The noise in the street was chaotic. Trading, and bartering. Sounded more like mad negotiations and screaming arguments. Livestock clucked, bleated, and whinnied. Swords and shields clanked and bashed agaisnt eachother in a metallic orchestra of disorganized pandamonium. There was no conducter to guide the noise, though the hubbub had a sort of rhythm that set the blood racing. There was spices hanging in colourful wreaths from post to post that gave off scents and aromas that most had never experienced before, and a poor few would never experience again, and not just for the rarity of such delicacies.

Here in the major trading city of Kavarden, the amount of people that came and went through the gates in a single day was more than some of the out skirting agricultural settlements would birth in the entire existence of the village. Some of these didn't even have a name. They were known by the distance of travel between the village gate posts and the road marker that indicaited only one more leage until you reached your destination of Kavarden, the shinning jewel in the tri-realms. For this was the place that the forrest fairies from the north brought down their sacred timbers and alchemy ingredients gathered in the forrest to trade. Their sacred timbers are renowned for their magical current and stability. The Fairies, bieng the eldest race of the wooded lands brought their haul in for trade as often as they felt the need to. Being in no hurry, knowing full well that their wares and goods were more saught after than the time it took to get them to the buyer. Providing them with an arrogance of self importance. Despite their near comical size, these winged creatures were deathly crafty, and had some Magics that transformed and sometimes left more than just a mere scorch mark on their victim. But being a more gentle sort of creature, they rarely ever stepped outside their normal, etherial, almost lazy demeanour. The people knew however, their main strength came from their control over the other beasts of the Woodlands. Their steeds -if you could call them that, for no fairies rode them- were the complete antithesis of their beautiful, glowing, colourful masters. Huge beasts with armour like hide, dull grey and darker grey were the only colour differential you could see at first glance. But when they got closer, you'd guess they were identified by the slashing, gorging, scaring patterns that appeared on their flesh. Mostly fighting amongst themselves, trying to gore eachother with their massive four paces long horn that drove up and out above their nostrils. While four to six razor sharp fangs protruded down past the lower jaw by two or three hand spans. These beasts made for a terrifying site. Especially when a group of them get together and begin a stampede. Not even the thickest castle walls could brace agaisnt that amount of destruction, and the Fairies loved that everyone of their allies, and more importantly, everyone of their enemies where well aware of this fact.

The Gnomes from the mountains of the East came to Kavarden with their precious gems and stones. Ore for smelting and giant stone slabs, hefted using some magics that was lost to all but the Gnomes, they mostly used these magics for building, but enough gnomes could summon enough wonderous magic to launch massive slabs of mountain high and far. Not a single gem that came from the Gnome's mountains was anything less than awe inspiring. There was no better gem to store and harness the powers of those who weilded them either in their armour, swords, rings or amulets. Bringing everything in by hovering their gigantic moving caravan mere fingers breadth above the earth at all times. One would be forgiven for lookong on and having the sence that they would topple over or run away on them in the slightest lapse of concentration. But despite their lackadaisical attitude and demeanour, their caraven of gigantic floating slabs of the best mineral rock, their huge floating tent like structures storing untold riches of the most powerful and beautiful gems, just kept levitating above the ground at little slower than a walking pace for a human. But the few Gnomes that were on the ground, scurried along beside the caravan making sure everything was going to plan. This gave a disproportionate scale for speed as the caravan appeared to be moving much faster than it actually was.

Finally there was sea born race of the southern oceans. With long loping arms but strong and defined to the point where their scaley, leathery skin seemed to be stretched over a tight bundle of rope. Being an amphibious species, these creature's huge gills ran from the top of the ear, down the back of the head, and almost to the lower jaw. They walked upright on webbed feet. Protruding fin like growths sticking out of places like the backs of the elbows and heels. With a much larger fin that folded down and out of view, starting from the back of the head and coming down to about the lower back. They use these to help with power and speed in the heavy currents and storms out on the oceans.

They emerged from the sea port that led right in to the city heart via a huge ramp that allowed the Shk'ah to drag their goods in and directly to the trading center. These creatures lived in the depths of the darkest oceans. Only emerging every other moon to bring in their trade when they could possibly drag no more up the ramp. Which was quite alot of weight. Each Shk'ah man was twice the size of a human man. Even their women stood heads above most. However it was the women of this race were the hunters. The men gathered shells and rare pearls that emanated raw energy; energy that could be manipulated and twisted to any desire. Left long enough, and the pearl could far exceed the limitations of the wielder, and no matter the intent of the magics used to manipulate the raw energy. Could very well eviscerate the user. In fact the term "check your pearls" became a popular local colloquialism. After more than a few pearls were gifted by love struck partners with love manipulation magics growing and budding for too long, only for the intended recipient to turn to dust the instant the pearls were gifted and the magics activated. Leaving nothing behind but a beautiful pearl necklace or ring in a puff of smoke and a heap of ash. Rendered useless, beautifully useless for they were still the most beautiful pearls the ocean offered.

