This is a semi political semi-adventuring RP where your opinions are as important as mine

NOTE- This (hopefully) will be a rather dark-themed RP with a fair amount of murder, six, drugs and ol' school Tamrelic rock and roll (jk) so expect that, if you don't like it, well... still join but don't complain.

Character sheet (you may use whichever other sheet-type you prefer)

Name: self explanatory
Age: if not sure look up your chosen races average life spans
Race: only normal races, vampires and werewolves allowed (for the latter two RP accordingly)
Gender: duh

Eye color:
Hair:
Tattoos/piercings:
Physical appearance:

Birthsign:existing only please
Class: doesn't have to be in-game

Major skills: see above
Minors: hey, hey see above

Current equipment: starting with no weapons and clothes (no armour)

Spells:

Short Bio/Personality: Please keep this short, don't want to give your character away at the start eh?

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RULES (follow these else your character might.....suffer)

-PM me your sheet first.

-Don't post your sheet, I'll do it if I want you in.
-It's very unlikely I'll reject you but I may ask that you refine your character.
-Weapon allowance as follows (when you get one)

Iron-I'm fine with
Steel-Is fine
Nordic steel-fine
Silver-maybe, give me a reason
Dwemer-give me a good reason
Elven-you better have a very good reason
Orcish-(see above)
Glass-no
Ebony-no
Deadric-no

Armour as follows (when you get some)

Light Heavy

Cloth-thats fine Iron-Fine
Fur-fine Steel-fine
Leather-Ok Dwemer-good reason
Chain-good (not for random civilians though) Orcish-damn good reason
Mithril-mmmmm gimme a good reason Ebony-no
Elven-no Deadric-hells no
Glass-no

If not on list PM me
-If not sure on anything, have an idea for a story arc, anything really just PM me
-One character only please
-Usual rules,no uber, no char-controlling, no one-liners, etc.
-You may join at any time
-good spelling, grammar etc.
-Have fun :thumbsup:

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Now finally the story

It is 38 years after the Great Oblivion Invasion. Whilst the provinces have rebuilt the physical damages of the invasion one thing has yet to be 'repaired'. The throne of the Empire. No one Man, or Mer has stepped forwards to claim the throne. Ocato was on the road to doing so when he was impeeded by Bendu Olo, the Champion of Cyrodiil, and his political rebellion. The 'Champion's fist' as they are known, were a perfectly legitimate organisation. Until the 'mysterious' death of Ocato. Once he was replaed by the Bosmer Aedrin Noralos, Bendu declared war on the Empire leading several raids on important Imperial targets himself. The most recent was a peace banquet held by the Bosmer leader, that was attended by you.

EDIT: YAY! consistent backstory!

-NOW-
You awake in a cell surrounded by others, the only things that you can be sure of with your still blurred sight is that you have been put into rough clothes and a Nord with the armour of a Champion's Fist soldier watches over you.

Your turn...

William III's (Mine)

Name: Alberon Lambert
Age: 26
Race: Breton
Gender: Male

Eye color: Dark Green, flecked with light green
Hair: Dark brown, semi-curly, chin length.
Tattoos/piercings: Badly scarred right hand, limits its use.
Physical appearance: Whilst not jaw-droppingly handsome, Alberon definately gets looks occasionally. At 6'3" Alberon is tall for a Breton, but as years of writing have given him a slight slouch, most people don't realise how long his reach is until it's too late to matter. Whilst not a muscular man, Alberon gets by as he swims almost everyday, a remnant from his days being brought up in naval yards scross Tamriel.

Birthsign: The Lord
Class: Writer

Major skills: Writing, Speech, Illusion, Haggling, social stealth (blending into crowds)
Minors: Blade, Sailing, Swimming, Alteration, Alchemy

Current equipment: Rough, sack-cloth clothes

Spells: A few Illusion and Alteration spells, mainly charm and frenzy/demoralise

Short Bio/Personality: Born to a Captain of the Imperial Navy, Alberon never had to struggle for much. Gifted with his father's skill at sailing, he would've done very well in the Navy. That wasn't were Alberon's heart lay. Ever since he read his first book, that is what Alberon wanted to do. Since the age of nineteen, Alberon has been working for the Black Horse Courier as one of their head writers. Once the Champion's fist became a terrorist group. Alberon has written several pro-government articles. Which is why his right hand is badly scarred, the extremists thought he was right-handed and that they would stop his 'elvish propaganda'.

