"Wor'jin?"
Rowe nodded and clarified, "The warrior of the Zandalari Lightspear Clan—Vol'jin."
As he spoke, the staff in his hand emitted a soft but radiant glow of holy light, pulsing steadily. Each flicker added a subtle flair of theatrical performance, making his words seem weightier and more authentic.
Several frost giants exchanged puzzled glances. "Never heard of any Light Spear clan. Where exactly are you from?"
Rowe coughed lightly, feigning unease. "Well… it's a bit complicated. I'm not exactly fluent in your dialect. Do you perhaps have someone who understands the Summary Language?"
The Summary Language—an ancient, mystical tongue of the cosmos—was a marvel. In the ears of any intelligent life form, it would transform into their native tongue. Those fluent in it could also comprehend the vast majority of languages across the universe. (Note)
This linguistic miracle allowed seamless communication between two sentient beings, so long as at least one understood the Summary Language.
Of course, there were always exceptions. Some languages were so arcane or primal that they couldn't integrate with the Summary Language. A prime example was the Groot dialect—universally interpreted as "I am Groot" in Summary terms, regardless of actual nuance.
"Come with me," a frost giant finally said after a long moment of contemplation. He turned and walked ahead, accompanied by his companions and Rowe.
Rowe followed calmly. After a brief walk, they arrived at the settlement he had seen earlier—a rough, towering collection of structures hewn from ancient ice. This was clearly one of the tribal bases of the frost giants.
Jotunheim's brutal climate dictated their architecture. If Asgard's buildings bore the aesthetic of Stormwind, then these mirrored the primal ruggedness of Orgrimmar.
Led by his frosty escorts, Rowe was soon brought before one of the frost horde's most respected figures—the venerable frost wizard Helbrindi.
Helbrindi was an elder in every sense of the word—hunched, draped in layered furs, with icicles hanging from his long beard. By frost giant standards, he might've been seven or eight thousand years old. Thanks to their ability to hibernate for centuries at a time, frost giants could live far beyond the lifespan of most Asgardians.
The escorting frost giant whispered rapidly into Helbrindi's ear and then departed. The elder wizard, seated cross-legged on an aged fur mat, raised his frost-blue eyes and spoke in the Summary Language, "Your name is Vol'jin?"
"Son of Vol'jin Sen'jin," Rowe replied, mentally recalling Vol'jin's father from Azerothian lore and using that memory to fabricate a convincing surname—Sen'jin—following the naming customs common across the Nine Realms.
Of course, he was actually speaking in Chinese. Beyond Asgardian, it was the only language he could comfortably manage.
"Is this your native tongue?" Helbrindi asked.
"Yes. Zandalari."
Helbrindi gave a thoughtful nod. "Zandalar… pardon my ignorance, but I've never heard of such a people in Jotunheim. Where is your tribe located?"
Rowe paused briefly to fabricate a plausible tale. Pointing toward the icy horizon, he said, "Quite a distance away. Over those mountains… Our tribe lives deep underground. We rarely come to the surface, so it's understandable you haven't encountered us."
The old wizard nodded slowly, processing the information. Then he frowned. "That could explain the unfamiliarity… But then, why are you here?"
Rowe sighed heavily, a hint of bitterness in his expression. "Because of those cursed Asgardians."
He paused for dramatic effect, then continued. "Let me explain from the beginning. According to ancient Zandalari legends, we originated from a land called Azeroth. It was a realm plagued by endless wars and calamities. A portion of our people—those who longed for peace—decided to seek a new sanctuary."
"Under the guidance of the Prophet Velen, we journeyed far across dimensions, finally arriving here in Jotunheim, long ago when it was still ruled by the ice giants."
The ice giants were the mythic forebears of today's frost giants, though their existence had become the stuff of legend, lost to time.
Helbrindi grew visibly intrigued, nodding as he absorbed the tale.
Rowe pressed on, "Heeding the Prophet Velen's wisdom, we chose isolation, retreating into the subterranean world beneath Jotunheim. We avoided conflict, even as we observed the rise of an evil empire known as Asgard. Though their raids scarred this realm, we refused to engage."
"But… the Asgardians could not let Zandalar remain untouched."
His voice quivered slightly. Rowe clenched his fists, eyes misting over, selling the emotion.
Helbrindi, sympathetic, leaned in slightly.
"One of our own—Arthas—embarked on a sacred mission to cure his ailing father. He sought the wisdom of the frost giants and journeyed toward the great citadel of King Laufey… But on the way, he was ambushed by the vile Asgardians."
The old wizard's eyes widened. "What a tragic fate…"
Rowe nodded solemnly. "They tracked us. Our first underground city, Dalaran, was razed by their forces. The Lightspear Clan was scattered."
"First Dalaran?" Helbrindi asked.
"We built two cities, both named Dalaran," Rowe explained. "I'm now traveling to reach Second Dalaran."
"And in our ancient Zandalari language, 'Dalaran' translates simply to 'Underground City.'"
Helbrindi asked with curiosity, "Did the ancient Zandalari dwell underground as well?"
"Not entirely. Most lived above ground. Only a few sacred cities—like Dalaran—were beneath the surface. Dalaran was a holy site for warriors, a sanctuary of strength."
Rowe's voice grew firmer, emotions intensifying again. "The Asgardians were relentless. They hunted down every last one of us. My closest friend, Garrosh, died by their hands… I barely escaped with my life, chased to the brink, forced to leap off a cliff."
Helbrindi gasped. "But… that stretch of cliffs is enormous. How did you survive the fall?"
Rowe answered smoothly, "Every member of the Lightspear Clan is trained in sacred healing magic. If one sacrifices enough, the Zandalar god of life—Bwonsamdi—offers salvation."
Helbrindi went quiet, his ancient gaze contemplative.
Sensing hesitation, Rowe took a dagger and slit his forearm. A moment later, he cast a soft golden glow—divine healing light—and the wound sealed rapidly.
"I paid dearly for my life," he said with somber gravity. "In my prime, I could regenerate entire limbs… Now, this is all I can manage."
Helbrindi finally spoke again, his voice filled with awe. "The Lightspear Clan… so noble, candid, and strong. You are nothing like the treacherous Asgardians."
Rowe blinked in surprise, then smiled humbly. "You are too generous. The frost giants, who rise to challenge the tyranny of Asgard, are the truly valiant race."
Unexpectedly, the elder wizard leaned forward. "This may be sudden, Master Vol'jin… but I have a request. I hope you will not find it offensive."