Castle Black

[The Smith]

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Horns sound the alert through out Castle Black.

[The Flint]

Domeric Flint was up and shrugging on his boots as quick as he could, throwing his ringmail on, under a black leather jerkin. He grabbed his sword and shield, and hurried towards his station.

"What the fuck is going on? How many horns was it?" He yelled to anyone who was nearby.

[The Smith]

The horn was now up to ten or twelve, and had not stopped yet.

Garth, one of the builders called back, "No idea mate." He was running around with a sword in his small clothes, and just fell in with Flint, "What does thirteen mean?"

[The Flint]

"I don't think there is a thirteen!" He said running along side him until he reached the assembly point for the rangers.

[The Smith]

The Rangers were lining up in the courtyard, and Garth just joined in, forgeting his position completely.

The horn stopped suddenly.

Ser Uylen of Hightown took command of the rangers, he sent men running to reinforce the wall, and sent two parties scouting east and west. He then sent a runner for Lord Commander Mudd.

[The Flint]

"Ser Uylen, what the fuck is going on? Is it Wildlings?" Domeric asked.

[The Smith]

He looked around, "I will tell you as soon as I fucking know. Calm yourself, if we die today, at least we die together." He paused for a second, "Fuck me if I am going to die with you ugly goatfuckers. Today I live, and that means you guys get at least another week or two." He turned, and studied the top of the wall."

[Flex]

Walton Snow, a young man who had grown up in the village near the Dreadfort and who had been sent to the Wall for thieving, stood around with the other men. His black eyes showed his nervousness and his left hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... fuck!"

[The Flint]

Domeric muttered, "I guess we'll see what Lord Commander Mudd says then. If he comes out and gives one of them big speeches, then we is fucked."

[The Smith]

Mudd walks out, followed by a ranger with a rag tied around his temple. The rag is blood soaked, and Mudd grabs Ser Uylen and begins to whisper into his ear.

[Flex]

"Well fuck, that don't look good," Walton growls, his grip tightening on his sword.

[The Flint]

"No I'd say it ain't good," Domeric agreed.

[Flex]

"What was it, thirteen?" Walton asked, turning to Domeric. Even with the cold his face was sheathed in sweat and he was chewing his bottom lip fiercely.

[The Flint]

"Thirteen what?" Domeric grunted, "horn? Yeah. Ain't no thirteen horn blows. Someone just grabbed the damn thing and blew till his lungs gave I 'spect. That means it bad enough he forgot what the fuck he was doing."

[The Smith]

Lord Commander Mudd steps forward, and raises his hands, "First the alarm is false. A man heard bad news, and overreacted. There is no impending attack."