Previous Gallilei, Jhereg, Schol file.
Narrator:
It's a rude shock for the men present to hear a voice coming from the dark shadows at the back of the tent. There was no one there when the meeting started, but there is certainly somebody there now. Jhereg and James both mentally remind themselves to give the sentries hell when this is over but that's for another time. Schol is more than a little surprised (irritated?) at anything being able to sneak up on him at night. Most whirl and turn towards the voice. Gallilei freezes so as not to attract attention. It's still a shock and a thing of wonder to him to be so near what could easily become a lethal situation. The fastest of rest are already starting to reach hands towards weapons.
Standing in the shadows is what must be a "shadow" morkon. Short for an elf, very short for a morkon, perhaps only three feet tall. He is partly concealed by a chest. In a three color cloak of black, very dark gray, and dark gray blotches that break up the lines of his body, he is hard to see. But the careful eye notes that there is hard leather under that cloak and cowl. The not so careful eye takes in the tiniest crossbow held high, pointed up towards the tent roof. A diminutive finger is lightly near the trigger. What little light there is glints off the metal workings of the weapon. But not off of the steel broadhead at the top of the bolt shaft.
Shadow Morkon: [clear voice, asks:]
Jhereg son of Rabban?
Narrator:
Gallilei is unaccustomed to being this close to a lethal situation. His training, his many years of experience, are all in the verbal arts. Despite the obvious, he still holds some glimmer of hope that combat can be avoided.
He steps backward one step and turns to face the Morkon. Meanwhile he addresses the Morkon in Old Elf (the closest thing they have to a common tongue). Though the words are conciliatory, no such sentiment can be found in his tone.
Gallilei:
Put That Thing Away, Young One. Surely it is needed when traversing the open range, but that is not here.
Jhereg: [speaking up boldly]
I am Jhereg, son of Rabban!
[stepping forward and to the left with arms spread to show his lack of weapons. He has a spell already running and a dagger up his left sleeve ready to throw.]
Schol: [without turning around]
Yes. What may I do for you?
James: [stepping aside to give the morkon a second target and an additional distraction]
What do you want and why are you skulking in the shadows?
Narrator:
Kel says nothing, but looks dumbfounded to find a morkon in their tent. His face reflects his utter astonishment to find a visitor in their presence. His eyes however, are not quite so bewildered as a shape seems to stir in the shadows behind the morkon. [Kel is secretly using magic to temporarily create a dog over by the morkon]
Shadow Morkon: [in High Morkon (very close to Old Elf)]
Aw, shit. Momma told me there'd be nights like this.
Stand still and be quiet, please, Ancient One; it is needful in a dangerous profession.
[in Morkon]
Damn!
Narrator:
With an economy of motion that indicates long hours of practice, the shadow morkon drops the crossbow to firing position as he whirls. Unfortunately, turning around takes a fraction too long as 90 pounds of bull mastiff hits him in the chest driving him from his feet.
With that exclamation Schol turns and leaps for the Morkon, attempting to grapple him before he teleports. The chest and the dog create problems for him at first.
Jhereg:
Grendel DOWN!
Narrator:
As he falls his crossbow discharges, the quarrel striking Grendel in the chest with an audilble thump. The dog collapses immediately whimpering in pain, too stunned to even yelp. Just as Schol reaches for the morkon, it vanishes into the air. Kel rushes forward and cradles the dying dog in his arms, his body momentarily blocking all but Schol's view. Lifting Grendel in his arms he turns to face Jhereg and begs permission to leave.
Kel: [tears in his eyes]
He is dying my lord. By your leave I would take him to my tent.
Jhereg: [gently]
By all means Kel, you may leave. Do what you can for him. He was true to his breeding.
Narrator:
As Jhereg finishes speaking, Gallilei sees, or perhaps imagines, a blurring transformation take place in the dog. But a quick glance reveals that he is looking at exactly the same dog, with the same markings. Perhaps the dog had just shifted in it's pain - Kel had certainly had to readjust his grip on the heavy dog. There is no time for further looks - Kel has hurried his dog out of the tent. It was certainly the same dog.
Gallilei sits, removes a rag from his pocket, and wipes his brow. He's disappointed in what just happened. He's convinced the Morkon intended no harm, or he would not have 'ported in with the crossbow in a safe position. Yet, he can hardly fault a guard dog for doing that which he was bred to do.
Gallilei: [thinking]
Humans......Elders......Youngsters......Druids.....now Morkons.
Gods! What have I gotten myself into?
Narrator:
A few moments later, Kel returns, obviously saddened. No one notices when his trudging, dragging stride casually thumps a small bolt with an oversized head under the table.
Kel:
He's dead, M'Lord.