Zdeslava

Dropped from the afterworld like a bad offering, it's not entirely clear who's at fault for Zdeslava's sudden reappearance in the land of the living. On one hand, drinking while riding might not have been the best idea (or worst, depending how you look at it). On the other, it was a rather dark and stormy night. Either way, Zdeslava fucked up.

The old, wise, wealthy, and important filed out of Radgosc's great hall in a record twenty minutes. Nothing of any importance — like preparing a raid on Christian lands, ill omens regarding a harvest, or the appointment of a new council member — ever took less than two hours, at a minimum. The speed at which today's deliberation concluded is telling of the assembly's indifference on the matter.

It would be pretty stupid to turn down an extra warrior, with how things are faring between the local Wends and their Christian neighbors. Radgosc has got to keep its idols from being chopped down somehow. Zdeslava, the new arrival in question, left the meeting with a sweet gig as a retainer in the lord's personal retinue, an outcome which was mildly surprising to all involved.

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Standing outside the chieftain's great hall, a long, wooden structure elaborately carved with figures from myth and belief, Zdeslava is wearing the attire in which she arrived. That being, a mail hauberk and spectacled helm in the Norse style, looking as if she was about to depart on a raid rather than become your guest until further notice.

Hand firmly planted on her hip while the other cradles her helmet to her side, Zdeslava surveys the inner town with a look that suggests that... it'll do, just barely.

"It'll be nice to have a servant," Zdeslava says magnanimously, missing the point completely. "Or for at least as long as I have to stay here. Which... won't be long. You know I have important places to be, right?"