The crowded streets were noisy and stank to high heaven, but still more people kept joining the group of hagglers who were bidding for the products.
The items for sale were stood on a large, wooden, crudely-made, temporary stage in the centre of the town sqaure. Each of the items were different, but still similar, each one unique in its own way.
The prospective buyers were asked to rise to the stage one at a time to inspect the goods and make sure they were not damaged, and suited well to their job. This the people did obediently - not only because they wanted the fastest sale possible, but because the vendor was a terrifying man.
One eye had been gouged out, and a filthy grey rag tied over it. His face and hands were covered in scars - clearly battle wounds, and he had only one foot. The other was replaced with a wooden stick. His thick, frizzy black hair was dirty and matted, and his matching moustache and beard combination was encrusted with old food. Mr. Portocelli was not one to be messed with.
Once all the people in the tightly-packed crowd had inspected the items, the bidding began. The shouts were viscious as the bidders got more and more agitated. But eventually, all the products were sold. All, that is except one.
Her name was Safira and she was 15 years old.