"So the king is dead. Long live the king." Florian said to the echoing emptiness of his long hall. 

"More like long live the queen." Sathulda scoffed, taking a dainty sip from her wooden cup of wine. Where she got wine in this backwater neck of the crooked islands could only be guessed at. 

"Well of course, Dear, but it won't do to say it out loud." 

The young chieftain brushed his hair from his eyes, letting out a great breath and slumping in his chair. Pressing his hands into his forehead as his eyes took on that distant and tired look once again. Florian hadn't been chieftain at the time of the war between the Stonecutter's and the Shattered Moon. The pacification of the more independent clans had been something his predecessor had to deal with. The old man wasn't in a state back then to put up much of a fight and his waning hold on the Goldwood elders was failing by then. Florian had been... well that didn't matter now, suffice to say that he was far from the isles at the time. 

This would make things harder for him now. For the short time he'd had with the Goldwood Clan Florian had been dragging them kicking and screaming into something resembling the same world the other clans lived in. The forest ferals still demanded that a druid or a priest to give a blessing or to read the stars every time they needed to clear a new patch of trees. It made Florian wonder what was the point of clearing out all the wolves and hags!

Luckily he knew a few things when it came to reading and speaking the ways of the gods. Still this was a hitch in his plans. Florian had only managed to make his little coastal town anything worth mentioning. This time of peace and stability was supposed to be his chance! High kings were supposed to encourage trade and unity, just what old time isolationists like the Goldwood men needed to build themselves up into a clan worth mentioning. With the Stonefoot dead there would be anarchy as the buzzards looked to take what they could from his kingdom.

"There will be a moot." Florian groaned.

"We haven't received word of one yet." Sathulda said.

"Even better. We can say I saw it in the fire, that'll rally a crew about in no time." With a plan forming in his mind the young chieftain found himself rising from his chair, some energy coming back to him. "There's always a moot when the king dies. Always someone who wants to be the next king, that they can do it better. Factions will be forming, if we back the right boat then the isles as we know them may change and our could yet rise."

"So wise as always my darling." Sathulda purred, rising in turn and draping herself over Florian as he stood before the fire. The light brought a new shine to her raven black hair and the matching feather cloak that so around her like wings. "If only they had taught us politics in the priory." Her lips were brushing his ear. She had a habit of making her actions playfully seductive around Florian. He never complained about her sense of showmanship.

"I'll need what they did teach you there, Love." His voice became serious again, just rising over the crackling flames. "The only thing keeping Daigon away is gone. He'll be back... and soon."

What that meant for them Florian couldn't yet say.

[center]*****[/center]

"Hello all!" Florian called, his merry voice ringing through the hall. "Sorry I'm late, the winds were so miserable these past days. You know how these things are."

He strode into the hall at the head of his little party of men, all of them in pelt hoods and hides that made them look half like animals themselves. Sathulda at his side like a raven on his shoulder.

Around Florian rumbled the barrels of mead they had brought along, one of the few things his little island was famous for that ever left their woods. If they were going to play politics it could at least be made more fun with drink. Florian swept his eyes along the tables, tapping his golden bow like a walking stick. They had left their weapons with the guards as everyone had to but Florian had talked them into letting him keep the sacred bow so long as he gave over the string and arrows.

"It's a good day for it at least." Florian grinned, taking a place near Geirlaug of the Broken Hammer and making himself comfortable.