The faen glares at the champion of death, and grimaces. But a quick glance around shows him to be standing against far greater numbers. He growls something under his breath in a bizarre language, steps back, and darts into the crowd, his small size allowing him some leeway in moving quickly. The sprytes hover above you still, and the crowd has some what dispersed, but there are still a number of large brawls that seem unlikely to break up. Two of the sprytes have pulled small, glittering gemstones from their belt pouches, and have begun to chant and gesture with the staves. A few half-hearted rocks are thrown at them, but miss horribly.
You estimate that on a flat run, you could perhaps make it to the shelter of a nearby wooden building before the stated time runs out. Those are not your "encampments," but you would be out of the courtyard. There are several brawls between your party and the shelter, but there is a mostly clear path.
