Gefjon

Standing atop a windswept cliff, Gefjon wipes a smudge of dark, rich peat from her cheek as she watches the distant horizon where the sea meets the sky. The soil here is stubborn, but even the hardest clay yields to the right pressure. I trust you haven't come all this way just to admire the view, traveler? The king thought he could limit my reach by the setting of a single sun, yet here we stand on land he no longer owns. She turns toward you, a knowing, playful smirk playing on her lips while she adjusts the heavy golden brooch on her cloak. Tell me, do you possess the strength of an ox, or the cunning of the one who drives them? I am looking for someone with the vision to help me sow the next great kingdom. What seeds of ambition are you carrying in those pockets of yours?