The morning of the Spring Market Festival dawns grey and cool, the last clouds from yesterday’s rains still wandering slowly eastward, but the golden sun creeping over the horizon promises warmth and light in the hours to come. The small village of Phaendar wakes with the brightening morning, its small handful of streets beginning to fill with merchants, travelers, farmers, and all the many tradesfolk who have assembled to sell and buy, swap and bargain. The large oval that is the Market Green in the town’s center – fully half the size of the entire town, close to 75 yards across its longest stretch – quickly accumulates wagons, tents, carts, and stalls of all shapes and sizes, along with food vendors, entertainers, shouting children, strolling sweethearts, bemused grandparents, and more.
This is the raucous setting in which you find yourselves on this Starday, the first day of Gozran. As you too walk the streets and alleys of Phaendar and its market festival, you see old friends, long-standing rivals, and strangers aplenty, all going about their lives in this sudden bloom of prosperity. While commerce aplenty happening in the Market Green, the festival events in the surrounding town are largely focused on four locations: the Phaendar Trading Company, which seems to be acting as a central clearinghouse of information on who and what can be found where in the festival and the Market Green, in addition to doing a brisk business in its own right; the Taproot Inn, which has offered its hospitality to many of the town’s visitors, and which is currently hosting an outdoor stage where a Varisian woman in exotic-looking silks and shawls is singing and dancing before a rapt audience; the Riverwood Shrine, where the faithful can offer their prayers to Desna, Erastil, the Green Faith or any other good- or neutral-aligned deity, and where the well-known Caydenite priestess (and ex-Chesnardo Ranger) called Aubrin the Green is demonstrating her archery skills to an ooh-ing and aah-ing crowd; and Oreld’s Fine Shop, an otherwise unremarkable alchemist’s shop that is home – today and tomorrow only! – to local celebrity Wee Patterson, the Tiniest Aurochs, a miniature aurochs the size of a large dog who acts as the Market Festival’s pint-sized mascot. A sketch artist sit nearby, charging 1 gp for a ten-minute charcoal sketch of you and Wee Patterson together, a memento you will no doubt treasure forever!
As Raska looked out over the Market Green he heaved a great sigh. While the others were enjoying themselves, he had work to do. Sure he would stop by and chat for a few moments, but as past years have shown, the Market Fair is an invaluable source of information. He fingered through his small leather-bound book and found a fresh page and pulled the quill from behind his ear. He closed it into the book, marking the page, and then set off to his first tent.
He waited patiently until the merchants were done with their sale and then approached with an easy grin, ”Hello folks and welcome to the Market Festival. I’m Raska Edan and I oversee the effort of managing Phaendar’s bandit problem. I just have a few questions for you if you have a moment?”
Once they acquiesce, he continues, ”Great, now did you encounter any trouble on the road? If so, if you could provide me any information on the occurrence it would make my job a lot easier. Where it took place, time of day, any physical descriptions, what they took, any information you could provide would be of great help.” He flashes a toothy grin and waits with his quill poised above the blank page of his book.
While stories have trolls living under bridges, Phaendar actually had a naiad living under theirs.
Her hair still dripping with water from the river, Calliae strolled into town. To the locals she was a normal sight, many there grew up in the knowledge there was one of the fey living among them, but for many visitors she was a strange sight. Calliae just waved and nodded politely when some newcomers gawked at her.
She moved directly to Oreld's shop, patting Wee Patterson on the head as she passed him. "Good morning Oreld. How are things?" Without any hesitation she sat down her soggy backpack and pulled out a small packet of local herbs and a tiny leather pouch before she sat to work. Macerating herbs, adding boiling water and drawing extracts in order to create her herbal poultices.
“Tha’s right, Felix. Show off your shtrips,” Quinn Fainlor smirked to himself the skunk strutted through the crowd. That was one benefit from having a skunk for a familiar: need to get through a crowd? Once glance at Felix and people would practically trip over each other to clear a path. Of course, Quinn made sure to keep a few feet between the two of them. All it would take is one clumsy oaf and he'd be bathing in tomato juice again. Gods he hated tomatoes.
As he walked he caught sight of Calliae, the water get, and kept a watchful eye until she was out of his view. He didn't have anything personal against the lass. He just had a deep seated distrust of Fey, in general.
