You might have heard of him, this six foot tall man with his dark leather hat tipped way down to obscure his eyes. Only a prominent, pointy nose emerging from that shadow but you knew those eyes were amber. What other color should fit such a man?

He roamed the desert that he called home, golden sands ebbing and flowing around that tattered poncho woven from the fine fibers of his homeland. It was the type of brown that has a deep warmth to it, the warmth of orange. And it was born from his mothers hands, weaving those earthly colors into his clothes.

This man, who I should tell you now goes by Magavo, was as old as old can be. If you’ve heard of amber stones, the ones that the archeologist guild adores. The ones that fossilized out of tree sap and are the colors of brown and orange and yellow. As if honey had made itself into a gem of its own. These quite resemble Magavo, a fossil of his own traveling the sands of time nearing 730 years old. A very old man! But not uncommon for that of an elf.

Silent was this man but he did always travel with a companion. A camel is what he preferred with a nice sandy, golden coat. It was quite great company for Magavo and perfect for the dry desert conditions. He had owned 18 in his life time so far, each with a specialized name. Right now he rode upon Edgar. They were looking out onto the rolling golden sand before them, no civilization in sight. Through his shadowed eyes he glimpsed a path of a great earthern worm and nudged Edgar onward. Toward the setting orange sun they went, a tiny dot amongst the sea of amber sand.