that his name be Nemrod, and Imperial General he is of the 5th Naval Legion, servants of the Free Republic of Devaldis-Spes, ruled by High Lord Drengard." The Naqah Daemonrexiac translated roughly Nemrod's words into Naqah, visibly lacking a number of terms which he quickly filled in with the closest he knows. Furthermore, his Naqah was outdated by nearly three centuries. He was speaking in Old Naqah!

"I am in search of my missing marines and oarsmen, and the pirates who ambushed them." Nemrod continued, and paused as the Naqah Daemonrexiac translated, "I saw the filthy human pirate corpses mounted on sticks at the beach, and the burnt ship that was my galley. It lead me to believe that you are holding the people I am responsible for."

"I need an answer immediately. Deliver them to us unharmed, and we will not turn the town over looking for them. Cooperate, and the rewards of your obedience to our humble demands may yet be great and without end, for my people are expanding their reach, and since we have never met your people, agreements could be reached and friendship fostered. Many benefits could be had. I myself will convince our dearest leaders to reach out to your kind." Nemrod said, pausing once in a while for the Naqah Daemonrexiac to translate.

"If you wish to ignore our woes and needs, we will still have to search the town, and I fear that we may have to demolish some buildings and kill some of your kind before we are done. A Daemonrexa's life is precious, and each of us is dear to many of us. I will do whatever it takes to save those I am responsible for. What will your answer be?" Nemrod said, his diplomatic caution slipping a few times due to the lack of formal training. When he and the translator is done, Nemrod and the entire half-legion waited for an answer.

---

Shenda found the Healer, or any Naqah for that matter, socially awkward and unpolished. The guard who saved her, for example, would not give himself over and be intimate with her even when she could tell very easily that he wanted very much to. And the stares she had thus far received, she had lost count. But it mattered little to her at the moment, as pain flared throughout the body as she drunk the bottle of foul smelling liquid as she believed the Healer instructed and endured the pain throughout her body as the Healer cleaned her.

Shenda felt a little faint and tired. After all, she had not slept the previous night, and she could feel a cold coming on. The medicine was awful, and her wounds would likely take weeks to fully heal, and that would be with the best doctors in Devaldis-Spes. "Thank you." She said in her own language, lacking the word for it in Naqah. With a weak, trembling hand, she stroked the Healer's arm, a shadow of what gratitude she could have shown if she was healthy.

The Healer had said more, but she could not exactly understand his words. With what little she understood, she thought he mentioned home. It seemed like he was comforting her. Shenda smiled a weak at the doctor as he was almost done.