Quinn paused to watch Aubrin loose an arrow, “She’s quite good, eh?” He nudged a man that he did not recognize. The man seemed to ignore him and so Quinn shrugged and turned to walk away. Just in time to see Felix putting considerable distance between them, “You shtinkin’ fur cap! Wait for me.”
He managed to catch up just as Felix came to the Taproot Inn. The skunk brushed against a few legs and made its way to the front of the crowd with Quinn in tow.
“Oh, I shee, you perverted polecat. Have you no-” Quinn trailed off as he watched the Varisian woman dance on the stage. “Very well then. We can hang around for a few minutes.”
Vane Oreld, third-generation owner of Oreld's Fine Shop, is a middle-aged Taldan with light brown skin, amber eyes, dark brown hair, and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wears a shirt whose cuffs are stained with unknown substances and breeches under a thick leather apron. He can at times be somewhat standoffish, a trait that today's business rush is only exacerbating, but he gives Calliae a warm smile when she enters nonetheless. "Aunt Calliae," he greets her warmly. "Marvelous to see you! Staying busy, of course, as per usual, especially on Market Festival day! Had a bunch of kids come in earlier, asking how much my finest purple dye was. They turned almost purple themselves when I told them the price, but they were going to use it to paint Wee Patterson! Can you believe it?"
Calliae smiled widely as Oreld referred to her as aunt. It felt good to have family, even if it wasn't really your own blood. "Poor Patterson. I'm glad they couldn't afford it. I know you could use the money but the poor beasty doesn't need the paint job." She continues her work on the extraction but turns around once all the ingredients are set to simmer. "Do you need help with anything? The poultice will need some time on the heater so I just have to check up on it."
Warren walks though the crowds and eyes the families enjoying themselves.
Oh to have family again. I remember how fun these days were when I was young and we used to bring our crops in.
He wanders over to the Taproot in and takes in the dancing. While doing so he nudges the black cat with white stripes aside with his walking staff and says to it's owner, "She's really quite talented. I would like to see more of her dancing around here, whoever she is."
Quinn absentmindedly tapped his foot along with Jet’s tune as he thought of a raven haired beauty and how had looked in her gown. None of the other woman at the party were wearing silk - they had all opted for velvets, or cotton - and it helped to set her apart from the rest. His wife was laughing with some banker's wife on the far side of the room while he was stuck in a boring conversation about the “subtle nuances that one needs to properly balance a ledger.”
”Shtunning woman in that silken dress.”
A twinge of annoyance from Felix brought Quinn back to reality ”Hmm? Oh? I shuppose most like Jet's dancin’, eh?” He casually put his foot down next to the skunk’s hindquarters and slid Felix away from the man. ”But you are a strong lookin’ fellow, eh? Might be that she lets you join her up on stage.”He chuckled to himself at the idea.
Calliae smiled widely as Oreld referred to her as aunt. It felt good to have family, even if it wasn't really your own blood. "Poor Patterson. I'm glad they couldn't afford it. I know you could use the money but the poor beasty doesn't need the paint job." She continues her work on the extraction but turns around once all the ingredients are set to simmer. "Do you need help with anything? The poultice will need some time on the heater so I just have to check up on it."
"No, thank you, my dear. As long as no one goes and breaks their fool arm trying to somersault off the Marideth Bridge or whatnot, I should be fine here today. Although..." Vane smiles. "I'll tell you a secret. Things are quiet here today, but my special project? It's basically done. Big demonstration tomorrow, it'll be the highlight of the Festival, mark my words on it. You won't want to miss it!" He chuckles. "Not that you could if you were anywhere in town..."
Many hours and many friendly chats later, Raska finally removes himself from the crowd to find a quiet spot beneath a large oak tree. Taking a moment to himself, he looks over his notes, muttering to himself, "Pretty standard stuff here. Nothing out of the ordinary, except this note about the Rangers. That's an odd one... I wonder if Aubrin is done with her show?"
Curious, Raska puts his book away and heads in the direction of the Riverwood Shrine. Seeing Aubrin, he waves her down and trots up for a word, ”Hey there, how’d the show go? I’ve a word if you’ve got a minute?”
He leads her over to an abandoned table and chairs, ”I was interviewing the newcomers this morning and something stood out to me. No one has reported seeing the Rangers in a week, maybe even two. Now I know that you’ve left those days behind you, but I figured I’d ask on the off chance that you might have heard something about it? They in hiding or something?”
