Then, just as he was forgetting his fate with time, two years since the peace was struck with the goblins, Arrav dreamt again of the dark and sinister figure.

In the middle of a field of dream-black wheat, beside a river of ghostly water Zemouregal came to him. Once more the mahjarrat was clad in black, black greaves upon his legs and black gauntlets covering his hands.

'You have failed, Arrav,' Zemouregal spoke with a voice made of a thousand whispering blades, 'I will come to Avarrocka and destroy it. There will be no tears for this town, for I shall lay waste to all mankind - you upstarts will see the elder race return to claim its dominion. My legions shall blot out the horizon on all sides, and you shall be the last to see the light. This I promise you.'

Arrav opened his mouth to speak, but only spiders came out. They ran across his face, biting, scuttled down his chest and over his arms. The mute horror consumed him and he woke with a scream.

Those few of the elders that had escaped the destruction of old Avarrocka heard the scream and knew that Arrav would leave them. In the morning all rose to seek him out, but his hut was empty. He took nothing with him save his armour and his weapons. His home was as if Arrav had merely gone out to hunt.