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In the bazaars of Kharadun, the world doesn’t whisper, it sings.
Scent of spices rise like prayer smoke, zurna music blasts through sunlit alleys, and silver changes hands beneath swaying canopies. Nobles, nomads, and Northmen meet where grilled meat crackles, satirical plays mock the powerful, and rumors are traded as eagerly as rubies. In these crowded streets, every scent, glance, and coin carries a story, and no one leaves unchanged.
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