The calls of the caravan reach fever - pitch as the storm rolls in like an army of  blood -mad gods.  "TIE EVERYTHING DOWN NOW!" The Chelaxian demands -- not out of authority, but desperation.  Lose debris begins to whip up with the pelting song of the first curtains of sand, singeing the skin and clogging the eyes and throat with dry, caustic gypsum sand. Every breath is getting harder to take, and everything had suddenly grown dusk - dark. Camels groan in protest as lashes are thrown hastily around rock pillars and clinched tight, and additional fetters are added to hobble the pack animals so they stay put and do not disappear in the coming darkness.  The wind is no longer a far - of murmur, it has become a keening howl and punctuated with deafening peaks of whipping shrillness. And in that mad tempest, shapes seem to whirl about, like dervish dancers of dust, funnels of reddish-black that tower greater than the spires of the most formidable castle.<br/><br/>[This storm is now clearly not natural. All terrain is difficult. Favored terrain: desert is just normal terrain now. Fortitude save each round or gain the condition: dazed vs difficulty 12, increasing Soon]