Aubrin wipes her brow, frowning. She is athletic and dark-skinned, with a peg leg made from darkwood below her left knee. "No, I haven't heard a thing, Smokey. I am overdue for a letter or two, come to think of it. They might have a big fight planned or something, but I ain't heard about it. Not that I would anymore." She chews on her lip for a moment before shrugging, "I'll send a letter myself tomorrow, see what I hear."
Sitting in the taproom was a man with the bearing of a soldier. He sat staring at the same meal that he ordered and paid for, but didn't eat more than a few bites of. Most of the locals gave him a wide berth, and he was polite if curt to anyone who spoke to him.
With the crowds in the taproom today, he was sitting between two Dwarves who were arguing about the superiority of axe or warhammer when he stood up (much to the surprise of the two men shouting at each other over the top of his head), walked to the bar and paid for his meal, then walked out.
Blinking, he looked genuinely surprised to see the whirl of sight and sound going on around him, like someone might look when they walked into a hurricane that they were unaware of.
He began walking like he had a purpose, but it was clear that he was just aimlessly wandering through the crowd. Several times he felt hands go for his moneypurse, but each time he managed to catch it faster than the hands did.
"That is great news Oreld! I'm looking forward to finally seeing what you have been doing so mysterious about."
Calliae continued to work on her herbal concoctions and when this one was done, she started on another. The work made her happy as she already had heard several stories of how army volunteers from Phaendar had used them to save their comrades and brought them back from the brink of death. It was why she donated them freely to the volunteers when they left town.
Aubrin wipes her brow, frowning. She is athletic and dark-skinned, with a peg leg made from darkwood below her left knee. "No, I haven't heard a thing, Smokey. I am overdue for a letter or two, come to think of it. They might have a big fight planned or something, but I ain't heard about it. Not that I would anymore." She chews on her lip for a moment before shrugging, "I'll send a letter myself tomorrow, see what I hear."
"Ha HA, Smokey, that's a new one. Okay, if you could keep me in the loop, I'd appreciate it. I know they've got their own agenda, but to up and disappear like this is a tad strange. I'm sure it's nothing, they're probably just tied up in some business with the Molthuni. But, one can never be too careful." Raska also wipes his brow, the day is still young but he's already feeling drained from his morning rounds.
"So how are you doing? Anything exciting happen at the Riverwood today?" He asks with a weary but genuine smile.
Quinn and William watch the Varisian performer until she ends her set, saying she has to get lunch ready for her hungry fans. She promises to be back out again for the afternoon, once the midday meal is wrapped up.
Calliae and Vane continue to chat amiably through the rest of the morning, Vane remarking several times on his envy that Calliae's potions are prepared so rapidly relative to his own concoctions, which can take a week or more to prepare.
Aubrin laughs at Raska's question. "Not today, no. Been pretty boring." The Caydenite priestess pauses just long enough for some anticipation to build before continuing, "Not like last week, sure enough. Now last week, things got exciting for sure." She then goes on to spend an exceedingly improbable tale of having to arbitrate a lovers' quarrel between a pair of Awakened foxes while simultaneously distracting both of the vulpines from the town's own hens and eggs. As she winds to the story's conclusion, having used rum-infused rabbit steaks to get the lovers into the proper mood for reconcilation, the ifrit and the cleric are joined by two other people: Noelan Stagsward, the caretaker of the Riverwood Shrine and cleric of Erastil, and his acolyte, a fresh-faced human woman named Rhynna. Noelan is in the salt and pepper of early middle age, but cheerful and hale nonetheless. Despite his allegiance to Erastil specifically, Noelan is a trusted counselor for all the faiths whose members worship at the Shrine, and many consider the older man one of the town's most important and influential residents.
"Telling tales again, Abby?" Noelan asks as he walks up. "Remind me again why I put up with such duplicitous nonsense around my holy shrine?" A broad grin and twinkle in his eye belie the cleric's harsh words, and Aubrin laughs loudly in reply.
"Because you know I'd challenge you to an archery duel to defend my honor if you ever accused me of anything, and Old Deadeye would strip you of your powers on the instant in horrified shame if he saw a one-legged Caydenite with bad eyes outshoot you and make it look easy," Aubrin shoots back, and Noelan bows his acknowledgement, chuckling all the while. Next to him, Rhynna tries and fails to hide a giggle.
