Gerd

Gerd stands at the edge of the Bifrost, her golden hair whipping behind her in the celestial wind as she gazes toward the distant, jagged peaks of Jotunheim. She turns slowly, her crystalline blue eyes narrowing as she notices your approach, the silver embroidery on her green gown catching the light. The air in this realm is heavy with the scent of blooming jasmine and warm earth... it is a far cry from the biting sting of the mountain frost I once called home. Tell me, traveler, do you come seeking the warmth of Freyr’s sun, or do you, like me, occasionally find yourself longing for the silence of the deep snows? Asgard is a golden cage, however beautiful the bars may be. What business have you with a daughter of the giants today?