Manu's

Name: Jimri
Age: 45 (appears in her early 20s)
Race: bosmer
Gender: female
Birthsign: the thief

Mental Description: Jimri is a rather easygoing girl, with a shameless appreciation for the nice things that makes life comfortable. She hasn't the same appreciation for the law, but finds it easier to work within it's limit - stretching them a bit if necessary - rather than blatant illegality. She's a bit of a cynic, having seem more than her share of jaded nobles, greedy merchants, horny artists and the like. She's aware of the Green Pact and the Meat Mandate, but considers them irrelevant out of Valenwood.

Physical Description: Jimri is a somewhat small but pretty bosmer woman, with a nice visage lightened by two large green eyes and a warm smile. She's slim and well built, her body toned by a lot of dancing and riding (well, that's what she's telling, in reality it's more from climbing and practicing martial arts). Of course her current appearance isn't exactly at her best, with the dress she had worn at the banquet replaced with a rough and shapeless sackcloth one

Height: 5'4"
Weight: 90lbs
Hair: light brown with coppery glint
Eye Color: bright green

Major skills : Sneak, Unarmed combat, Security, Acrobatics, Arts (dancing and singing)
Minor skills : Acting, Short Blade, Mysticism, Restoration, Speechcraft

Armor/Clothing: A rough 'dress' or long tunic of sackcloth

Misc: From her childhood in Valenwood, she has kept an ability to eat with a smile things that would have more than a few self-styled though guy cringe in horror (tree grubs, liver just pulled from a freshly killed animal... that sort of things). Which she sometimes uses to amuse herself with the horrified reactions it causes.

Bio: Jimri is the third daughter (and sixth child) of a rather successful merchant, specialized in moving exotic articles between Cyrodill and Valenwood. During her adolescence, she learned some of the 'true bosmer' way of the hunt from a traditionalist uncle, but it convinced her that the imperial way of life was far more to her liking. From her father's wealthy lifestyle she has picked up a taste for dancing and singing, getting good enough at it to earn a living from it.

Jimri is now somewhat known as a singer and dancer, an artist any rich man can support to improve his receptions and display his wealth and taste. More conservative peoples tend to look down on her as a professional parasite and hanger on, not far removed from a courtesan.

Night Angel's

Name: Dumul gro-Olor (Drakath)
Age: 33
Race: orc
Gender: male

Eye color: Yellow
Hair: pitch black
Tattoos/piercings: war scars on chest

Birthsign: The Warrior
Class: orc rager

Major skills: heavy armor, blunt, armorer, athletics, acrobatics
Minors: blade, restoration,block

Current equipment: sack cloth pants and sandals

Bio: When Dumul gro-Olor was 10 he grew up in Chorrol his parents were Gluronk gro-Olor and Kharz gra-Olor. His father was a armorer and his mom was owner of a stable that they kept the finest chestnut horses in the county. Now Dumul wasn't like other orcs , the other orcs hated elves and humans, Dumul loves elves his best friend was a Dark elf named Fathvam Venim. Fathvam didnt like magic and calling upon his ancestors to fight for him so he learned ,as did Dumul, blunt weapon skills fom Dumul's father. Fathvam didn't like the name Dumul (and said so openly) to him it didnt sound heroic so he started calling him Drakath because he thought it sounded orc rager-ish.That is why he prefers Drakath to Dumul. Over the next 20 years Dumul and Fathvam had many battles and never lost a single one. One day during a rather large battle Fathvam was fatally wounded and no healers were near by and Dumul knew this so he held Fathvam in his arms while he died. After the loss of his friend Dumul became depressed and was drunk a lot but he never became a drunk. One night Dumul went on a rampage while visiting an old aquantice in the Imperial City and that is how he has ended up in jail now.

Alberon had taken several beatings in his life, his father was known for it, being raised as the child of a Naval officer gave him the ability to take these and keep getting up. Though few caused anything similar to the pain that bounced around his skull like an angry dreugh. As he lifted his shackled hands to feel where he had been hit, Alberon unfortunately caught the attention of the aggravated looking guard.