The fire in Raska's eyes slowly began to wither and die as Aubrin launched into her tirade about the intricacies of fox mating habits. As Noelan and Rynna approached he couldn't help but let out a huge sigh of relief, Oh, thank the gods.
A true grin appeared on Raska's face once again as he watched the exchange, "I'm afraid she has it right, Noelan. I certainly wouldn't challenge her." He turns to Rynna, "I don't believe we've met. You must be Noelan's new protoge. Hello, my name is Raska Edan. A pleasure to meet you, miss." He gives a slight bow and a nod of his head and a few strands of his blazing red hair fall into his face. He puts them back into place with a slight shake of his head, "Did you both find the chance to enjoy the festival?"
The wizard applauded along with the rest of the audience as Jet left the stage and attempted to whistle using his thumb and index finger. The only thing he produced was spittle all over his palm, ”I swear that's how I read it was done. Oh well.” A sense of mirth, that was not his own, washed over Quinn and he could almost see Felix laughing.
Quinn clasped the younger man on the shoulder, ”I think, mayhaps, you missed your chance!” When he lifted his hand he spied a wet spot on the man's shoulder where his hand had been. And realized at once what he had done. Quinn did his best to pretend as though he was simply brushing lint from the shoulder and not, in fact, trying to wipe his spit from the newcomer.
Or maybe
William aplauds when the dance finishes and winces as Quinn puts his hand on his shoulder. "I'm not certain what chance you mean but it was a good dance. Your cat should be more careful, it might get stepped on in a crowd like this."
Edvard stood watching the Dancer, unable to take his eyes away. True, she was lovely, but it was the motion, the freedom of it all that drew him in. As he watched, a silent tear began to trace down his face. He didn't even seem to notice.
“Cat?” Quinn shared a look with his familiar, ”You think Felix is a cat?” He snorted a laugh at the thought of the skunk purring, cuddling up and kneading his lap. ”Ol’ Felix is a shkunk, shir. A right ornery one too. But you may have a point,” he tapped Felix with the bottom of his staff and nodded towards Oreld’s, ”we need to be get to gettin’ before shome unfortunate shoul shteps too close to 'em.”
As Quinn started off, Felix clearing a path again, he called over his shoulder to the man, ”If you fancy a show if another short you should head to Oreld’s. Wee Patterson is there and it'd be a shame to miss “em.
"Skunk?! What are you nuts, bringing something like that into town? I ah.... Oreld's sounds good though. I'll... ah.... be behind you in a bit." William says as he gives the man a good head start.
After a few minutes of staring, Edvard realizes that the rest of the crowd has dispersed, most going into the Taproot for the promised lunchtime cuisine, and he is standing alone before an empty stage.
Coming to his senses, Edvard will continue wandering through the town, looking for whatever might catch his eye.
Raska continues chatting for awhile with Aubrin, Noelan, and Rhyna, until eventually Aubrin excuses herself to go back to her trick archery and Noelan and Rynda to go back to tending to the many petitioners and faithful who are visiting the Shrine while they are in town for the Festival. For some who live in the outlying farms to the west and south, this is one of just a handful of times a year they may be able to pray in an actual dedicated chapel, and as such the quarterly Festivals are very busy times for the Riverwood Shrine.
He was almost to Oreld's when it occurred to Quinn that he had been returning the polite smiles from people with a face that could only be interpreted as ”I'm being a grumpy Gus, don't talk to me,” and quickly put on a mask that said ”I'm just an eccentric, old man.” He loved to do that. Play the part of The Kindly Old Guy. Sure, he was seventy two--Or seventy three, he was always bad at remembering how old he was--but, for a Half-Elf that was barely middle-aged. Ok, it was well into middle-aged. The point being that by the time he had made it to Phaendar, all those years ago, the memories and travel had teamed up to make him look older than he was.
”Felix,” Quinn stopped short of Oreld's door, ”you may come in but no spraying and no picking fights with Wee Patterson.” The skunk blinked and flicked its tail and. Quinn sighed and went inside.
As their friendly chat concludes, Raska bids Aubrin, Noelan, and Rhynna a fond farewell as he sees to his other duties of the day. As he makes his way back to his quarters to record his notes into a more official format, he stops short, remembering he needed to stop by Oreld's to pick up a fresh inkpot. Turning on his heel, he makes his way east...
