[tom bombariffic]

The real gwaith-formen still stood framed in the doorway, trying to quiet down their muttering followers. They did not fully understand what had taken place, but realised that it was no laughing matter.
Aranna was their leader, and he coughed politely to gain attention. The focus of the tavern was turned to him and his companions. "we apologise for any disturbance we have caused", oblivious that he had just saved Galadel's life, "but may we be of any assistance?"
They were invited inside, while their band of followers either stood inside near the door, or looked on thriugh the windows, and there the whole story was narrated to them: of how they had been impersonated, of the imposters' deliberate choice of galadel as a helper, galadel filled in what had passed in their rehearsal.
"But who were these people?", asked Aranna.
"they left their knife!" remarked esgaltaur, second of the gwaith-formen. He bent over and picked it up. "there's a marking on the handle...but I do not understand it. I speak only common elven-tongue."
passing it to galadel, he asked "what does it mean?"
Galadel looked at the handle, and gasped.