Virion strode through the cobbled streets, walking through a portion of the stronghold he had never visited before. Rather than turning towards the hill that lay beyond the old living space, the area where elder Symonticus' home was, he had taken a large, curving cobbled path that led south from the central square. This area had several buildings used as warehouses and such for imported goods or goods to be exported. However, due to the war conditions, the trade market had completely ceased, and the warehouses were emptied to allow for refugees from other perabel towns and cities to stay within.
Furthermore, the sides of the cobbled walkway were lined with more makeshift homes, the same flimsy wooden buildings placed in rows all over the stronghold. The city was full to bursting with the entirety of the surviving perabel population. A breeze kicked up as Virion followed the cobbled path past the rows of warehouses and wooden huts. The path curved eastward and opened out before him to reveal the docks. The docks of Port City were the grandest in all of Merthal, surpassing even the elven docks near Vailoth which were merely used as the trade receive point. Port City's docks, in sharp contrast to the elven docks, contained the majority of trade-related buildings as several associations had established themselves and had built their bases of operations within them. Many large ships lined the coast, anchored on a long wooden walkway. The walkway merged into a cobbled path, cobbled with a different, lighter stone than the rest of the stronghold, which led into a small town's worth of buildings, neatly arranged in rows.
Every building was owned by a separate trade association within the perabel community. Each association had a main office and a primary warehouse on the docks, into which interested patrons could enter to inspect the goods on offer for trade. When trade in Merthal was bustling, several elves had visited Port City to establish prospective trade deals. The trade market in Port City used to be messy business. Getting one's hands on the highest quality goods was always a rat race as different trade associations would fight over materials or ores discovered on mining missions. Advertising to prospective patrons was another matter altogether. The elves and warlocks who would visit in hopes of striking a trade deal would be hounded by several emissaries of different associations, clamoring for their attention. It would be pandemonium on a daily basis, perabels hawking their wares, elves and warlocks desperately trying to find their bearings, and certain thrifty folk taking advantage of the chaos to pickpocket unsuspecting patrons. For the most sophisticated race on the continent, the docks of the perabel trading hub tended to be quite unruly. Virion strode through the grand docks and reminisced as he remembered how he had visited them once, when he was very young, along with his father.
The image he saw before him was vastly different from how he remembered. Due to the war, the docks were completely covered in makeshift huts. The large open space was not wasted and almost every bit of it was used as living space for perabel refugees. Every single association's head office had closed, and every primary warehouse was left open in order to maximize the space available for those who needed it. It was a sad sight to see the grandest trading hub in Merthal reduced to such a state, covered in temporary huts, and shut down completely, an air of despair replacing the usual hustle of trade.
Virion strode through and past the docks towards a hill that rose beside it. He climbed the hill to see the limited cultivable land available within the stronghold. It was a small patch, about half the size of the docks themselves. There were several farmers tilling the soil as Virion approached and they looked up at him in confusion. Virion stopped to look around at the farm. Space utilization was maximized in efficiency as crops were grown in tightly knit lines next to each other. Near the patch of land was a large building presumably used to store the raw crops and prepare the packaged rations for the stronghold. Virion watched as an old perabel emerged from the building. It was elder Grinyard. He spotted Virion and waved at him. Virion rose a hand in greeting and wondered how the elder had arrived here faster than him. The only explanation was that the building must open into the stronghold somewhere, through a back entrance of some sort. Virion made a mental note to ask the elder about it afterward, the journey he had made was quite a long one and he would appreciate a shortcut. The crops seemed to be growing well, though not quite ready for harvest. There would probably be only one more harvest before winter hit the stronghold, crippling the crop output, and putting the perabels within on a timer. Despite elder Grinyard's clever seasonal distribution of crops, utilization of space, and arrangement for rations, the output of food would simply be too low in the winter.
'Many will starve to death.'
Virion scanned the hill with his gaze one last time then sighed and took off, choosing not to dwell on the situation any longer. He walked past the hill and went down the other side, opposite the docks and the rest of the stronghold. In the distance, the walls of the stronghold were visible, shimmering with magical energy. As he descended the hill, the morning sunlight glinted on the rolling waves visible to his left. He could hear familiar sounds of clashing metal and he picked up his pace. Before him, at the bottom of the hill, was a small sandy beach with a few tents scattered around it. It presumably extended a large distance along the coast, but it was cut off abruptly by the large walls of the stronghold. On the beach were several perabels, holding practice swords and sparring with each other on the sand. Virion quickly descended the hill as the sounds of clashing metal grew louder.
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