Glacial winds whipped across Jarrick’s face as icy waves crested and crashed upon the bow of the ship. With every passing minute the ice that coated the deck thickened while the sails grew stiff as snow and frozen rain gathered in its weave. The wind was relentless. Unbearable. And one false move could spell disaster at any given moment.
He turned his attention and shielded his face.
Massive glaciers towered dark against the unending gray. The ships frozen mast climbed high into the sky, the sails black against the darkened glaciers on the horizon. The snow and frozen rain was so thick and blinding that any hope to spot a shoreline was pointless to hold out for. Clouds above twisted and churned so violently that even though it was the middle of the afternoon, it would be impossible to find the sun.
For nearly two weeks the transport rocked and swayed within the churning waters of restless sea. Though it seemed endless, the seasoned crew seemed to know precisely what they were doing.
Jarrick turned his gaze forward bow, settling his right foot against a crate to steady himself. Heavy wool garments were wrapped tightly around him as they battled to keep the cold at bay. Though no stranger to the more extreme climates of Azeroth, there was never a time that he could remember the bone-chilling cold which accompanied the approach to the frozen north.
From all he had learned, Northrend was a hostile and inhabitable place. Devoid of life, it seemed, one would question their sanity when they made the trip to such a location. To Jarrick, however, the decision to travel north was clear. Dreams that had plagued him for months now had literally forced the decision on him, and there were questions that could not be answered on the southern continents of Azeroth. Not anymore, at least.
In years past, Jarrick had come across a man by the name of Tirion Fordring, a hermit who lived on the outskirts of the Plaguelands with nothing more than a shanty and a few silver to his name. He was a broken man who seemed to have been pushed too far. At the time of this meeting, though, the assaults on the Necropolis known as Naxxramas had not begun. The dreams which haunted Jarrick had not come to materialize yet. To Jarrick, Tirion was just another name, just another man who was looking for closure on his past. Little did he know that this name, this man, would also be the source of answers to questions that have been haunting him.
Years later, Tirion appeared in his dreams. Whether it was truly a manifestation of Tirion or a cruel trick created by the human mind searching for answers, he had no choice but to pursue them.
When Jarrick arrived at the Fordring homestead in the Plaguelands, it was abandoned. There was no sign of life within the shanty. A troubling turn of events, no doubt, but there were answers to be found and Jarrick was not one to give those answers up so lightly. In time, the pieces of the puzzle came together and Jarrick looked to Northrend as his next destination.
Packing the equipment he deemed necessary for the trip, he saddled up his trusty steed Valor and traveled to Menethil Harbor. Regardless of the complications there was no turning back. Without answers, Jarrick had no hope of ever ridding himself of the horrid nightmares that cursed him throughout the night.
Dreams, some may say, are just that.. but what haunted him at night were more than just dreams. It was a reality away from reality, where every cruel and brutal outcome to every battle, every experience, was explored in bone shattering and gorey detail. The type of dreams that would drive a man to madness.
He would not let it come to that. He had accomplished what he could in the Kingdoms, and it was time to see what the north had in store.
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