'Arghh, I told Quint that he didn't hit you hard enough'. growled the mail-clad Nord.
'Where am I?' asked Alberon on the off chance that the guard was an idiot.
'Hah! It's more'n my job's worth to tell you that you filthy elf-lover.'
'At least some people besides my own mother will truthfully tell me that they find me attractive, snowman. Laughed Alberon, making jokes, he had learned, was the fastest way to get people to leave him alone.

He was wrong.

He didn't see what the guard hit him with, though getting hit in the face with whatever instrument the mentally depraved guard decided used on him had at least one positive. There was at least one other prisoner, a diminuitive female.

As he flinched from the sound of the Nord laughing and re-locking the cell, Alberon shuffled over to her and shook her slightly, he needed an ally were he ever to escape.

Jimri was still drifting in semiconsciousnes ? a mix of commotion and nightmare-filled halfsleep? the result of a thorough beating when she had refused to take off her dress, and done her best to make it clear. Wriggling, kicking, scratching, biting and screaming like a frenzied cat to mask her training with unarmed combat. Added to a previous knockout from the attack on the banquet, it made her memory of what happened after the banquet filled with more blanks (or blacks when being passed out) rather than facts.

A someone shook her, she emerged from her condition, reacting out of instinct to the contact : rolling on herself to get some moving space, while throwing a palm strike aimed at the chin of whoever had awakened her. As her strike went out, his appareance entered her conscious mind ? someone she had seen in the reception. Barely recognizable with a disheleved look, a fresh set of bruises and clothing way less stylish than what he had worn there... Too late to stop her blow, she managed to turn it into a slap of sorts rather than the potentially lethal - and rather out of place for her airheaded artist facade - strike it started as.

Shaking the last of her sleep out, she gave him an apololgetic smile " Sorry for the slap. I'm not a morning person, and I'm sort of grumpy without my beauty sleep.". As her eyes registered her surrounding, and her skin made it obvious she had been generously dressed with the same sort of scratchy rags, she added "Any idea of what these goons want from us ? They weren't exactly in the mood to tell me about it.".
Stretching carefully she felt a whole set of bruises and scratches, though it felt the removal of her dress was the only outrage the guard inflicted on her. Well after the show I've offered they'd probably rather settle for a goat. They don't bite.

In another cell Dumul gro-Olor more commonly known as Drakath laid on the bed staring at the celing thinking about past battles when he heard a loud resounding slap and muffled voices. He sits up adn presses his eye to a hole in the wall that he had dug out with his hard nails brfore he relised that the hole he had made led to another cell instead of outside. He sees a small Female Bosmer that after battle inspecing her he relised was probably trained in unarmed combat from the slight calluses on her knuckles and on the heel of her palm and a rather tall Breton that looked like he was in a perma-slouch Drakath had seen that slouch in Writers before he was thrown into this rat hole. The female asked "Any idea what these goons want from us? They weren't in the mood to tell me aout it." After that the orc guessed that the female was talking about the tourture. Drakath's thoughts turned to them the pitiful Imperials tried to make him yell but he was an orc and he withstood everything they threw at him and laughed.

Alberon recoiled from the slap that was given by the Bosmer, Ah! now I remember her, she was dancing with ah... whatshisname, it wasn't that he hadn't been slapped before. It was that this particular slap had been almost too forceful. She definately knew what she was doing.

"Any idea of what these goons want from us ? They weren't exactly in the mood to tell me about it." asked the curvy young Bosmer as she streched herself awake.

'Ahh well I asked him' motioned Alberon with a short head jerk. 'But he wasn't exactly responsive. Alberon Lambert by the way "propaganda" writer for the Black horse. You?'

Before the female could respond Alberon's attention was drawn to movement in the next cell. It seemed that someone had dug a very slight hole and was watching the two of them.

'Hey' whispered the Breton, not wanting to rouse the suspisions of the blunt Nord guard. 'What are you in for.'

Ahhh jeez never thought I'd be saying that again.

As Alberon introduced himself, Jimri decided to answer even if he was already speaking with someone in the next cell. Speaking in a low enough voice to prevent whoever walked by the cell's door to hear her.

"Im' jimri ? just Jimri, my family isn't exactly thrilled with me being an artist. Lazy and useless, a disgrace to their good name and so on. They keep their name, I keep my freedom and everyone is happy. Dancer and singer mostly. I suppose that when these cretins attacked the banquet their small brains registered that I'm a bosmer like Aedrin Noralos and probably thought it was enough to tie me with him."

