The Ghosts of the Ice, The Price of Balance
"The world is a hunting ground. We are the teeth that cull the herd. The price for our work is written in blood and paid in sun-stone."
The Brotherhood was born from a single, catastrophic event. During a Great Migration, the colossal Frost-Wyrms of the northern glaciers altered their ancient path, driven into a frenzy by an unseen force. They descended upon the settled lands in an unstoppable swarm, devastating everything in their path. The nascent giant nations, fractured and unprepared, were powerless. From the chaos emerged a band of grizzled survivors—exiles, disillusioned warriors, and pragmatic hunters from every clan. Led by the half-mad Gunnar Ghost-Sight, they didn't raise walls. They studied the Wyrms' patterns, found their nesting grounds, and systematically broke the swarm. When the last Worm fell, they did not return as heroes. They formed a compact: to become the shield that the world was too proud or too weak to forge for itself.
The Brotherhood is a nomadic, secretive culture governed by a brutal, practical code.
The Meritocracy of the Kill: Status is everything, and it is earned by one's Trophy-rack. The size and danger of the beasts a hunter has slain determine their standing, their share of the bounty, and their voice in the "Moot of Blades." A hunter who fails is not punished; they are simply irrelevant.
The Longhall Camps: They own no land. Their bases are temporary "Longhall Camps"—fortified positions erected in the lee of glaciers or within volcanic caves, occupied only as long as a hunt demands. To find a Longhall is to find a center of grim industry, echoing with the sounds of flensing knives and the low rumble of strategic debate.
Neutrality as a Weapon: They are contractors, their loyalty for sale to any nation, guild, or individual who can meet their price. They have slain Frost-Wurms for the Stone-Shield Commonwealth, purged Magma-Trolls for the Ashen Crest Dynasty, and hunted rogue Griffins for the Sun-Splinter Throne. This absolute neutrality makes them trusted by no one, but indispensable to all.
A Brother or Sister of the Jötun-Bane is a walking arsenal of specialized knowledge and gear.
Trophy Adornments: Their armor is a patchwork of hardened leather, scavenged beast-hide, and reinforced bone plates. They are adorned with trophies: a necklace of Frost-Worm fangs, a cloak of Remorhaz hide, a pauldron made from the shattered skull of a Dread Boar. Each tells a story of survival.
Preparation: They do not hunt blindly. They research their prey's biology, habits, and magical weaknesses. A hunt against a Frost-Salamander involves brewing fire-resistance potions and crafting specialized, heat-conducting spears. A contract on a Myrkridian Stalker requires brewing enchanted oils that make the invisible, visible.
The Bounty Ledger: They maintain a legendary "Bounty Ledger" at their most secure Longhall. It is a grimoire of threats, listing every known magical beast, its last known location, its danger rating, and its price—a price paid in sun-stones, rare alchemical components, or powerful enchanted items.
The Brotherhood are the unsung, often unwelcome, guardians of Niflheimar's fragile ecosystem. They are celebrated as saviors in one settlement and viewed with cold suspicion in the next. They are the only force that willingly ventures into the deadliest regions to face the creatures that even giants fear.
They know the truth others ignore: the balance is shifting. The beasts are growing more aggressive, more numerous. Something is stirring in the deepest frost, and the Jötun-Bane Brotherhood stands on the crumbling edge between civilization and the rising tide of primal, magical fury. They are the first, last, and only line of defense, and their price is always rising.