No one knows how long the Bazaar has existed, nor how it stays afloat. Suspended between realms, the island drifts across air, time, and perhaps even space itself. It appears without warning, lingering for a few days before vanishing again, drawn to moments of great need or opportunity. Those who stumble upon it rarely forget, and those who leave often spend lifetimes searching for its return.

The Bazaar has a way of attracting the finest merchants of every era—travelers who, upon witnessing its wonders, decide never to leave. Though the entrance appears as an ordinary tent, those who step inside find themselves in the largest covered market in history—or in any history, for that matter. Within its winding aisles, traders from ancient civilizations barter alongside futuristic vendors, their lifespans seemingly frozen or stretched by the Bazaar’s strange magic. Some call it a nexus of commerce, others a puzzle beyond understanding—but to those who call it home, it is simply the only marketplace that matters.

The island itself seems almost alive, appearing precisely when it is most needed, then slipping away at the most inconvenient of times—often just as merchants leave to restock their wares. Scattered across the landscape are ruins of unknown origin: crude stone walls and primitive tools suggesting prehistoric construction, while incomprehensible, futuristic remnants hint at a civilization far beyond modern understanding. Some traders have given up trying to solve the Bazaar’s mysteries, adopting the saying:

"If I can’t sell it, I’m not interested."

But whether one comes to trade, to explore, or to lose themselves in the endless corridors of its wares, one thing is certain—the Bazaar moves when it chooses, and no map will ever lead you back to it.