A cheerful stall brimming with color and craft. Painted masks hang from cords above tables crowded with cloth dolls, carved tops, and brightly painted wooden blocks. A few small children’s books, illustrated with woodblock prints, rest neatly in a basket. Laughter and the faint scent of fresh paint fill the air.

Wares: Handcrafted masks, dolls, and wooden toys.

Proprietor: Marsha, an elderly woman with long white hair and a flowing dress. She paints each piece by hand, while her husband— a quiet carpenter—shapes the wood she brings to life with color. Though kindly to children, she harbors a sharp tongue for the Loyalists, the garrison, and the dwarves, saying Saltmarsh was better before they arrived.

Rows of candles, some poured into copper vials, others hanging to dry fill the stall with the warm scent of wax. A worktable glows in the lamplight, cluttered with copper lanterns in various stages of completion. Behind it, an old man quietly taps metal with a small hammer, the rhythmic sound mingling with the soft crackle of candle flames.

Wares: Candles, lanterns, and lamp oil.

Proprietor: Abul, a frail but sharp-eyed man nearing a century old. Suspicious of strangers and unmoved by politics, he spends his days crafting light to keep back the dark. If he takes a liking to a visitor, he might share an old tale of the undead he once saw on a moonless night, an encounter that left him forever afraid of the dark and devoted to making candles.

Two great barrels of cool water stand beneath a canvas awning, one infused with lime, the other with rose and lavender. Rows of woven-glass jugs glimmer in the sunlight, each sealed with twine and wax. Sailors swear by the lime water to keep scurvy at bay, while the town’s ladies favor the rose-lavender blend, said to keep the skin soft and youthful.

Wares: Fresh and flavored waters in large glass jugs.

Proprietor: Boneta, a striking young woman with long black hair, strong arms, and a radiant smile. Beloved by sailors of every flag; navy, merchant, and pirate alike, she’s made her lime water a staple aboard ships across the Javan Bay. Boneta flirts easily, laughs often, and claims her rosy glow is proof that her water truly works.

The largest and busiest stall in the Green Market, overflowing with crates of carrots, onions, peppers, oranges, apples, and sacks of grain. The air is rich with the scent of fresh earth and ripe fruit. Farmers and townsfolk crowd the tables from dawn to dusk, haggling over the season’s best produce. This co-op of growers from the farms north of Saltmarsh along the road to Burle keeps the town well-fed.

Wares: Fresh fruits, vegetables, and grains.

Proprietors: Morrela and her twelve-year-old son Keller. Each morning before sunrise, they load their cart with produce from their small farm and make the long ride into town. Keller helps weigh grain and pack baskets while Morrela chats warmly with customers, sharing news and countryside tales from the road to Burle.

From the corner beside Harvest Hallow comes a steady chorus of clattering metal and hollow thumps of clay. Rows of gleaming copper pots hang from cords overhead, catching the sun, while shelves below brim with earthen jars and sturdy cooking pots of every size. The air smells faintly of clay dust and warm metal.

Wares: Clay pots, copper pans, and cooking wares.

Proprietor: Taymay, a cheerful halfling woman with clay-stained hands and a smudge on her cheek. She shapes the pots herself on a wheel each morning, while her husband hammers copper in their small workshop outside town. Originally from the Silverstand Forest near Burle, Taymay loves to reminisce about home and returns there every midsummer to visit family.