The potential danger was right in their midst.  He certainly looked dangerous to Shel, tall and weighty, oddly clothed, masked, faintly glowing.  All tended to be tell tale signs of trouble.  There was also the story he told of himself, explaining that you both were and were not responsible for the murder of 200 villagers, that also tended to be a tell tale sign of trouble.

But what was a Halfling to do?

Rintor and Rhen had began a vote in regard to just what to do with their stowaway.  Shel was pretty sure from the way she was looking at him that the changeling had a list of ideas that was growing by the moment.  But before much could come of that the Mithra Esalia had dashed in and been restrained by Rintor, preventing an encounter that may well have led to the death of incapacitation of one or the other.

With the battle momentarily delayed and the relative safety provided by having three of their number quite close indeed to the threat with a fourth providing bow and arrow cover Shel figured he really ought to do something.

His sling and his butcher knife weren't particularly threatening, but Shel wasn't very good at being threatening in general.  Wasn't much good for much of anything in combat, good thing then it hadn't come to combat just yet.  He tottered over waving gaily despite the awkwardness.

"Hello Victor the Crimson Marauder, hello Argor the Destroyer," he said to the stowaway, "I'm Shel the Halfling," looking uncomfortable and pointedly out of his depth he reached into his bag and pulled forth his mighty weapon with a flourish, "Would you care for some Traggot?  It's a Dwarfen delicacy, boiled wolf hide."