William waits for Quinn to go into Oreld's and shakes his head as he sees the skunk walk in. He gives them a minute to get inside and away from the door and then goes in himself.
Calliae gives the skunk an odd look as it walks in, "Nothing for you here little fellow. Best get back to the woods where you are safe."
As the bearded fellow followed her all that came out of her was "Oh...", before she turned around and called for Oreld to greet his new clients.
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Not long after noon, the focus of the Festival moves to the front of Oreld's Shop, where first Wee Patterson is, as he is every three months, crowned Queen of the Market Festival, a burden the diminutive bull shoulders with admirable aplomb. Then the Festival Parade begins, lead by the new Queen, and consisting mostly of children wearing faery or goblin masks or generally just having fun marching along in a group, but some of the larger merchant stalls have sent a marcher or two with a banner to advertise their goods as well. The Parade loops around the Market Green, following the road known as the Greensedge, before ending at the Phaendar Trading Company. The owner and operator of the Trading Company, a foul-tempered and greedy dwarf named Kining Blondebeard, also happens to be the organizer of the Festival, and she makes a perfunctory attempt at a speech, which clearly no one cares about, including her. It ends quickly and with the bare minimum of applause, and Kining disappears back into her shop while the Festival resumes its merriment. Wee Patterson is returned to the paddock in front of the Shop, still wearing his Queenly best, and the line for sketches with him doubles.
By the time nightfall approaches, the Market Green itself has mostly closed down, the merchants and vendors having shuttered heir stalls and moved into the various parties that are occurring all across Phaendar, in private homes and in the town's central gathering places. Somewhat unexpectedly, the largest such party appears to be developing in and around Oreld's Shop, not least because Aubrin the Green has decided to set up shop there, and is entertaining the crowds with her tall tales from her adventuring past. Outside, the celebration continues, as raucous shouts carry on the night air. Warmed by the firelight after a long day, any levity comes as a welcome reward to the rough, earthy souls of the riverside trade town.
"So there I am, thinking, when will I ever be able to talk to a bear again? So before the grizzly can stand back up, I turn to it and say, 'All I need is the honey. You can keep the bees!'" The room erupts into laughter as Aubrin finishes her winding story and takes another draught from her tankard. "But it’s fine now. All’s good. She named a cub after me. Someday I’m going to have to check in on little Ow Oh Gods That’s Too Many Bees."
Crowd members share their own boasts and jokes, but eventually someone tops off Aubrin’s tankard and pushes her back into the center of the room.
"All right, all right! Don’t shove," she slurs a bit. "Okay, Cayden strike me down if this isn’t true — "
The front door explodes into flinders. A cry of agony pierces the chaos. Aubrin lies on the floor, gasping and clutching at the blood gushing from a wound in her chest. A ballista bolt still quivers in the wall behind her.
Two hobgoblins in military dress stand beyond the shattered door, blades drawn. Behind them, lit by the glow of burning homes, dozens — perhaps hundreds — of hobgoblin soldiers march the street. Phaendar burns, shouts of celebration now replaced by the panicked screams of the frightened and dying.
Behind them, above the flames and humble rooftops, rises a tower of black stone.
Calliae simply watches as the townsfolk enjoy themselves. These joyful moments was what made the inevitable sad moments bearable. She had seen so many townsfolk age and wither but these were the moments one could forget about all of it.
The splintering of the door and the screams rudely interrupt her train of thought. Only when she sees Aubrin drop to the floor does Calliae wake up from the shock. "Aubrin!"
Without much further though the fey drops to her knees next to Aubrin and starts a simple prayer for help as a warm springs forth from her hands and into Aubrin.
"Holy sh*t! We're under attack!" Brazenly, Raska steps froward, drawing a dagger tucked underneath his chain shirt and stabs at the first hobgoblin.
He growls, "You won't take my town!"
Calliae's magic stops the horrific bleeding from Aubrin's wounds , but it is clear that she is still in very poor shape. Her hand convulsively grips the naiad's as she stares into Calliae's eyes in pain and surprise.
Raska's strike is sudden and unexpected, but the armor and shield borne by his target deflects the dagger without effect.
"Fool!" Raska's target shouts back. "Lay down your weapons if you want to live!"
The other hobgoblin warrior looks at Edvard and sneers, "Try anything and we'll gut you, longshanks."
