The being that has entered the cavern is either wearing incredibly form-fitting armor, or is outright silver-skinned, with fine lines of musculature and thin white seams that have a glistening radiance. Light vapors of steam coalesce around him in a grey-white fog - given the cave's humidity, the metal must be hot enough to cook on. His build is lithe, trim and somewhat short. His face is a permanent mask of the laughing man from the classical theatrical emblem, with solid black spaces where the eyes and mouth open. He is holding a rod in his left hand that glows a bright blue, and foreshadowed his arrival by some minutes. His right hand holds a brooch in the shape of a blooming orchid. Slung over his shoulder is a worn satchel of some leather-like material. He wears no other clothing, and his legs meet at his waist in a thinly-seamed and smooth junction. His stance is surprised and non-threatening. After a second, he speaks.
"Nonna inendi da'no. So noquia nemo delli Muk'tai. Pierto i riforimento madeci, edde ile dederia per re'deri chi sussudio poso."
He has two voices, and his 'lips' don't move. One voice is set a split-second after the other, and they vary in pitch in almost a descant melody. It is quite soothing, and resonates in the spaces of the cave.
How the others react, is not of matter to the man huddled against the wall. Wrapped in a blanket, his dark hair greasy as well as his beard, untrimmed and wild. His eyes, flicker to view their newest guest. Disinterest is all that can be read in them, as if the man was watching the most irksome of drama plays yet again. While seeming to pose no threat, any who view him, get a feeling of the deepest sorts. That there sits, a vicious beast of the deadly kind, held back by a unknown, yet feeble grip. Neither hilt, handle, or blade; not even the hair that holds it aloft. This Sword of Damocles, wrapped in a dirty blanket, is of the razor sharp edge. That part of the sword, that draws the blood and cleaves the flesh. A Edge even now, looking at the man who just entered.
Whatever was said by the silver stranger, seems to cause a great stir of reaction. The four warriors with their swords drawn seem shocked, and the one with goggles turns his eyes on the cloaked individuals on the other side of the room. "Yu harkyo!," he cries in anger, raising his sword.
Before he is even in position, a knife flies from the hand of the cloaked man, cutting along the goggled man's neck. A nonlethal wound that a few inches to the right would have killed the man. "Pera ila vostri aiuto, peradonari questi." Already another knife is visible in his hand. "Ili mia temamenio conosci i domito." The goggled man steps back, sword fallen to the ground, and hand at his neck, covering the wound. The others all look to him, and lower their swords slightly.
The cloaked man rises and faces the silver man. He eyes the orchid shaped jewelry, and speaks in heavily accented Thari. "Guildsman, I do not know what deal you have struck with my Lord, but your arrival is welcome. I am Ariaric, and this," he says with a slight nod to his companion, "is Elisyin. Our third companion is badly injured. Any supplies you have brought would be a great help."
The silver-skinned being moved back a hair when the man cried out in anger - but did not flinch as the situation played itself out. He waited patiently for the tribesmen to resolve their conflict, and then spoke to Ariaric, again in their own tongue.
"Quie li m'dizzina chi tra sporti." He opens his satchel, deposits the orchid brooch inside, and withdraws a small case which he hands to Ariaric. "Habilite 'sando seavuto besonno de, ma dibo rafredidari le mi pelli adun temperaturi pio rajionivalo. Chido chi perdinato ilsi a viostra sensia chi ra chometto avostri faverore." He then takes a large clear cylinder from his satchel and unscrews a small stopper at one end. He then upends the large flask over his body, and a small cloud of steam immediately blasts from the point of impact. He covers his arms, his chest and his head in the liquid, and completely drains the flask as he brings his surface temperature down to a high degree of warmth - but it no longer radiates the heat it once did. He continues to address Ariaric.
"Il mi nom ei Laughing Boy. Sonqui rendrere el sussudio v'oi edala vestro gienti, comma pos vagiare im Ghenesh sienza paricolia. Ile Muk'tai haa acctetati le mi offreta liberia del sussudio avai. Sae pesso esaminiari la prisona fareti - Ul, ei? - protei eaiutare ne trattimiente de suaferatos."
