[centre] Niraph [/centre]

The Elder shook visibly, and not just from the cold. The demon in front of him was huge, at least twice the size of himself. He could crush him like a beetle if he wanted to.
The Fomorii went for its blade, and every Naqar who could see gasped, except the Elder. He merely waited. He had lived a good life - his town had prospered, he had witnessed the birth of the current, and one of the greatest, leader of Naqah. He had repulsed Wildling after Wildling. It would be a fitting and noble death to die at the hands of a warrior.
But, instead of cutting the comparitively minute elf down, the Demon's leader simply studied the walls.

Was he looking for something? Prying for weakness? Not likely. A creature of his size and strength could level or scale the wall with ease, regardless of its weak and strong points. Was he judging it? Maybe.
Then, laughter. A low chuckle at first, slowly rising to a hearty laugh. Some of the soldiers behind the big one started to laugh too.
 The Elder was insulted. Were they laughing at his village? The same village that had sheltered him since birth, the village his great-great whatever grandfather had helped build, the village that had kept... most of its residents safe. He shuddered. Could it really have been sixteen years since the raid? It seemed like it was only a couple of months ago.

Anyway, the monsters seemed visiblly more relaxed and less angry. It could be a good sign, that they thought the town wasn't worth their time. Or, it could mean they thought they could take it with ease and didn't need to look so intimidating. Which, in fairness, they could.

The foriegner spoke his alien language. It was strange. Whilst some words sounded familiar - he definately heard what sounded like "old man" with an accent - but some parts were completely different. One word sounded like "apples" - what relevance would that have to anything?

Many of the guards started to look a little antsy. Some lowered their bows, others took the arrow out. One even lost his grip and fired an arrow into the dirt in front of the gates - far away enough to look like a misfire, surely.

And, of course, the beast's voice was petrifying. It was like a giant shaved bear that hates people mixed with rabid tiger with a thing for torture. There were gentle hints to the voice, but it was terrifying nonetheless.

As the creature - the Elder was now certain it was a General or Captain or some similiar rank - issued orders to its followers, the Elder felt he should do the same. He raised a flat, upwards palm in the air, holding it for a few seconds, then lowered all fingers but the ring - an impossible feat for many other races - which meant "stand down". At this, the guards relaxed. Some laughed. Others began crying with relief. Soon, they were herding the civillians back into their homes, or returning to the barracks, until only a few remained.

Oddly, the Captain and his unit then bowed. It was a strange sight - here, bows were reserved for only the most important people, and even High Lord Lyrus had gone on record to say he felt silly when people bowed to him.

The Elder began to return the favour, but stopped. Presumably, these were expierienced, well trained soldiers who had seen many battles. They deserved more than a copy of what they were doing.
Instead, the Elder put his right fist over his heart and made a a shallow bow. It was barely even a bow, more a slight dip of the upper back, but it was the highest complement one could give a warrior in Naqah culture.

Whatever the Captain wanted wasn't present, it seemed, so some of the soldiers left, presumably to fetch it. The big one said something that sounded like an apology, though for what the Elder was unsure.

No-one said anything for a while. The old elf thought about inviting them in, but that was asking for trouble. The few guards that were watching lost interest, leaving to go do their other duties. The Elder was on his own, bar the Chosen, who remained at the wall.

When the Demons came back, they brought a new one with them. Unlike he others, he was fully clothed in an old-style chiton, one of the ones with sleeves. He looked like... he couldn't have been...
He was! The doctor had been right! The creature was some mix of Naqar and Fomorii!
The look in his eyes confirmed it - it was the look of a man who was finally returning home. Whilst he looked similiar to one of the Fomorii, there were distinct differances between the two, most notably the paler skin and tapered ears. But it was impossible! 
But it wasn't impossible, because it was standing right in front of him. Suddenly, the old elf was a lot more scared of these creatures.
The Elder was in so much shock, he missed the talk between the Captain and the Naqorii - he lacked the right word for it - but heard the translation. It was hardly modern syntax, but it would do.

"My greetings, Nemrod." he spluttered, holding back a smile that played on his lips when the Naqorii called Nemrod "the big demonic one". Three hundred years and the language was still interchangable. It was almost like mispronouncing modern Naqah, with a few grammatical errors. Of course, it helped that the education system was so simplistic - learn to understand words, use them. It meant no-one had the linguistic know-how to make major changes.

The Elder sighed, knowing that the boat would be top priority, but he could hardly tell them that there were only three left. Maybe they would understand. Or maybe they'd raze the town to the ground in fury. 
They couldn't walk, he remembered the healer had said, so they would have to come inside. It wasn't optimum, but... no, there was nothing else to it. It was bad either way, but this was worse. He might smash a few pots, break some bottles or even kill the healer.
"General, I have some bad news. If you would care to come inside, there is something I need to show you..."
The Elder stopped and smacked his head. Of course, Nemrod wouldn't fit through the relitavely small doors, heck, he'd struggle to get through the gate.
"Perhaps" he said, after some consideration "You would be best sending in someone you trust. I don't think you'd fit through the doors."
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[center] Niraph, Healer's office [/center]
"Just try to relax." The doctor finished off, stood up and mumbled. "Call me if you need anything."
Suddenly, he left the bedside to sit at a desk opposite the beds. He started playing with some plants and chemicals, trying different formulas and ingredients. He worked in total silence. 
It was a sudden and abrupt change in the man who was normally so friendly and reassuring. He usually stayed at the bedside until he thought the Demonrexa were asleep. 

There was an detectable sense of secrecy in the air, like the healer knew something that would affect the Succubus wildly. It wasn't that she was dying - the old doctor had made comments on her remarkable recovery speed previously, and had told her and the others that the wounds were far from fatal. Regardless, the mood suddenly turned anti-social and dark. The normally spacious medic's officefelt cramped, the typically loose blankets began to feel tight and the temprature seemed to drop a few degrees.