Woo woo...
The biting wind whipped snowflakes through the air with a howl.
A group of broad, green-skinned humanoids clad in beast hides trudged through the whimpering blizzard. They were an Orc Tribe.
Snow and wind swept across the sky, leaving everything within sight blanketed in white. Even the daylight was gradually dimming.
Wooo~!
Long, desolate horn calls rose and fell. Hearing them, the traveling Orcs stopped one after another, whistling as they pulled their enormous beasts into a ring to shield themselves from the snowstorm.
The Orcs began setting up a resting camp amid the blizzard, densely packed yet orderly. Wooden frames and piled supplies were arranged around the massive transport beasts. Inside, some Orc women busied themselves erecting thick tents and lighting fires to cook.
Other armed Orcs returned from the snowstorm with white Frostwolves at their sides. They had just checked the surrounding area for danger.
In the empty, desolate wilderness, traces of life suddenly appeared.
Yet the Orcs' faces were filled with worry and gloom, like refugees driven from their homeland with nowhere left to go.
"Father, why are we leaving our homeland?" Inside a finished tent, a young Orc looked up at his father and asked.
"Because we have to leave, Durotan." Garada, Chieftain of the Frostwolf Clan, stroked his son's small head and spoke in a low voice.
"Is it because of the Skyfall Dragon?" the young Orc named Durotan pressed.
"Yes, the Skyfall Dragon. An evil dragon that fell from the heavens came to Draenor. It is cruel and savage, and wherever it goes, corruption spreads across the land.
Beasts die, and vegetation withers. In the regions it occupies, no life can survive apart from the undead and its followers.
Most frightening of all, every so often, it seeks out a new place