When by the highway, tents are pitched
A special type of troupe,
That bears rare goods that do bewitch
And make adventurers whoop.

The nomadic Bazaar's in town
Be sure your friends come join
Sights that amaze, smells that astound,
As long as you've got coin.

Ordruin's strong but detailed work
Giving all things a case,
There's not a detail that he shirks
His craftsmanship is ace.

Miss Quaen'a, with her gifts so fine
Few others can compare,
I look forward to her designs
They always have such flair.

Lindire, best with all woodcrafts
Makes me wish I could carve,
Each element, the small contrasts,
I'm honoured to observe.

And Dargolath, who brings quaint food
The herald of the group,
The fare he serves will lift your mood
And straighten out that stoop.

Rough Kelath, keeper of great beasts
All creatures quite unique,
The crowding there will never cease
Each person's interest piqued.

Gilrain has flowers, some divine
And others very strange,
Like carrion, smelling old chine,
Or something else deranged.

Bookbinding, that is Rakdra's realm
Words carry ever on,
Though many feel quite underwhelmed
Over these goods I fawn.

The mistress of essential oils
Who goes by Xamunae,
Her perfumes not so sweet they spoil
I'd smell them every day.

Her toys bring joy to young and old
I speak of sweet Therine,
The dolls' lines are true comedy gold
Yet paint cute, peaceful scenes.

When it comes time that they close shop
I always fondly smile,
Because I know they'll someday stop
To hawk and chat a while.

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Phaestian, in the year 635 AF.