Tribes from all over the city and countryside had gathered to trade at the Market Plaza.
The building was run-down and dilapidated but many of the shops on the inside were still used for commerce. You entered the building at your own risk. It was well known, a weapon and fighting skills were necessary or you didn’t come out alive.
The less adventurous shopped through the rows of tables and kiosks lining the parking lot. There was an assortment of well-worn and used items available for trade. Occasionally, a shove or accidental push put people at an uneasy truce.
The putrid stench of gutter-rats filled the parking lot. Expert at retrieving items of value from the pockets of anyone within an arm’s reach, the little thieves were out in abundance. They stole in well-organized packs. Their sad dirty faces and filthy fingers made even the most deviant of people cringe.
Beware of disturbances. Misdirection is a favorite tool of the gutter-rats. An overturned table, a girl on the ground or a crying baby should be avoided at all cost or you risk losing everything you own of value. Experienced shoppers secure their belongings at the first hint of trouble. Onlookers, and the less experienced provide help; in the blink of an eye, everything of value snatched from their pockets by the cunning thieves.