He slightly turns his face to examine the man in the blanket, but does not comment to him directly, and he returns his facing to Ariaric after a second.
As the water sizzles off of the silver man's skin, the four tribal warriors look on in open eyed shock. The two with their swords pointed at the stranger step back. "Valshi..." the woman whispers.
Ariaric seems only slightly disturbed by sight of the wasted water. He takes the medical case from Laughing Boy and almost drops it, the residual heat apparently burning his hands, even through his gloves. He quickly deposits it on the ground, nearby his wounded comrade.
"The speech of your people is best, Laughing Boy," he says pausing at the stranger's name. "Our words are our own, and not for other ears. Their leader," he says, looking briefly towards the man he threw the knife at, "speaks only a few words, and this one," he says gesturing to the man in the blanket, "I do not think he will share our words with the sand lost." As Ariaric speaks, Elisyin opens the hot case of supplies. The inside does not appear to be as hot as the outside, as she quickly starts sorting through the supplies.
The dirty man in the blanket arise from his place, to make his way back to what must have been his abandon meal before their newest guest arrived. Both non-threatening, and non-caring, his eyes empty of concern to what the others are up too... But that's also a lie, waving the other wounded man over after picking up his bowl. As if, thinking to treating his wound on the man's neck.
Laughing Boy watches the man in the blanket go back to his meal, and wave over to the knife-wounded man. He seems to note it and then turns his attention to the burned man.
"I see - we shall speak in Thari then. I have one more flask of water that can be used to treat the man." He takes a second flask from the satchel and sets it next to the medical supply kit. "I believe the material of the flask will be safe to touch, at least carefully." He drops to his haunches and looks over the burned man. "I am in communication with the Muk'tai even now - is this Ul?" He looks up at Ariaric. "Do you have a message for the Muk'tai? I can act as a go-between to facilitate a conversation." He looks back down, apparently seeing if he can assist Elisyin in the treatment.
Still wrapped in the blanket, his hands a bit bloody from his examination of the wounded man he named "Outher." Tying off the rag he used to bandage it, listening to Laughing Boy and the others. Or more to it, allowing them to notice him listening and understanding the words they trade. Adding his, only once their eyes are on him."Tis a waste of supplies... the man will die."
Laughing Boy turns to address the strange man wrapped in the blanket.
"I think you will find that there is much that can be survived, if hope is not abandoned, sir." He gets up from his crouch and turns to face the man fully. "But why do you say this? Did you cause the man's wounds? Do you wish him dead?" His voice is querulent, but has a tone of slight suspicion to it.
"Neither, I merely state a fact." The Blanket Man replies, uninitiated by the stares or the threats within."As for hope, she is a cup that rarely holds the water she promises."
Laughing Boy's hand moves to rub his chin briefly, and then returns. "Well, I can only say that I have experience that people have recovered from worse states than his. If he recovers, it will be because he has hope - a quality you seem to have let slip away from you, sir." His head cants slightly angled, and his face is entirely aimed at the Blanket Man (and since he has no eyes, that is the only indication of where his focus lies).
"How do you come by this situation, if I may ask? Naked, bearing only a poor man's blanket for clothing, and trapped here in a cave from which you cannot leave until nightfall." He looks to the warrior he had been speaking with earlier - Ariaric. "Is this man a prisoner here?"
The wounded man hesitates for a moment but moves over to the man in the blanket, though he keeps his eyes on Ariaric and Laughing Boy.
Elisyin hesitantly takes the flask of water from Laughing Boy, smiling half heartily at him. She removes the cork and takes a small sip, as though to test it before giving some to the wounded man. She seems nervous with his proximity as the metal man attempts to aid her in the treatment of the wounded man.
