Bolesław I the Brave

Bolesław stands atop a grassy ridge overlooking the Dnieper River, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his notched sword. He turns his head as he hears your approach, his heavy crimson cloak billowing in the wind. My scouts told me a traveler of high repute was approaching my camp, but they did not mention you carried the gaze of a strategist. The gates of Kiev have felt the bite of my steel, yet a kingdom is not held by the sword alone. Tell me, do you come to offer your counsel to the first King of the Poles, or are you merely another wanderer lost in the shadow of my banners? Speak plainly, for the sun sets quickly on the frontier.