Wintertown

[The Flint]

The small castle town which surrounds Winterfell, where many of Lord Stark's subjects reside.

[The Flint]

Quent Flint entered the large tavern, and surveyed it with interest. He'd hoped for a busy bar area, with plenty of travelers, where he might pick up some rumors.

[The Smith]

There was a bar area, and quite a few travellers. Four Brothers of the Night's watch sat at a single table. Two well dressed men sat dicing at a table. A single man sat at the bar cracking walnuts. Two other tables each contained a single inhabitant slowly drinking their wine.

Clearly the Flints have beat the rush of attendants to the Wedding.

[The Flint]

Quent approached the bar, and ordered a beer, Before approaching the Night's Watch.

"Well met Crows," He says cheerfully enough. "Per chance any of you on the wall know Domeric Flint, he's my relation, took the black few years ago."

[The Smith]

One of the men who is clearly missing half his nose do to frost bite, "Aye... I know the goat fucker." The other three men chuckled, and looked at looked at the Flint.

[The Flint]

Quent scrunched up his own nose, "Well we tried not to make a thing of it, as long as he stuck ta goats his own. How be the Wall? The Wildlings still on the right side of it?"

[The Smith]

The men all grew silent, "The Wildlings have been raiding as far south as they can. There is war north of the wall, and men flee war when it grows too fierce."

[The Flint]

Quent frowned, "We ain't seen nuff'n', but that ain't make it not so. What's the war 'bout?"

[The Smith]

"Wildlings have always raped wildlings. Now there are just more of them." He replied in his crushed voice.

[The Flint]

Quent nodded, "Pushing the weaker ones south, desperate nuff to try ta cross da wall eh?"

[The Smith]

The brothers nodded, "King of the shit pile knocking all his enemies down the fucking hill." He wiped at a bubble of snot, and ran his tongue along his gauntlet to lick it clean.

[The Flint]

"well you boys have a good night," he said, passing with a respectful nod, and moving towards the two dice men.

" 'ello there." He said pleasantly enough.

[The Smith]

One looked up and smiled, "Look at this a local shepard wishes to dice with us. These coins glint gold boy, not..." He laughed suddenly and looked around the tavern, "I honestly have no idea what shepards gamble with. It can't be sheeps... can it?"

[The Flint]

Quent cocked his head, and looked down at the table, counting the amount of coin available in his head.

"Sheep is right. Youse can always settle up at shearing time. Youse Highborn fellas eh?" He asked.

[The Smith]

"Hardly" The one man replied, "My father was a drunken knight whose land only outstriped the size of our hovel by the length of a spear. And this gentleman was literally born in the kennels. He is merely a dog among men."

The other man growled deep beneath his breath. Then he added, "You be careful you jabbering jay or I will rip your tongue out." He tossed the dice, and cursed as he lost the toss.