Feeling the rough fabric of her new clothes with a disgusted grimace ?"And since they obviously lack even the barest notions of fashion sense, they mistook my clothes for a mark of wealth and rank rather than the sort of attire only an artist would wear and no noble would want to be caught dead in.". She added with a philosophical shrug "Well, at least I won't fear ruining my clothes in a filthy cell. Even if these rags could be called clothes, there's nothing in them that isn't already ruined."

Drakath reliseing that the Breton was asking the Bosmer who she was quietly thinking that he couldn't hear him. Silly Breton orcs have amazing hearing. Drakath leaves the hole and walks up to the gate and asks he gaurd, "Guard can I get some parchment I wish to write a letter to my familly."
The guard grumbles but goes and gets 2 rols of parchment,ink, and a quill.
"Thank you." Drakath responds. After the guard goes a god distance away the orc doesnt write a letter to his family but one to the people in the next cell. In the message it says, " Hello my name is Drakath. I was thrown in here because I went on a killing rampage and only stopped when the rage ended. If you wish to break out of here in some manner free me and you will have a formidable ally." Drakath picks up some sand and sprinkles it over the ink to dry it. Next the pushes the message throught the hole in the wall.

As whoever was in the neighboring cell pushed through a piece of parchment, Jimri took it, her eyes narrowing slightly as the word registered in her mind. Thinking quickly, she made a makeshift quill with a straw from the dilapidated mats composing the cell's only furniture. Before mixing an ink of sort out the black mold clinging to the walls and some saliva. Whipsering in Alebron's ear low enough to make sure only him could hear 'He might be usefull, but he might as easily to be a raving lunatic and more danger than help.".

She wrote a short question before pushing the paper back : "What caused rage ? Who killed during it ? Need that to know how good you fight.". A far cry from any pretense of refined communication but the crudeness of her writing equipment didn't provide much opportunity for rethorics.

After reading the what appeared to be an Orc's letter Alberon had to agree with Jimri.

'Mmm, just because he can write doesn't mean he's at all sane.'

The guard in this particular wing of cells was a man of Nordic desent known as Ulfgar, for that is his name. Ulfgar wasn't a cruel man, but his family was threatened with death if a single one of the prisoners escaped, that is why he reacted the way he did seeing the Breton, the Bosmer and the psychotic Orc 'talking'.

'I say we...' Alberon's whisper was cut off by a boot slamming into his knee from the side, breaking it.
'C'mere you little tree-climber. I'll do what the other lads were to afraid to do.' growled Ulfgar. As he advanced on the Bosmer artist. He would have reached her had Alberon not tripped him, breaking his nose and bruising his stunning, blue, Nordic eyes.

Alberon looked down at the unconscious body at his feet.

'I think we should leave now, grab his armour and mace.' It was a masterpeice of prose considering Alberon was about to pass out himself.

'Free the Orc and tell hin to get me lavender, aloe vera leaves and a knife.' Ordered the Breton as he slumped against the wall

As the guard dropped down and Alberon exposed his plan, Jimri agreed wholeheartedly, at least with the getting out part. "I don't think we can afford getting supplies. But I can do something for that leg.""

Kneeling next the wounded breton, she took a good hold of his, before carefully stretching it straight and calling forth all the restoration magic she could handle. As the warmth and glow of the magic flowed from her hand and into the wound, she could feel the knee mending, soon getting whole enough for Alberon to walk again.

"Here you are. Now we'd better get that jerk out of his armor and clothes and yourself in them. They should fit well enough to let you pass off as a guard and get us on the way out."" Joining action to word, she quickly started to unequip the guard with Alberon's help.

Once done, she looked at the unconscious nord with a rather mean expression, as the urgency had receded and she remembered the man's comments. Muttering to herself "Racist and rapist. One letter apart but damn nasty words both. Bastard, you won't be using any woman anytime soon...". She punctuated her words with a fierce kick between his legs, using all of her strength and skill to make it count. Then doubled it with a far more controlled heel strike at the man's temple which should keep him out for a few hours.

Having vented a lot of her anger and frustration, she gave Alberon a warm smile "Now get yourself into that armor, and let's get out of this rathole.""

