Anyone is welcome to post in the thread, this is just a random idea I got while browsing the forum and seeing how there was nothing done in a desert.
The blazing sun beat down upon the white hood of the lone man, as he trudged through the heat and desolation of the Calim Desert. He seemed to be headed towards a small collection of huts and tents that contrasted sharply with the starkness of the desert, due to the signs of life being centered around an oasis. The lone man walked slowly, hunched over, and seemed to carry only a pair of extremely worn bags on his back, one slung over each shoulder, so as not too fall off. In his hand, he carried a nondescript iron staff. Occasionally a breath would ruffle the black colored piece of cloth that hung over his mouth, to keep the sand out of his lungs.
The man stopped by the door of the least run down hut, and assuming it was what passed as a center for this rinky dink town, and looking at the postings of caravans.
"I wish to sign up for this one." He said, pointing to a caravan that headed to Memnon. The depot head nodded, and handed over a piece of parchment, "Giv dat to de leader, lass spot dat was." The man nodded, and sweeping the note into his voluminous cloak, headed out of the door. He quickly found the caravan mentioned, and tossing the note to a guard, he went to sit in the back of a wagon. Before he even had time to fall asleep, the caravan started forward, and the jerk tossed him off the end of the wagon. Standing up, he dusted off the sand on his cloak, and out of the messy black hair. His bright green eyes narrowed, and lightly jogging, he caught up to the wagon, where he was met with the glowering eyes of the caravan leader, "Watch yoo step, boy, if yoo do't deliver, I'ma not be be paiin yoo."
With a nod, the man hopped into the front seat, and fell asleep. The caravan traveled for a good four days before reaching Memnon, and after collecting his payment, the man headed to a small tavern that was out of the way.
Tossing the proprietor a few pieces of platinum, a gross overpayment, but hardly important. He went to his room, and setting out a large gem, almost the size of his head, he sat cross legged on the floor, and sent his thoughts into the gem, and across Faerun, "Require assistance, great monetary reward, possibly long last artifacts. Come adventurers, come to Memnon, and claim thy prize."
A fight need not end with the death of participant. A fight also ends when the desire to do violence is gone.Zyeke