[Nyka location] Herring Square

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Known as the Celestial Seat, Nyka is a religious city in Northern Sylira. Ruled by four demigods and traversed by a large crevice, the monk-city is both mystical and dangerous. [Lore]

[Nyka location] Herring Square

Postby Liar on April 18th, 2012, 6:43 pm

Herring Square


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As one travels along the tight streets of Nyka during the morning bells, one is sure to hear the sounds of a busy plaza. An aura of salt and brine surrounds Herring Square, sometimes called Red Herring Square by foreign traders unfamiliar with the city's customs. Fisherman skitter about just inside the Eastern Wall near the docks, baskets of fish in tow, offloading the excess catch of the day. It is a festival of sorts, a daily celebration of life-giving fish. In the early hours at least, the fish are plentiful and it is almost certain that everyone will get a share. Rows of wooden carts and stands stand filled with silver, pink, scaled, and unscaled animals of the sea. The fish flingers sing like an orchestra where every musician attempts to play louder than their comrades as they vie for the attention of the Nykans that crowd the artificial alleys. They boast of their catches and attempt to make them seem better than others, a friendly competition. But there are more than just fishermen and merchants about. Dancers, sleight of hand artists, musicians of all different sorts mesmerize the crowd and draw the people closer. Tents are erected over the stalls and made into small dice parlors or sitting areas. It is a social event, a tradition, and a celebration of community. (As the law of the city states, no food can be exchanged for coin here.)

But as the sun begins to climb higher into the sky, a slow metamorphosis happens right before your eyes. The fish are gone by late noon and the fishermen diminish as their stock wears thin, shaking hands and going off on their way. And just as the moon draws the mighty sea away from land, merchants and traders begin to occupy the same stalls. Though the sea of morning festivities receded, puddles of buskers remain. Unlike in the morning, coin exchanges hands. Just like the ocean that gives fish, the exposed earth supplies fine fabric, textiles, wooden crafts, everything that one would not expect a humble fish market to offer. The stalls that once held fish were now instruments of financial gain, and one of the rare areas for foreign merchants can sell their wares, however cheaply. Spices and strange but pleasant scents bathe the area in a distinct perfume, a pleasant contrast to the brine of high tide. But as the evening curfew approaches, the merchants begin to pack up their shops. Like the tides, there is a point where the market enters stasis. The stalls are empty and dead, only visited by the spackling of the robed prowlers. Equilibrium is a fickle thing; soon the fisherman will return to their boats and cast their first line of the morning. The market will be covered in the salty scents and the life of the fish slinging will begin once more.

Written by Xavior Silhouette.
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