Drakath saw the Nord guard fall ,threw the hole, and he hoped that the Breton would get into the armor and come get him out. After he pushed the note threw the hole he realised it made him sound insane. " I should have put it was a self induced rage." he muttered to himself. So he took the other parchment and wrote, " Ok I realise that the note I wrote made me sound mentaly unstable but in the orcish culture an orc that has battle rage he is the most effective fighter. The rage only happens if I allow it to I have trained my body to activate the battle rage only when necessary. Other than that I am completly sane."

Alberon was tugging on his mail-backed glove as he saw a second scroll be pushed through the hole. A smile came to his face as he read it.

'Orc, I may well know more about Orcish culture than yourself.' laughed the Breton.

As he stood up, Alberon realised that his leg didn't hurt at all. Which was surprising as it had completely splintered when the guard kicked him.

'Hey.' Said the disguised Breton. 'Thanks for the leg, I owe you. We may as well free the Orc, He seems sane enough. If he betrays us we'll kill him.'

Walking over to the cell door, Alberon felt the un-usual weight of the guard's mace at his side. He never really trained with weapons besides longswords, turing to the Orc he said 'We're going to free you, if you attack us we will kill you. If you can use a mace effectively nod.' Seeing the quick yet suspisious nod, Alberon continued. 'Good, I'll carry it, if we come upon another lone guard, you take it and get yourself, or Jimri depending on who it fits, a suit of armour.'

Stepping back Alberon pointed his arm at the door, a short burst of light temporarily joined them before the light faded and the distinctive noise of a lock opening was heard.

When the door opened Drakath stepped out and said " First we need to get my armor. I have a special axe that I cannot lose. I know it doesnt seem like it is important but we need to get it. I won't betray you i want to get out of here as much as you do. Ok since you know my name what are yours because I don't weant to call you 'Hey Breton'.

As Alberon opened the orc's cell door, jimri kept her reservations to herself. Sure he can control his rage. But I still haven't a clue about who he felt the need to kill or why.

"In case you haven't overheard it, I'm Jimri ? and as far as your axe go, let us know if we stumble on it on the way out, but I wouldn't bet on that. This isn't a legit prison, but a Champion's Fist hideout ? I doubt they care much about your imperial citizen's right such as having your possessions secured until your liberation. Even the watch tends to 'misplace' anything worth snatching, I would be surprised if these jerks were any better."

She paused, thinking about the situation. "Now that I think about it... I've been dragged in here knocked out, and spent most of my time after that passed out too. I haven't the slightest clue about the place's layout. I don't even know where it is."

" Well if they snatched'my axe ill reconize it. When they caught me they tried to knock me out but I faked it I know a little of the layout I had to keep my eyes mostly closed though. Breton give me that mace I can probably use it more efectively than you can." Drakath reaches his hand out for the axe .

As the orc eagerly reached for the mace, Jimri slightly slapped his wrist my my, isn't he eager to have a weapon. I'm afraid we made a mistake when getting him out "Calm down big boy - the whole idea is to have things look like Alberon is a guard and the two of us prisoners he's moving around. If he has no weapon and you're weaving a mace, it won't take a genius to smell something fishy. If we get spotted, he'll give it to you. But I don't know if that axe you're speaking about is even there. I expect my jewels to be already on their way to be sold an wouldn't be surprised if it went out too. I mean, if it's really good, odds are it's too good for mere prison guards."

Jimri quickly moved back to the cell, ripping two strip from the strawmat's rough canvas, rolling them into somehting that could pass for rope in the basemant's poor light. "Keep your hands behind your back and wrap one of those around your wrists. It will improve credibility if it looks like we're bound."

Joining action to words, Jimri demonstrated what she had in mind, wrapping the 'rope' around her wrists in a fashion that let her hold it in place while the ends dangled free as if it was tied. "Ever seen 'elven lady of Blackrose' ? Not exactly high art, but that's where I've learned that trick.". Art.. what a joke. It's a play from Crassius Curio, a flimsy excuse to have a pretty elven actress wearing next to nothing but ropes moving around the scene. It didn't make much for my repute, but at least it was twenty ears ago.

[OOC : for those not familiar with lore, Blackrose is the Empire's maximum security prison, planted in Black Marsh and used for those the Empire really don't want to see running away]

After Jimri slapped Drakath's hands and told him that the breton was to be a guard thats when he realises that it makes him look like he wants a weapon to much. Drakath walks back into his cell and rips his sirt in to a strip that he ties around his wrists. " Alright Breton be the guard. But if we find my axe im grabbing it."

