Cannat Glaine
At the southwestern point of the Sea of Glass, Glaine Cuan, there is a town.
Believe it or not.
This unusual town is uninhabited, full of passably maintained yet mostly abandoned huts, hovels, and even larger homes and buildings, made out of packed sand. Twice per year, this town is cleaned out of all accumulated sand and debris, freshened up with the ritual smudging of sage, and a three day rager of a beer-keg party goes down. During the party, colorful and brightly cheerful tapestries are hung from the windows, and by the second day, the barely audible tinkle of the tiny bells woven into them fills the air everywhere one walks. There is music fit to be the best in the world, too; the Singers are known for a vast catalogue of song, dance, and performative pieces, but here at this party, they let it all hang out.
It is a meetup of clans, and families, and friends. It is a celebration of life, with whirling dancers in a motley of colors, doing their level best to impress a bevy of provocatively dressed women. The day after the party, they set up their tents and wares. By then, there are camps of brave, hardy souls, scattered around the outskirts like dogs waiting excitedly for their favorite morsel, and at sunrise the next day a joyous noise of many voices rises as the buying and selling begins. It seems as if even the goats in the pen silence themselves during the , waiting for that first ray of sun to break over the windswept dunes to the east before even bleating hello to each other for the day. Smithies begin hammering and looms begin whirring. Hawkers dressed head to toe in bright, happy colors called out to strangers as if they were long lost family. Salt. Lots of salt. Bags and barrels, bricks and pallets, of salt. Magical charms to find water, and protective balms made from 'secret Singer ingredients' abound. Entire sides of goat. Preserved lamb and mutton. Camel steaks and roast chevaline magically preserved and coated in beeswax. Baklava stalls, serving up finger-length slices of the puff pastry filled with honey and pignolia nuts, then dusted with dried pistachio and granulated agave-sugar dust. Lamb shawarma in slightly differing 'secret family recipe' variations simply abound, as well as wandering minstrels in baggy, colorful hats. Many of these sport long peacock or emu feathers trailing out behind them. Bolts of fine cloth stand nearby anywhere one was stands, amongst them giggling young lovers steal kisses and hearts alike in a whirl of awkward, perfumed color. Bangles and thick chains and necklaces adorn man and woman alike in copious, joyous gaud, which somehow only adds to the beguiling happiness of their color scheme and seemingly constant whirling. The Singers will dance at the drop of one of the those hats the minstrels wear (coincidence?), and they love to spin when they dance. A bouncing, merry dance demanding some acrobatic acumen and, indeed, athletics. They are all here to both sell and buy, and for the next twelve days, they do so. On the thirteenth day, all of the people pack up and go home, with many a fond-farewell and tearful hug. Many of the Singers 'homes' are their Connies, or their Ràcan Glainne; their massive glass rakers, with which they sail the sea of glass.
Believe it or not.
This unusual town is uninhabited, full of passably maintained yet mostly abandoned huts, hovels, and even larger homes and buildings, made out of packed sand. Twice per year, this town is cleaned out of all accumulated sand and debris, freshened up with the ritual smudging of sage, and a three day rager of a beer-keg party goes down. During the party, colorful and brightly cheerful tapestries are hung from the windows, and by the second day, the barely audible tinkle of the tiny bells woven into them fills the air everywhere one walks. There is music fit to be the best in the world, too; the Singers are known for a vast catalogue of song, dance, and performative pieces, but here at this party, they let it all hang out.
It is a meetup of clans, and families, and friends. It is a celebration of life, with whirling dancers in a motley of colors, doing their level best to impress a bevy of provocatively dressed women. The day after the party, they set up their tents and wares. By then, there are camps of brave, hardy souls, scattered around the outskirts like dogs waiting excitedly for their favorite morsel, and at sunrise the next day a joyous noise of many voices rises as the buying and selling begins. It seems as if even the goats in the pen silence themselves during the , waiting for that first ray of sun to break over the windswept dunes to the east before even bleating hello to each other for the day. Smithies begin hammering and looms begin whirring. Hawkers dressed head to toe in bright, happy colors called out to strangers as if they were long lost family. Salt. Lots of salt. Bags and barrels, bricks and pallets, of salt. Magical charms to find water, and protective balms made from 'secret Singer ingredients' abound. Entire sides of goat. Preserved lamb and mutton. Camel steaks and roast chevaline magically preserved and coated in beeswax. Baklava stalls, serving up finger-length slices of the puff pastry filled with honey and pignolia nuts, then dusted with dried pistachio and granulated agave-sugar dust. Lamb shawarma in slightly differing 'secret family recipe' variations simply abound, as well as wandering minstrels in baggy, colorful hats. Many of these sport long peacock or emu feathers trailing out behind them. Bolts of fine cloth stand nearby anywhere one was stands, amongst them giggling young lovers steal kisses and hearts alike in a whirl of awkward, perfumed color. Bangles and thick chains and necklaces adorn man and woman alike in copious, joyous gaud, which somehow only adds to the beguiling happiness of their color scheme and seemingly constant whirling. The Singers will dance at the drop of one of the those hats the minstrels wear (coincidence?), and they love to spin when they dance. A bouncing, merry dance demanding some acrobatic acumen and, indeed, athletics. They are all here to both sell and buy, and for the next twelve days, they do so. On the thirteenth day, all of the people pack up and go home, with many a fond-farewell and tearful hug. Many of the Singers 'homes' are their Connies, or their Ràcan Glainne; their massive glass rakers, with which they sail the sea of glass.
Demographics
Every single race and ethnicity upon the planet, Tellus, is represented and welcomed, here.
Government
The Singers are, surprisingly, entirely egalitarian, although they have a strong matriarchal social structure.
Defences
There is no need to defend it; there is nothing sustainable anywhere near it.
Industry & Trade
Trade and artisanal goods for sale.
Infrastructure
They sell everything one could think of here, except weapons or armor. The stalls and rooms in the town are first come first served, barring one building in particular that is reserved for the elderly, who the Singers revere and care for tenderly.
Districts
The Còmhnuidh Bhaile, literally translated to 'dwelling town'; the huge market that encompasses most of the town, Gobhainn Bhaile ('Smith Town'), and Glaine Bhaile ('Glass Town') are the only other named districts in the small town, the rest being known simply as Bhaile, or 'town'.
Assets
Just buildings and market stalls. Surprisingly well cared for and preserved.
Guilds and Factions
The Singers.
History
This trade town has been here time out of mind. It is said that Vekhetmiradonalax-Myra of the Travelers caused it to be, but she says that's a 'load of dingo's kidneys'.
Points of interest
The town itself is the only point of interest for hundreds of miles, according to the Singers. Glass Town is entertaining; who does not like watching glass blowers at work? The thing is, the entire town is entertaining when it is inhabited.
Tourism
No real tourism here; just a giant party while trying to get as much cash as possible from literally everyone else here. Everyone came here to both party and sell services and merchandise.
Architecture
The buildings are cleverly designed boxes, each cooled with its own windcatcher, and fitted securely with sturdy shutters and doors.
Geography
It's flat, hot, and dry af.
Natural Resources
Sand! Glass, silica, iron, precious metals, precious and semi precious stones; crystals and geodes.
Alternative Name(s)
Glassmeet; Glassmoot
Type
Town
Population
Technically 0, except for a few weeks a year.
Location under
Owning Organization
Related Traditions
Related Professions
Related Plots
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