At the moment, the peasants and the local population of Calais were huddled inside their small stone and wood houses.
Of course, they were afraid... mothers held their crying children close, praying to whatever gods would listen as the very earth beneath their feet trembled.
Yet, life inside the besieged fortress had to continue.
They were trying to do their jobs, which was clearly all centered down in the bustling port.
The Iron Kingdom's war machine required constant feeding... sweating dockworkers hauled wooden crates of salt, tea, and black gun oil from the deep cargo ships to the inner stone vaults, ignoring the occasional stray iron ball that whistled over the walls and splashed into the harbor waters behind them.
Honestly, for them, it was a strange feeling... seeing that wars had suddenly become massive exchanges of explosive fire with cannons and such things was hard to process.
