The follower by now had gotten up, the fire beginning to burn away the armor on his body, soon to be his skin. When it- he- the leader, spoke, it radiated a certain power, and the fire burned brighter. The follower was oddly still compared to the convulsing it had done before. [i]Nyet- Language? Speaking grounds? I have encountered your kind before. Me, somewhere else, some other time. Yumans, you are called, star hunters with little power but infinite potential. [/i] It seemed that the leader knew how to speak the language, something sure to be helpful in the conversation. With every word, a pained expression entered the follower's face, and a chunk of his bone like armor fell off. He remained still.