'Your doom is upon you, foolish weakling,' Zemouregal said then, 'your shield may save you from my magicks, but your home will drown in blood. Even now, your people are being slaughtered and shall rise again as my slaves. And now, standing before me like a belligerent child, you shall feel the might of my arm.'

With that, Zemouregal leapt forwards with a speed that Arrav had never before seen. Though Zemouregal's body was thin, each time he parried a blow Arrav felt a superhuman strength behind it. It was all he could do to defend himself, and Arrav had not the time to think of launching his own attacks. Behind them, in the distance, Avarrocka was falling.

Realising the fate of his people was not entwined in his own fate, Arrav paused. The sorcerer's sword slipped behind his guard and cut deep into Arrav's thigh. Zemouregal laughed all the louder then, and threw his hood back. A skull with burning sockets looked out upon the wasted fields and where his gaze fell there was nothing but death and evil magicks. Arrav looked down upon his shield - unblemished from any blow - and saw the truth of his path.