Thundering forwards with the screech of holy iron, Abron's blade swings down into the half-orc's shoulder with enough force of to dent the metal and likely break a bone or two beneath. The shield drops two inches, and his face becomes a mask of pain. Not wanting to be left out of the gore letting, Khaits bounds close behind the the half-giant, more silent on her feet despite her larger size. She lashes out, a single clawed hand, hungry for blood, and through her cold rage she finds it, slashing open the half-orc's throat, who is still reeling from the shoulder injury. A flood of red pours down the shiny metal breastplate and the veterran falls to the floor.<br/><br/>A wave of fear passes through the the remaining three mercenaries. They look to the mage, evidently the second in command. She drops her spear, "We request quarter," she does not sound too convinced, but she knows to continue fighting would only ensure their death. The other two warriors fallow suit, two axes fall to the floor, but both men keep hold of their shields.