Runt wiped her mouth with a battle-dirty hand. Grimy, from the dirt, sweat, and blood of the battle, she still felt a high from the adrenaline that had coursed through her in the earlier taking of the castle. The bunnies had fallen before them like...well, like bunnies to tuskers. She had led her warband through the gates once they had fallen, swords at the ready and deep, guttural war cries that rose over the din of battle. One of them had fallen in battle, but Runt had escaped the fray with just a few scratches and mightily sore shoulder. The pain felt good, a reminder that she had lived through yet another battle in her life, a reminder of the damage she had dealt in return. 

Grubby hands rubbed at the sore spot beneath the mail while took a few mouthfuls of a liquor she had found while inspecting the hold. It was weak with barely the punch that even dwarven liquors carried. She made her way to a courtyard, a courtyard that had once held nicely trimmed foliage with cared for pathways. She looked at, still perplexed at the things that bunnies - and knife-ears - spent their time on. Pretty flowers and green things. What a waste. Well, at least the flower plots had made a fair smelling latrine for the liquor that had moved through her system. There was something so satisfying about defiling the pretty bunny things in that manner. 

Properly relieved, she made her way to the walls they broken through and flooded over. Not long after arriving at the walls, the tell tale signs of an approaching army resounded. With an angry glare, her head tilted up, to the sky that was all she could see above the walls. More bunnies? Her hand unconsciously gripped her falcata's hilt. More blood to be spilt. She rolled her shoulders, the pang of pain momentarily deepening. Whoever thought to take the castle so soon after they had done so...It was an unlikely coincidence. 

Her eyes scanned the sudden burst of activity. Her fellow tuskers looked to their betters for direction, but largely moved around her, some acknowledging her. Her status as one of the Chosen granted certain benefits. She scratched at her chin before taking off at heavy trot, down the length of the wall. She knew where she wanted to be for the approaching battle. Perhaps they bunnies thought they'd be dead, or dead drunk. They wouldn't be ready for an all out assault and few things were as fear inspiring as a half-ogre in a blood rage. 

"Nargesh!" Her voice was deep, robust, distinctly unfeminine even for an orc. The half-ogre grew in size as Runt ran closer. She was also clearly getting worked up. Perfect, really. "Another round of bunny hunting." A smiling grimace crossed her lips, the old scar puckering and pulling her lips into an odd expression. "Let's get some of the Blades to the gate house." Runt would have almost preferred to have the option of another easy exit. Typically not one for sneaky planning, blindsiding the bunnies and sending them scampering would have been fun nonetheless. There was no time for that now, though, and she knew both she and Nargesh would be happier meeting the fluffy ones head on.