Friday, 22 May 2015



Red and blue silks drape the entry to the market, which is held in a walled square in the steaming center of the city. Entry is restricted to only those who cannot be lifted by the market's guards. Corpulent, near-naked patrons jostle around the rickety stalls, each carrying the large wooden ladle provided on entry. Dipping a ladle into one of the bubbling pots costs nothing; the market is there to let fat merchants buy and sell with each other, not haggle for a fourth breakfast.


Nobody goes to Gottschiek themselves. They send trained parrots and the parrots do the bargaining. Humongous tongueless eunuchs employed by the market escort the parrots, transport the goods which the parrots order and supply, enforce all payment of debts, which are binding. The most sought-after goods in Gottschiek are extremely well-trained parrots, which are worth their weight in gold. A good parrot can set its owner up for life.

     Shar Lottar

The market is held outside the city gates, a law imposed on account of the noise. And the smell. The perimeter is haphazard, delineated by fences of animal bone and the walls of tents. Shar Lottar is a place for the buying and selling of beasts. No two of the animals on sale are alike, also by law - allowing some of the creatures to breed would be... inadvisable. For more mysterious reasons, money is outlawed within the market. Animals, and parts of animal, are bought in, traded as many times as possible before they begin to rot, and then either eaten or shipped out.


The floating market of Kalixáten is hidden in the bayou just outside the damned city of Kalixan. The market takes place in the stolen shell of a great turtle, paddled along by the dozen oars sprouting from its leg holes. At night the market is lit up from within by thousands of fragrant swamp candles. Canoes flock up against the shell, patrons waving through the cloying air to find gloamgrass, flashbeetles, a nugget of dragonite, amongst the wares on display. The primary currency of Kalixáten is, ostensibly, promises. In practice, most transactions boil down to, "I promise I'll give you 40 brass shekels for that bundle of crow feet."


At the base of a great castle that looms over the mountain pass between two perpetually warring kingdoms is the one place where the merchants of each realm are allowed to trade and mingle. The castle belongs to neither kingdom and was there long before the wars began. Probably built by dwarves or something. Seizing it would prove a decisive advantage in the war. Both rulers have recently renounced their claims to it, smashed the portcullises, filled in the moat and declared it an open space for the use of anyone who cares to occupy it. Nobody knows why. It's gradually becoming part of the market town.

     Vraa Aabana

The psychic market of Vraa Aabana is accessible via communal dreamspace to anybody who has the power to access communal dreamspace. This is where you go to literally give someone a penny for their thoughts. It looks like whatever the mass consensus of its occupants about what a market should look like is, which means it changes depending on time zones. If you go when all the people in the vaguely-Arabic part of your setting are asleep, it's a souk. If all the vaguely-Venetian people are asleep it's a carnival with gondolas. You can buy memories, fantasies, emotions and inspirations, but you have to pay in kind or know how to get physical money into dreamspace with you.


The only currency of the diagonal markets of Cuahtezpacalec is position. By law, each terrace of the carefully stepped hillside is only licenced to support a certain number of occupants. Deals in fur, honey-roasted guineapig, turquoise and obsidian take place at the edges of the terraces, always for substantial qualities, since exchanging position with somebody to advance one step up is not divisible by anything. Being on top of the hill doesn't give you anything in its own right, you don't get to be king or anything like that. It's where all the best parties are held though.


  1. fuck. another flawless victory. I quit writing on my blog as of now.

    1. u r my kindling. u r the fuel 2 my flame. nvr leave me bb. keep doin swords pls.