Devlyn adjusts his cowl as he pats Tristan on the shoulder.
"We'll talk to them, and then we go."
He calls out to the approaching people:
"Glad to see there are still some people in the Bazaar? What's the situation? Do we have a problem other than a fire here?" he asks, pointing toward the column of smoke in the distance.
"Eh, it wages its foul tongue at us!"
Devlyn soon realizes that the Mamluks are pressing thier charge towards his group in a tight formation, bearing shields and swords.
Here comes another fly in the proverbial ointment.