OOC: part1: seriously? two people? I'm not asking for much. jesus christ.
part2: Night angel, use a consistent style, you jump from 1st to third person alot, also try and make larger posts.

-IC-

'Hah, I doubt we'll find you're axe, if we do go for it.'
Still trying to get used to the weight of the armour Alberon added 'Alright lets go.'

They walked through the narrow, dark corridors (Jimri and 'Drakath' leading), Alberon quickly noticed that they hadn'y passed anyone yet, he was always uncomfortable in long silences so he asked. 'So.... Jimri, where did you learn to fight? You've obviously done some unarmed training. Not a big fan of bare hands myself, I prefer a good sabre or if I can't find one a longsword.' Towards the Orc Drakath, remember the damn name Alberon stated 'And what's so special about this damned axe?'

As they started walking toward the exit, Jimri looked around with some perplexity That place is damn big for an hideout. It looks like they've picked some abandoned catacombs and done a minimum of reffiting.

As Alberon asked about her training, she thought a short while before answering "Well, with my profession and the repute of young elven women for... let's say flirtatiousness, I felt I needed some clear, unmistakable way to tell 'no'. And of course in my profession blades, bloodstains and corpses are quite a handicap. Truth to be told, there's also a part of me that rather enjoys kicking the stuffing out of a bully. So I've practised quite above what I really needed.

Oh well, and that repute has some ground to it. We elves live for a long time, and our young, dumb and horny years tends to be in proportion. Add our low fertility and resistance to disease to keep most of the consequences at bay, it's no wonder this repute has emerged."

"The axe is important because it belonged to a friend of mine that dies in my arms. I promised him that I would not lose it. To normal people that know what it is it looks like a red and black elven axe. Luckly before I was caught I placed an illusion onto it so that it looks like a steel axe of no importance. I went on the rampage because I was drinking to remove the grief of losing a friend that I had for 29 years." Drakath stopped while he was talking. He was waiting for questions if they wished to ask any."

As Darkath spoke about his axe, Jimri raised a quizzical eyebrow, surprise mixing with worry as he spoke. If he evers starts drinking, I'll keep as far from him as I can.. "You placed an illusion on it ? I know one shouldn't judge on appreances, but you don't exactly looks like a mage, and playing that sort of tricks takes more than a bit of skill with illusion magic. Especially if you want to hold the illusion for a long time.

I know only a bit of restoration magic, but I've seen enough illusion mages in the theaters to know what they can pull out of their hats. Can you make us invisible or alter our appearance to help us getting out ?."

Let's hope it wasn't not just a drunken delusion of him. The more he speaks, the more I think we made a mistake when opening his cell. I'm affraid he's on a first name basis with Sheoggorath

I am an expert of Illusion. I could make us all invisable but I would have to drop the covering on the axe. I can keep up that illusion for a long time because im an Orc. Many people think that Orcs can't be mages I chose to learn a lot about Ilusions because I am a rescuer. I have to keep people hidden whilst they escape. I think I can hold the Covering for about another 5 hours so hopefuly we find it before then. The sooner we find it the sooner I can make us all invisable. I think I can alter yours and my apperance without dropping the covering but I can't alter the Breton. Would you like me to try and what do you wish to look like??

"I've never said that orcs couldn't be mages, rather that you didn't look like what I'd usually associate with magic. And illusion magic is a rather uncommon choice amongst combattants compared to destruction and restoration. But about that axe, don't count on me to turn the place upside down looking for it. All I want is to get out of that damned jail with the most speed and less fuss possible. I have only one live, and contrary to an axe, I can't go recover it later if I happen to lose it."

'Hey, stop bickering for a minute you two I hear something' hissed the Breton.

Pushing himself up against the wall, straining to hear what was being said, Alberon only caughy snippets of the conversation.

'...Yes Sir, when found the escapees are to be........... and brought to.....'
'....Very good soldier, remember, do not kill the............. they are far too important to risk injuring.'
'Not wanting to be insubordinate but, why are they so important?'
'That is for myself and The Saviour to know, not a lowly ........'

Hearing rapidly approaching footsteps Alberon tossed the mace to the still bickering Orc and motioned at the doorway.

'Oh, and don't kill them.'