Fenris surges forward, sword at the ready. The fighting is uneven, slow; the Sisters Three (though there are always more than three) are fast, clever rogues. Fenris can swat them down with a hit, if he can land it. The corresponding dance is an ugly thing, them whittling away his strength until he looks knocked back on the ropes.

And then an animal yell, markings glowing with new light, and a woman's head falls to the ground. Her body follows afterward.

"Astarion," Fenris growls. The Sisters look puzzled by this nonsense word. Fenris does not spare a look to explain himself, only to make it quite clear: he knows you're here.