BETA
House Hammundr
House Hamundr was forged in frost and giant’s blood, born of the First Men who stood unbroken against winter and won the allegiance of titans. Their legacy is not merely rule of the North—but a sacred pact of strength, sacrifice, and unyielding honor that has endured since the beginning.
Present Family
EDDARD HAMMUNDR
MARK HAMMUNDR
KIERA HAMMUNDR
LYSA HAMMUNDR
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CORINNE HAMMUNDR
BRANDON HAMMUNDR
CALEB HAMMUNDR
SAMMUAL HAMMUNDR
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Of The First Men
The First Men were the earliest humans to set foot upon Westara after fleeing elven enslavement in Elaron, and among their foremost leaders were the forebears of House Hamundr, who carved their legacy into the North.
BIOS
He’s most often seen wearing a thick gray-blue cloak lined with giantfur, a symbol of
Frostmarch's pact with the Ice Giants. Though the years weigh on him, his back has never bent in
submission to politics or vanity. His sword, “Glacier,” was forged using froststeel gifted by the
giants themselves, chilled by sacred snowmelt and tempered with vows spoken aloud by every
prior HAMMUNDR lord.
Eddard is a devoted father, and his love for his family runs deeper than any law or code. His
bond with Lady Corinne is the stuff of bard tales, often recalled as the moment “the north
melted.” Despite the growing tensions in the realm, he remains a stabilizing pillar—one of the
few voices every great house still respects, even if they disagree
EDDARD HAMMUNDR
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CORRINE HAMMUNDR
She raised her children to balance the stoic honor of the HAMMUNDRs with the hard truths of survival in a cruel world. To Corinne, righteousness isn’t always neat or noble—it’s sometimes messy, painful, and personal. She preaches: “When the gods go silent, protect your own.” Though no warrior in the traditional sense, she is a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield— her battlefield being the apothecary, the garden, and the war table. The Frostmarch’s alchemical stores have grown exponentially under her stewardship, and whispers speak of a hidden apotheca in Thrimhall containing her most volatile creations—locked away, only to be used in dire times. She remains one of the most influential matriarchs in the realm—not because of political power, but because few question the wisdom in her eyes or the fire in her voice.
Frostmarch's pact with the Ice Giants. Though the years weigh on him, his back has never bent in
submission to politics or vanity. His sword, “Glacier,” was forged using froststeel gifted by the
giants themselves, chilled by sacred snowmelt and tempered with vows spoken aloud by every
prior HAMMUNDR lord.
Eddard is a devoted father, and his love for his family runs deeper than any law or code. His
bond with Lady Corinne is the stuff of bard tales, often recalled as the moment “the north
melted.” Despite the growing tensions in the realm, he remains a stabilizing pillar—one of the
few voices every great house still respects, even if they disagree
At 22, Mark became the one of the youngest HAMMUNDR in generations to complete the sacred Pilgrimage of the Giants, a perilous trek into the glacial wilds to meet and honor the reclusive ice giants who dwell beyond the known map. Bearing humble gifts carved with his own hand, he returned four weeks later—tattered, frostbitten, but victorious. He bears their symbol etched in froststeel along the inside of his bracer, a mark of respect earned by few. Though measured in nature, he can be fierce in battle—fueled not by rage, but by unshakable duty. Where his younger brother Brandon is fire, Mark is the hearth. There is warmth to him, even if it is often buried beneath duty. Many in Frostmarch already whisper that should war come, it will not be the king they follow— but the heir of the north.
MARK HAMMUNDR
She’s known throughout Thrimhall and beyond for her fearless approach to chemistry and invention—once creating a frostbomb that accidentally froze an entire weapons rack (and part of a guard’s beard). Though her ambition can sometimes outpace her caution, Kiera’s heart is in the right place. She believes in using knowledge to protect her family and better the realm—even if that means stepping into moral gray. Despite her eccentricity, Kiera’s deeply loved by her people and family alike. She’s especially close with Brandon, often sending him field brews for hunts or swordplay, and serves as a quiet confidante to her mother Corinne. To those who underestimate her because of her warmth or curiosity, she offers only one warning: “Alchemy is the art of knowing exactly when to burn the world down.” Some whisper that should the alchemists of Hollowmere ever fall, it would be Kiera HAMMUNDR who carries their legacy forward—perhaps in ways even her mother wouldn't dare.
KIERA HAMMUNDR
At just 18 winters, he broke a record held for over a century by completing the Pilgrimage of the
Giants younger—and faster—than any of his forebears. He returned gaunt and frost-scarred,
dragging the hide of a winter drake through the snow, eyes sunken but burning with pride. The
frost giants, in a rare act of reverence, gifted him the pommel stone for Echofang—carved from
frozen bone of a titan long buried beneath the ice.
