A low guttural growl came from his throat before he spoke in a raspy, angered tone, “This weather is an ill omen, brothers. The wind carries the cries of the dead. We must be on our guard tonight.”
The other soldiers looked at him with cold eyes before nodding their heads, water dripping off of their muscular bodies as they finished their work. The large Orc stretched his body before motioning with his head towards the large stone tavern that gave off a soft, warming, welcoming light from its interior. The soldiers pushed forward to the tavern through the wind and rain that fought against them every step of the way. Once they arrived at the taverns entrance they pried the door open and quickly entered the tavern, the wind slamming the door shut behind them. The contents of the tavern ranged from all races of the Horde and it seemed as though most of the base was taking shelter from the storm. Everyone was trying to find some form of comfort, be it the warmth from the fire, the company of friends, a warm meal, a warm bed, or the soft music that echoed through the first floor of the tavern.