Vors Kiljayden lumbers up to the inn, looking for a quiet moment to wet his throat with ale, after spending the last several hours on Gate Duty. As his fingers touch the wood of the inn door, the all-too-familiar gongs rings out.
With speed born of constant practice, Vors unsheaths his longsword while removing his shield from his back.
"Gods-damned orcs! Where are they?!"
Vors looks for familair faces of The Watch for instruction.