Quinn was perusing the various ointments and salves on one of the back shelves,”This one is for poison oak...this one poison nettles….hmm, oak and nettles.”
It was when he had turned to complain about the cost of the jars -- it his mind it made sense to charge eight copper for the creams that treated one and then charge two whole silver for the combination -- that the door had exploded.
”You ugly buggers best be getting out of here and leaving us good folk alone!” Quinn drew a symbol in the air and spoke something arcane, causing a global of acid to appear in the air and launch at the hobgoblin directly in front of the door.
The acid sears the hobgoblin's face and he snarls in anger and pain.
William takes a step forward and unleashes a flurry of attack on the hobgoblin in front of him.
As the door exploded, Edvard was ducking before his mind could process what was going on. When he saw their unit markings, he subconsciously uttered "I owe you b@$+erds for Ramgate." He reached into his pack and drew out his spear, from which hung a flag with a snarling wolf's head with crossed swords behind it. "Form up on me. We need to kill these idiots and then go see what's going on outside. To arms! To arms!" Edvard also picked up his shield.
William's quarterstaff is a deadly blur, cracking bones like so many twigs. The hobgoblin warrior falls back a step beneath the onslaught, shouting in pain.
All around, the Shop's patrons are scrambling to escape, running through the back room door, diving out windows, even trying to force their way past the hobgoblins - but two of them are cut down in as many swings of the legionnaires's deadly blades. Vane Oreld is among those running for the back rooms, and he slams the door closed behind him as he goes.
Amidst the chaotic melee, Raska risks a quick glance back, "Is she still alive? Calliae?" He lunges at the hobgoblin, hoping this time his blade finds purchase.
"She's is. She's hurt but nothing she won't recover from." She once more turns to Aubrin, "Either stay put or crawl to the walls, we don't want you to get hit again."
With that Calliae moves to grab her shield and her sickle before she joins the others.
The hobgoblin soldiers maneuver further into the room and continue their assaults on the defenders of Phaendar. Raska's foe slashes at him with his sword and misses badly; William's opponent very nearly catches him with a quick thrust, but William is able to knock the attack aside with his staff just in time.
,
,
William steps to flank the one on him with Raska and attacks with his quarterstaff again.
Quinn gave Edvard a dubious look, "I don't really do 'arms,’” he gestured again and repeated the same arcane syllables,”But, I have a few tricks that can work just as well.”
With the way those swords looked, Quinn suddenly felt very thankful to have some able-bodied soldier types between him and the party crashers.
Edvard will equip his shield, step into the flank with Raska, and stab the hobgoblin.
Clearly more prepared now, William's opponent fends off his blows from the staff with careful parries and blocking from the shield. Behind her, Quinn send a gob of acid flying between Raska and his foe; the attack comes nowhere near its target, but does distract the hob long enough to open an opportunity for Edvard, whose stab goes deep.
As her fellow combatants move around in order to better attack the hobs Calliae moves in to cover Aubrin and the robed fellow in the back.
Once in position she lashes out with her sickle, though combat had never been her strong suit. Any hit she'd manage to score would be more luck than skill.
Quickly spinning to his right, Raska swipes his knife in a low cross slash, hoping to hinder the hobgoblin's movement. He then steps back to remove himself from being flanked as well as to provide more cover for the robed man hurling gobs of acid.
It might be luck, but clearly Calliae is carrying Cayden's thanks for healing his cleric, for the wild swing she makes with her sickle catches the hobgoblin the throat, sending blood everywhere. The warrior gasps, the blood bubbling around her throat, as she tries to keep her feet.
Sadly, Raska cannot makes the same claim; his attempt to stab his foe was apparently easily predicted, and the hob soldier easily sidesteps the slash. Clearly unconcerned with the threat the ifrit might pose with his dagger, the soldier instead maintains his focus on Edvard, attempting to reply to the mercenary's blow with one in kind. The strike is awkward and ineffective; Edvard barely has to even lean aside.
,
With the blood falling from her throat and knowledge of her impending death clear in her eyes, the second hobgoblin turns toward Calliae and raises her blade, obviously hoping for one last chance at revenge. She stabs forward, slipping past Calliae's shield to wound the river fey deeply - and then collapses to the ground.
,
William steps over the downed hobgoblin and flanks the remaining one with Edvard.