Snippet #2679512

Smacow's and traders and travellers and tourists moved through the streets chaotically, weapons dangling off half of them - it was Qafar after all. Mirova fit in, her beige, dusty-cloak covering her head to toe, thick gloves and boots bunching out at the ends, and a gold-glittered veil coming down over the opening of the hood. Coins and materials from different clan's were being traded at the entrance to each stall Mirova passed, each trying to barter an equal value of goods in return. As she continued down the main-road the tents and stands got grander, stages and shows and fire-bursting out of machines on display as salesmen and women pitched the audience grandly.

Through the darkness of her hood Mirova's eyes lit up as an engine on a pedestal blasted out electrical bolts across a wooden stage, the seller laughing as the audience gasped. Stolen Wetlander technology, the trader boasted. Very advanced.

"Alright," Mirova murmured, glancing down at the market map she had in hand. The Dol clan was good at organizing these things, very orderly this chaos. "My tent should be-" Mirova turned a corner to reveal an alleyway, poisonous rats feasting on what may at one stage have been a corpse. Rocks and rubble polluted the path, and darkness consumed the alleyway ground toward her decorated, red and gold nomad's tent at the end.

"Oh sweet, I love being in a murder alley," Mirova commented as she made her way down the dark alley to set up her tent. Not the best spot in the village to attract customers, but it didn't matter. At the end of the day, once people had spent their money and were looking for a bit of hope, that's when they visited a Nomad's tent.

"Naima name still good for something," Mirova muttered as she entered the silk entrance-way, readying to setup.

***

"One drink please," A voice said from down the bar of Jake. A long-faced man with thinning, grey hairs glanced over at the cowboy-samurai and the woman on his lap before turning nervously to the barkeep.

"It's your favourite: beer," The barkeeper muttered, sliding the musky mug toward the man. He glanced a small Taqa crystal on the counter, the barkeeper glancing down at the item before nodding. It was a fair trade.