The camp, if you could call that, of orcs was something Lontok never much enjoyed hanging about. The company did have to settle down for rest, respite, and defense from time to time but any being in this world could tell you that having multiple orcs making themselves home in an area is a disgusting venture. Eyedrinker of course had standards to keep vermin and disease at bay, but the general rowdiness and apathy of an orc, let along near thousand of them, was a sight and smell to behold. Lontok kept his tattered robe flung about him as he made his rounds about the camp, its black drapes providing at the very least a symbolic barrier to the filth Lontok perceived. True, the image of the sneaky orc archer shrouded in black did nothing to help his view among the freshest of recruits, but then again what did? The serpentine tongue that swatted at his cheek to rid it of gnats sure didn't, nor did the drow symbols branded on his neck. It made it all the better that the Achnals would feel the fury and wrath of Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi, sneered the ex-slave as he scurried around a rather large brute of an orc as he made his way toward Radush's tent. He'd been summoned, and he would heed the call of the sly old orc like all the other that dare wear red.

The map was large, sparse but gave enough wisdom that Radush seemed to amke heads and tails of. The stabbing finger gave Lontok all he needed to know; he considered the gambit a squishy term 'Ye Olde Smash N Dash'. Apparently they actually had one such squishy in their midst, and the intention of the mission was to get him into the city. A spark flew in Lontok's gaze, and quickly fell dim with disappointment. He'd most likely not get to talk up the locals much in this campaign. It was perhaps for the best, since the multi-lingual orc wasn't the most welcoming sight to the races of the region. Still, him and his snaketong could dream. He'd be left to read his elven books before he tried to rest before this twilight mission. And that's just what he did, mumbling foreign verses of incomprehensible cultural traditions in the deep hours of the night til the rumbling of the wargs being brought to bear roused his interest and earthly body. He gave a flick of his strange tongue before grabbing his things and donning his war-garb.

Lontok kept his matted hair tied in a loose bundle of dreads and ornaments near the top of his head, forgoing the habitual armored leather cap for something more mobile given the current mission. His sharp eyes peered over a large red sash that covered everything from under his eyes to his sternum, a multitude of hasty stitches forming a wicked looking mouth where his neck would normally be. A deep brown and hardy leather curcarcuss gave him the most protection, but then again atop a warg with a bow was what Lontok took to be the most protection he had. It also helped that he had the resat of the Chosen in this mission, so he couldn't complain. His usual warg was a gnarly beast, a tusk like fang pointing upwards from its usual skowl gave its namesake; Smiler. He didn't mind his furry partner much; he'd much prefer a equestrian steed for his archery being higher and more static mid-gallop than the low-slung and loping canine that he even now was checking its saddle straps for comfort. But as the snaketong had to admit, a horse could hardly be counted on as an offensive asset. He'd seen Smiler ripped too many a man and beast apart to ever doubt his skills. He'd just have to keep his bow steady , and quiver heavy. Having a hefty dagger strapped to his thigh certainly eased his fears if Smiler didn't, at least he told himself that as he slung himself up and over onto the mount with practiced grace. A quick press of the knees brought the pair forward and into the Chosen's procession. Soon they would be off on their mission, and soon blood would flow. It was that thought that hung over Smiler and Lontok as they felling into the back of the wedge that was quickly venturing toward enemy lines.

The hilltop came out of the dawn mist with a creeping luster, vaguely showing Lontok silhouettes of the camp tent line and the occasional meandering Achnal. It made little difference to him as the familiar sinew cut tightly into his leather bound digit, and his sight narrowed down on one such hazy figure from afar. The bow hardly creaked from the strain, Lontok figured if the wargs kept this pace through the morning he'd have dew defiling the sanctity of his hardwood. The dampness was enough to make him sneer as the orc archer let loose his burden, barbed package making its way toward a particularly loud Achnal dealing with his natures morning duty(Lontok figured a sight of warg riding orcs riding out of the morning fog might be the cause of that). The bolt cut straight through tunic and rawhide, a viscous a crimson bubbling out from the base of his throat where the shaft now lay. Poor lad would bleed out before he realized the heavy orc arrow had broken his collarbone in the process. A second vacancy in Lontok's quiver was given to a hornblower atwix the eyes to the far back of the camp as the first horses fell to their toothy steeds. His bow hardly had a moments respite as its third shot flew wide of a horseback rider as his horse bucked in fright of a leaping warg. He could hardly curse himself before he felt his beast lurch forwards to strike down a vanguard.

The wedge formation held true as they tore through the ill-readied camp, and Lontok spied Sir Squishy(if he had a name, Lontok had yet to hear it) clinging for life astride with Koloch's formidable figure. His orc eyes caught glimpses of wargs pouncing, orcs dismounting, and battle commencing around him as the mission proceeded, but he stayed mounted and on the move at the rear flank of big Koloch and his fearsome Halberd to use as a reference. If they fell this was pointless effort, so he kept his bowstring strung in the defense of them for now. The sweet "thwunk" rang in his ear as another bolt let loose into the flank of a rival archer taking aim at Sir Squishy. His figure slumped into its hovel among the walled fortifications as the wargs rode by full tilt.