The small caravan left Altaruk three days ago, but for the last day and a half, you have been rooted in place. Outside the shelter of the small wagon, the wind and sand scour the thick hides staked down to protect the precious cargo – you. Sequestered inside the wagon and under the tarps, the dozen of you wait for the storm to pass. The caravan master, a human named Althar Wavir, has been frustrated by the persistence of the storm. His guards seem on edge and uneasy.