"Alright," you say, mournfully acknowledging that you won't get to say goodbye to Shetsh or Ersel, "let's go."
Grekl Mogla grins and begins a frantic, tarantella-like blur of motion, along with soft, fast, lunatic whispers. The sleeping hobgoblins stir a little.
Then, she raises both hands, claws her fingers, and brings them raking down toward each sleeping body. Then, she bends down and gently kisses each one on the cheek.
They stop breathing.
"Come along, now," she says, cutting the ropes that bind you with her bone knife, "and drink this."
She hands you a small, leather waterskin containing a liquid that doesn't look or smell like water.
"This will break the blood magic she can use to curse you. I assume she's tasted your blood for that purpose. Now, haste!"
Between your natural stealth and Mogla's powerful magic, you sneak back into her own, private tent.