"No prisoner of mine." Ariaric responds. "The sand lost claim to found Conall in the sands - another victim of the storm." He looks down at the man on the ground and at Elisyin. "It... it is he.. Ulame. His wounds are severe, and the sands may still claim him." He looks briefly at Conall, but without hate or malice... perhaps with a touch of understanding. There is reluctance in his voice. "He is favored in my lord's court, and I do wish to suffer for his death."
"You are in communication? How?" Ariaric asks of Laughing Boy, looking perplexed. He quickly shakes his head and waves a hand in dismissal. "It does not matter. Send a message that we are here, awaiting sun fall."
After appearing to satisfy himself that his attention to the wounded man is causing more harm than good to the treatment, he turned to face Conall and the conversation ensued.
Laughing Boy now nods to Ariaric. "The situation is known to them as we speak, and I will hear their advice on the matter. They may wish me to return with Ulame immediately, but I do not yet know this." He turns back to Conall. "You are merely here as a bystander, seeking shelter from the storm? Or was it through the storm that you arrived?" His voice bears no suspicion now - merely a powerful curiosity of an abstract bent.
"You forgot to ask, did I cause the storm." Conall answers, amused about the line of questioning. His eyes, still hard fall upon the damaged soul, even now Elisyin and Ariaric are trying to save."They found me in the desert, half dead. So I do own them some small debt." He rises his eyes to Laughing Boy."Unlike you..."
At this last from Conall, Laughing Boy actually throws back his head and laughs. His two voices ring through the echoing spaces of the cavern, and for all anyone might know, a chorus might be laughing - but it is merely one entity that brays and chortles. He manages to pull himself together, but random chatter from throughout the cavern continues for a second - a haunt of bitter echoes.
"I assure you, sir, that I too once came through storm and fire - far more terrible than you can ever know. I too was aided at the time of my uttermost need. I am indebted to those who did so as to never be able to repay it in full." He looks about him. "But to Ariaric and his people, however - I do not offer my aid because I am indebted. I serve in this stead because I can, and because I choose to. I know it to be good to do so."
He turns away from Conall now, his body language dismissive. "You are absolutely correct, Mister Conall. You owe me nothing. Should that be all you offer, I will of course base my further opinions of you - and my suspicions - on the parsimony of information you have provided. I also owe you nothing - and at thus have you left it." His attention is once again on Ariaric, Elisyin and Ulame.
Conall just sits there for the whole speech, his eyes revealing nothing but bored of the moment. Yet, as his eyes drop to the bowl, the same bored is there. Its not the strange man's words, the cave, or meal.... its the bored that comes to someone, that has more important things to do. Laughing Boy's words rolling off Conall as if he was a duck, and they where just a sprinkle of water. A smile comes to Conall's lips, more sinister then merry."And the Universe, what does it owe you?" He asks, a gleam of interest within his hard eyes to the answer.
He looks over his shoulder at Conall's reply. "Nothing, good sir. I think you will find that the Universe keeps its books current - take a look at your own situation if you doubt that."
With that, Conall chuckles, very amused."This is nothing... a single note in the whole of a opera." Shaking his head, in wonder of it all.
Ariaric and the others remain quiet, observing the dialogue between outsiders. The wounded man on the floor coughs once, and then a second time. Spasms seize his body as he desperately seeks air. Elisyin seeks to help, but her skill appears to be more with the taking of life, rather than its saving.
Laughing Boy sighs, but then his stance becomes more serious and determined as his attention turns to Ulame's throes of pain. "Our discussion of fate and your history must wait for another day - I am derelict in my task." He turns to Ariaric. "Ferminfex and the Muk'tai have requested me to bring Ulame to them immediately. Please, stand aside." He stoops to take Ulame's motionless form in his arms.
Ariaric focuses his eyes on Laughing Boy. "Cias form... The sun still burns. You may be able to survive its heat Guild but it will claim our lives. We shall leave when the sand is cool."
Laughing Boy nods to Ariaric as he gently lifts Ulame's body.
"The Muk'tai understands the situation. I look forward to meeting you again, either this evening or in the future, when you can return home." And with that, he turns back once more to the stranger.