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The women brought in gigantic sea creatures. Monsters so large it took a dozen Shk'ah warrior women to one rope and over fifty of the castle guards men to the other rope just to drag the corpses to dry land. They sold every last bit of every last animal they brought to land. Taking back what was left over in either a sign of respect to the dead or capitalising on some bones for broth, teeth for jewlery, and off cuts for baits. Whatever was left over, was taken back to the depths.

Priceless artefacts that occurred randomly and naturally within the mysterious timeless caverns located deep within the oceans, far surpassed the magic capabilities of some of the most intricate and powerful items hand crafted by people who dedicated their lives to perfecting the magics and items that contain them. Weapons that seemed to stay wet long after they were removed from the waters where they were forged. Armour made from parts and pieces of creatures that drove the imagination wild trying to depict what kind of monstrosity that particular piece of armour was pulled off of. These and many, many more items were bought on to dry land and sold to the dust dwellers for everyone wanted the best the oceans had to offer, and everyone knew the Shk'ah brought the best of the best.

Other smaller trading caravans trickled in and out of Kavarden on a daily basis. Mostly from the smaller villages bringing in their live stock and harvests of different grains, herbs and vegetables. But whenever one of the main traiding races brought in their wares, the flood of traders began to surge as they knew the money would also be surging. The city would have a constant hum of noise, and no matter the position of the sun, the people carried on about their business. Children ran rampant in groups of five to ten playing any number of games. Shadowy figures drawn deep within their cloakes slid between buildings and ally ways trying to avoid or capture their hunter or prey. In some parts of the city it wasn't uncommon to peer down a darkened back lane and see someone being held up against a wall with a flash of movement just under the chin of their victim. Most of the time people just kept on walking, most of the time those who kept on walking were the city guard themselves. Either uncaring or unwilling to stop an assault, robbery, or cold blooded murder. More focused on harassing some poor foreign girls or getting drunk in the bustling inn's of the city.

It was a rare thing to have more than one of the major trading races in Kavarden at one time. Usually one would be leaving as the other was arriving or vice versa. Sometimes two of them would stay at the same time but they preferred not to compete with one another and would rather the whole city's attention and money. The three would only ever converge on the city at the same time once every fifty years, in what came to be known as 'The Meeting of Markets'. Every fifty years the three trading races would meet within Kavarden and compete for the kings favour with a gift. A gift sought after, crafted, perfected or passed down. A gift that is fifty years of work or hunting. A gift that would grant the winning race a reduction on tax and costs of trading within Kavarden for the next fifty years, therefore tens of thousands of all kinds of travellers from all the realms would also converge on Kavarden. Specialist traders that knew 'The Meeting of Markets' would take place at a certain time would travel for decades just to get there. Some coming to buy, most coming to sell. It wasn't uncommon for some travelling caravans to never make their destination. Some thirty to forty years of harvest and trade, harvest and trade, over and over and over to gather the resources to make the travel with a guard large enough to take the village goods to trade. Small villages putting everything they had saved for fifty years in to an item that would bring rain when times got desperate. Some travelled alone, preferring to stick to the track less trodden. Some lone buyers would hitch a ride with a larger caravan pledging to protect the man next to him and the goods they held with his life.

Some of the lone travellers made their destination without being harried too much outside the occasional Chittlan, bear, buzzer drill, spider, wolf, forrest spirit, crawling weed, or rock troll attaIck. Most of the people that started the journey with a large caravan also made their destination without loosing too many to sickness, bandits, or other external forces. Some however would work most of their lives to save up for the journey, work until physically and mentally broken night and day to hunt, grow or scavenge, the proper materials to make the most amazing contraptions and master works of art. Wooden machines made from rotating gears and pully systems that turned the earth or transported huge amounts of stock over any terrain and up impassable mountians. Just to have a knife slide in to the side of his neck just below the ear and under the jaw while he slept. Drowning in his own blood while his family and fellow village members that had also spent their entire lives building up their wealth just to trade and sell so they can live the rest of their Iives in perfect, hard earned bliss. Just for them to have their lives taken away from them by some rouge who will do it all again to the next tent and the next while his guild members did the same to a dozen more. Silent and perfectly efficient. Some lone travellers run out of food or water, or trip and break their ankle, unable to find help. They die trying find someone, anyone. Anyone who he would have traded his entire life savings for a splint and a phial of healing. However the journey for the travellers and merchants and guards went. However many lives were lost along the way. It didn't matter to Kavarden. For the goods and wares always reached Kavarden.