Though loyal and fiercely protective of his kin, Brandon is less forgiving than his older brother.
If pushed, he doesn’t hesitate. His combat style is a blur of ferocity, all feints and fury. He has a
strong bond with his mother, Corinne, and shares much of her outlook—family first, always.
Some believe he is destined for legend. Others fear he may not survive long enough to see it.
BRANDON HAMMUNDR
While his siblings trained in swordplay or stalked through snowy woods, Caleb wandered the Frostmarch’s old ruins, sketched the mosaics in ancient tombs, or played chess with retired warriors in the stone halls of Thrimhall. He knows every noble line in the realm, every house’s banners and sayings, and has a sharp memory for the political currents around him—though he rarely offers his opinion unless asked. His true talents lie in diplomacy and insight. Caleb can defuse a tense hall with a few words or a well-timed jest, and many underestimate him because of his quiet presence. Eddard once remarked: “He’s the kind of boy you overlook—until he’s the only one who remembers the way home.” Caleb has not yet found his purpose, but all agree: he sees everything, and when the time comes to speak, his voice will matter.
CALEB HAMMUNDR
Though still young by noble standards, Lysa’s already forging her own path—one that lies far from the throne room or the apothecary. She has taken to the wilds of the Frostmarch with a quiet, almost sacred discipline, guided by old Hollowmere hunters and watched over closely by her mother, Corinne. She’s already laid traps that would fool grown men and tracked a snow elk for two days without being seen once.
Lysa is not cruel, but she’s not soft either. She understands the world in a more instinctual, primal way than her siblings. To her, danger is a season. Death is a teacher. Silence is a weapon. She holds a soft spot only for Sam, often seen reading to him or letting him ride on her back like a bear cub when no one else is looking.
She’s not yet ready for the world beyond Thrimhall. But when the world comes to Frostmarch—as it surely will—Lysa Hamundr will be ready.
LYSA HAMMUNDR
He rarely strays from Thrimhall, finding comfort in familiar stone and snow. His siblings each dote on him in their own way—Lysa carries him like a cub, Caleb reads him stories, and Brandon lets him win at swordplay (most of the time). Corinne believes he sees the world in ways the others don’t. Eddard, though often preoccupied, always makes time to kneel beside his youngest and listen—really listen—to whatever small, quiet truth Sam offers. He is the one no one expects anything from. And perhaps because of that, his presence will be remembered long after others have gone.Lysa is not cruel, but she’s not soft either. She understands the world in a more instinctual, primal way than her siblings. To her, danger is a season. Death is a teacher. Silence is a weapon. She holds a soft spot only for Sam, often seen reading to him or letting him ride on her back like a bear cub when no one else is looking.
She’s not yet ready for the world beyond Thrimhall. But when the world comes to Frostmarch—as it surely will—Lysa Hamundr will be ready.
SAMMUAL HAMMUNDR
FAMILY TREE
(COMING SOON)
LEGENDS
THRYM HAMMUNDR
The songs say he bore no weapons when he began the First Pilgrimage, only a carved oaken staff
and the bones of his fallen brothers. Nine days he walked the glacier trails, frostbitten and alone,
until he found the den of the frost giants. There, he knelt and declared:
“I do not come with steel. I come with truth: if we stand alone, we will die. But if we stand
together, we will be more than legend—we will be memory.”
The frost giants, moved by his courage—or perhaps sensing something ancient stirring—agreed
to an alliance. Together they marched on Sarthael, the white citadel of the snow elves. The
Battle of Sarthael became myth, and it was Thrym who brought down their queen in single
combat, ending their dominion over the north forever.
After the war, Thrym built Thrimhall, the fortress of unity. He carved the oaths of the
Frostmarch into granite, binding every HAMMUNDR heir to the ancient pact. And before his
death, he forged Thrymjar, the hammer of stone and pact, and sealed it in ice beneath the great
keep.
Thrym’s legacy is still recited by the skalds and burned into the rites of the Frostmarch. The pact
he forged with the giants is not merely tradition—it is sacred.
It is said that when the north is at its darkest hour, Thrymjar will ring once more in the halls of
men and giant alike.
Great Powers
In the first winter after the First Men fled elven enslavement and set foot upon Westara, the North nearly swallowed them whole. It was then that Thrym Hamundr, first Lord of Frostmarch, climbed alone into the Giants’ Den — a place no man returned from — and forged a pact with the eldest of the frost giants.
The terms were simple and eternal: the Hamundrs would honor the giants’ ancient claim to the high peaks, and in times of true annihilation — when winter or war threatened to erase mankind from the North — the giants would answer their call.
The rite is not sorcery, but remembrance. A lord of Thrym’s blood must bleed upon the old runestones and speak the First Tongue of the pact. The giants do not always answer. They are not commanded — only invoked.
But when they do, the storm gathers without wind… and the mountains begin to move