"While you, I suspect, will have a hard time returning home - wherever that might be and whatever you might think it is. But if you wish it, my house is always open. Travel to the City of Amber, and look in the Guild Quarter for my villa. I would welcome an opportunity to learn more of you and your 'grand opera'." He emits a light chuckle. "I am indeed quite an opera buff."
And then he begins to sparkle with a rainbow shimmer of energy, and his left hand reaches forward into a small ball of white energy.
Conall doesn't smile or even frown. Only the hard stare from dead eyes are Laughing Boy's answer to his offer. Wherever Conall will take him up on his offer is debatable... but the word 'home' brought no stirring as if, it wasn't that important to the man seat on the earth.
Even as Laughing Boy picks up the wounded Ul, Ariaric and Elisyin seem to tense. When the rainbow shimmer of Trump begins, Ariaric leaps forward, his blade flowing gracefully to his hand while his voice unleashes a fury to the ears, "Valshi raito!" Elisyin leaps along the cold rock ground to grapple the metal man's feet. The remaining tribesman in the cave are not as quick, but hold their weapons ready, watching to see which direction the battle will swing.
The blanketed man moves, a cat springing into action. The wrentching cracking sound of bone fills the small cave as Conall's foot meets the unguarded back of Elisyin's knee - a weak spot in her plated armor. His movements are quick and precise as he bounds forward, his hand seeking a opening in Ariaric's black armor. He finds his spot under Ariaric's arm, though the blow is not sufficient to break bone, but causes his blade to fly to the stone floor.
There is a rainbow glow, and the body of Ul, in the metal man's arms, vanishes, transported through the Trump. Laughing Boy kicks away at Elisyin, and leaps over her by her shoulders. In her newly weakened position, he pins her arms behind her, whispering words in her ears. Ariaric twists away, despite his arm injury, and faces his adversaries, a knife in his good hand.
Conall falls back, trading space for the lost surprise. With an almost playful grin on his lips that borders on the feral, he says, "I could have killed her, as well as you." His body stays low to the ground, balanced on his heels. "Snapped her neck like a chicken's," Conall growls. "Best we just end this here before someone truly becomes hurt," he suggests.
Laughing Boy whispers something into Elisyin's ear, before releasing her and stepping back. The armored woman collapses to one knee, but remains silent. Ariaric glances at her and then at Conall, paying little attention to his weakened comrade. "Devilry of Amber, your cunning exceeds legend." His eyes flick back and forth between Conall and Laughing Boy, though his attention seems more focused on the former. "Where is my prince? What have you done to him? Our deaths and his theft will bring the hellstorm of the desert upon you." He seems panicked and nervous, his voice lacking the conviction of his threats. Panicked enough, perhaps, to make a foolish mistake.
There is a hunger in the eyes of the tribesmen. The one who had been wounded steps forward, his hand moving toward a blade, his eyes fixated on Ariaric. He seems a wild beast, now free of his cage, eyes on his captor.
Laughing Boy's twin singing voice emanates forth from his silver form, focusing on Ariaric, though he seems to speak to all in the room. "Ulame ora e sicari - dai voit e dai tutro l'altro chia loc nuocerebbei. Ho spiro luc vi allia consetrozi dela Muk'tai, ho ditto chet. Non loi ho rubaro, mai piuttorI gli ho rinviatro a sicurezzia. E les vostra corto non sonro sullie mia might, ne su suba," and with this, he turns his head briefly towards Conall, but continues to speak primarily to Ariaric. "Sei avvertira l'esigeozi piu utegiormeze assolirci uni, disvonete lei voistra priprie vice nela prericola."
Ariaric seems unsure of himself, and he lowers his weapon as he speaks. "This is no Guild science. Bring us to him." The others in the room seem more apprehensive, and their wounded leader, raises his hand slightly to hold them back. Elisyin, whose leg is clearly crippled, slides away from Laughing Boy slightly, and towards Ariaric.