Remember: everything Barioth says is made up.

Cold. Fast, bitter, stinging cold. That was all you felt. A miss timed expedition to go gather some twigs of kindling, and now your lost in the Tundra at the base of a mountain, unable to see two feat infront of you. Is this how you die? Cold, alone, in the middle of no where? A peice of ice catches your foot, and you haven't the strength to catch yourself. And now here you are. Laying in the cold snow, listening to the howling winds. . .