[ He spins to the source of the sound with a practise born of training - years spent expecting the sudden ring of combat bells, and nights laying awake expecting attack would do that to a man. Syl huddles herself a little closer to his collar, but blinks owlishly. She is invisible to most, but a scarce few - those whom she chooses to show herself to, or those with a specific sight for spirits who would otherwise remain unseen. Kaladin thinks little of it, and wishes he had his spear. Anything between himself and this stranger, and that unsettling mask of his. That sort of get-up isn't the kind any normal stranger would wear. It reeks of disguise, and the subtle grace with which the man moves hints at the art of being unseen.

This is no ordinary stranger.]

Yes.

[ Kaladin barks the short reply, lowering his stance slightly and grounding himself. He sizes himself up against his opponent even from the distance, and takes a few steps forward - carefully constructed to be confident. He gropes about in the pocket of his uniform for his knife, and finds it unsurprisingly missing. Whoever had knocked him out and taken him here had done a thorough clean out of his inventory - Storm them, whoever they were. ]

So. Are you an assassin of some kind? From the look of your outfit, I can only think that your profession. That, or a very grim looking court Wit.

[ He wasn't even sure if the man would understand the reference - while his uniform seemed disarmingly similar to the one he wore, the subtle nuances were fairly pronounced. The King's new Wit ending up here, in the middle of this strange place with no one to bother but Kaladin himself would be a cruel and unsurprisingly humourless turn of events. Things involving Wit's often were.]