[h2][color=lightgreen]Ekon-Danna Turn Zero[/color][/h2]

Water is the greatest equaliser in the desert. The meekest troll who discovers an untapped oasis can rise higher than any vulture can soar. Water holds untold power for the desert dwellers, even the richest sand troll can still die of thirst if unprepared, and something has tipped the balance amongst those remorseless desert dunes.

For months, rumours had passed across the migration paths, dangerous words telling of precious oasis that were now nothing more than barren sand. Even more worryingly the rumours were growing in frequency. Increasing numbers of tribes, parched of throats and weather-beaten were moving from their old oasis northwards towards more fertile grounds. They came in small numbers at first telling stories of loved ones now lost to rival tribes, to thirst beyond their incredible endurance, or more disconcertingly the [i]“Marru”[/i] that stalk the fireside stories of the tribes.

Malak scoffed at first at these tall tales as he took in those that he could, and sacrificed those he couldn't to the merciless sands of his home. What started as a trickle of starving refugees soon turned into a torrent of trolls. The water had stopped bubbling to the surface in their lands, but the deluge of people it had created concerned the normally stoic tribefolk of the Ekon.

They had been named [i]“Danna”[/i] by those they took in, [i]“Patrons”[/i] or [i]“Givers”[/i] in the old Trollish tongue, when really they had just had the foresight to move first. The Sand Shapers had spoken to the people of the Ekon long ago and predicted a [i]“Flood of Tears”[/i]. Senwe, the Chief Sand Shaper, had stood before the tribe telling them of how the ancestors had whispered in his dreams and how they told them to move before the tears engulfed them.

That was but a year ago now, but it felt like a lifetime for Malak as he watched tribe upon tribe of Trolls trudge towards his make-shift camp through the shifting sands. Many former enemies and old allies had been brought together as refugees to his lands. They had packed up their meagre possession onto their camels and sand-skimmers and travelled northwards much as the Ekon had done not so long ago.

[i]“I've never seen so many hollow eyes.”[/i] Breathed Csini in hushed tones. [i]“The Javyn, the Nuenvan, Balashi all humbled by the sands...”[/i]

Malak placed a comforting arm around his first wife.

[i]“The ancestors will guide us. As they have always done and no Marru will face the gods, or our warriors.”[/i]