Southern Gate was not a large town, if it could be called a town at all. The slow expansion of merchants and tradesmen beyond the city walls had drawn with it the housing, food markets, and other daily necessities that workers were too lazy to trek into the city for. Traffic through the massive silver gate was always mired in the city’s web of security spells and paperwork. Even for those who had nothing to fear, avoiding that daily slog was worth living outside the city’s protection. After all, if anything happened the City Guard was only a warning bell away.
When Viramor finally struck, the citizens of Southern Gate watched helplessly as their city burned. The firestorm that the Council had swore would never happen, raged within the magical dome, turning everything to ash. They stood on the edge of the silver gate, unable to enter, watching as even the unspelled stone crumbled away. In a week the storm had died and the massive stone walls began to cool. There was nothing left to burn.
Viramor and his army arrived a day later and rode on after a cursory inspection. Their new King had little interest in the shell-shocked citizens, leaving only a general instruction to begin rebuilding. And, after a while, they did.