Dahlia stood high upon the structure, the wood beneath her creaking and groaning. In the eerie silence of night, the sounds were almost distracting. Almost. Dahlia collapsed her spotting glass, hands shaking as she handed the brass tube to Felix. The guard captain accepted it with a grimace, his sights still set on the dark sea north of Yorktown.

Both of them were positioned on a recently built watchtower, its purpose solely for overwatch on the northern shore. Normally, on a night such as this one, the sea here was pitch black, the only source of any light being the twin moons that rarely ever peeked through the blanket of clouds above.

However, tonight and all the nights for the past three weeks, the sea had been lit by a line of lanterns and torches, their origins that of the longships that surrounded Yorktown. Orcs, as confirmed by Silas, were holding the shaman's home in a siege.

"No changes?" Felix asked.

"None," Dahlia confirmed. "I suppose they brought more than enough food to feed themselves for the coming weeks."

"Or days," Silas muttered, the orc standing behind the two. "Those ships don't hold much in terms of cargo. Either they plan to raid soon, or their stores are much more well stacked than what I'd expect."

Felix paled at that. "Why don't they just raid us then? Why waste weeks out there?"

"Because Blood-Irk wants us to be scared," Silas growled. "The bastard gets off on the idea of his prey being more helpless than trapped rabbits. He did the same thing to Aldren before he eventually raided it."

"How long did that siege last?" Dahlia asked.

"Two weeks," Silas said in a mutter. "Back then, his reasoning was that he wanted to gauge the settlement's defenses and its manpower. Now, I'm sure there's a different reason for this siege."

"What might that be?" Felix asked with a glance.

"He's waiting for James," Silas said. "He must have noticed that Frostbite is nowhere to be seen and probably used his damn Shaman to scry the island for any sign of him."

"The same Shaman that cast that?" Dahlia murmured as she gestured toward the night sky. At first glance, the sky seemed ordinary. Clouds that shifted like black mist in the night's expanse, the moonlight distant and muddled. It looked normal until a shimmer passed by, quick and nearly unnoticeable.

It was the effects of a Dissonance Cloud, a domain-type spell that specialized in nullifying magic and canceling out spells. If used in close proximity, it could dispel any and all spells made within it. All but the caster. However, when cast in such a broad area—like an island—Dissonance Cloud's effects were reduced significantly. Judging from Falrick's failed attempts at communicating with Vindis, the orcs' Shaman must have singled out the Cloud's target to be any that could send out signals to the rest of Valenfrost.

"Un'aka's doing," Silas growled.

Dahlia nodded solemnly, her frown deepening. Despite trying what she could, the Dissonance Cloud's effects were always there. She waited, stayed awake for days, to see if it would falter at some point. She had figured the Shaman who cast it would eventually have to maintain it and risk recasting the domain. It never happened. Even Falrick had opted to switch out with her, both spellcasters taking shifts.

The domain spell never went down. It didn't even falter. It was always up, always blocking signals. Keeping the island in the dark. Dahlia felt like she was going mad. She insisted that there was no way that someone could constantly keep such a high maintenance casting on for so long without a problem. Yet her hunch had failed to yield any truth.

Whoever the Shaman was, he was good. Better than most casters Dahlia knew. It was clear to her now, after weeks of waiting, that hoping for a false hope was useless. The same went for praying that James would return to help.

'He'll return. I know it.'

Dahlia clenched her jaw and her hand instinctively balled into a tight fist. There had been no word about James for three weeks now, his absence more than concerning to the clan. The Shaman prayed that he did make it through his negotiations safely and had gotten word about Yorktown's predicament. Perhaps he decided to stay back and plan accordingly, gathering the forces needed to break this siege.

It was a comforting thought, one that seemed less likely as the days went on. Deep inside, Dahlia began to think of the worst. While her trust for James was true—and she did have faith that he'd be back—it didn't stop her worry and concern from gnawing at her from the inside. The reality was, there was no way to know if he was alright. Not with that cursed Cloud covering all of the island.

"Food will start to run low soon," Felix said. "We'll have to start cutting back on rations and downsizing."

"Dammit," Dahlia cursed. The siege had caught them all off guard, leaving them without any recourse of action. The Shaman guessed there had to be at least fifteen ships around Yorktown, all of them filled to the near brim with orcs. One orc was said to be as strong as three men, which would make their numbers already overwhelming.

Yorktown barely had a couple hundred guards and orcs, none of them ready for a full-on siege that was bound to end at any point. Hel, most of their guardsmen were still rookies, their training next to nil, and their experience with orcs nonexistent. In other words, if a raid were to happen, the battle would quickly turn into a losing one. Especially if Blood-Irk chose to raid at all points of the island.

Helen had already taken the role of Marshal, her authority and orders granted by Dahlia herself. Felix was still the guardsman captain, but Helen would be in charge of making sure the island was hard to raid and even harder to take over. Her experience from the Outsider Wars was going to be vital in the survival of the island and Dahlia didn't want to take chances.

All sides were already heavily fortified. Orcs watched the northern and eastern beaches, watchtowers, and barricades slowly being built in anticipation of a raid. Felix and his men were set to fortify and protect Yorktown, as well as watch over the populace. Helen and her assigned men were already at work fortifying the southern beach, the least defensible area so far.

"Time is running out," Dahlia said. "We'll have to consider that an invasion is inevitable in the coming weeks. Probably less time than that. Felix, I need you to make sure that no one is allowed near the marketplace or harbor. Increase patrols and try to post as many abled archers on those towers as you can."

The guard captain hesitated but nodded. "Not many archers but I'll see what I can do. Most men are busy setting caltrops and barricades. And that… sharp-wire, or whatever Jarl Holter called it."

"Barbed wire," Dahlia corrected. James had come up with that idea some time ago, taking the design and name from his homeworld Earth. Steel wire with sharp barbs clumped around its curved length. He wanted to use it for the ships, to dissuade raiders from climbing. Said something about it working on pirates from his world. Now, the barbed wire was being widely used around the island, the gnomes and dwarves from New Aldren helping in its construction.

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That idea was one of the many the Outlander had thought about using back during his talks with Dahlia. Another involved making some high-power weapons with the blast powder the gnomes had used for their artificer bombs last Frost. That dream had died quickly when James discovered that the gnome who was responsible for the bombs was killed during the Vindis battle.

'Dammit, I'm reminiscing again,' Dahlia mentally reprimanded herself. She shook off the memories and focused her attention on Silas.

"Silas, how many orcs can use ranged weaponry? Bows, throwing spears, even runes?"

The noble orc shrugged his massive shoulders, his gaze moving to the nearby camp of orcs. They were all busy crafting sharp pikes to place on the gravel beach, their points facing the sea. "A good five or six can use bows," Silas said. "Eight or ten can probably throw spears. Runes, I'm not entirely sure. Might need to ask around and tally the number."

"Alright, do what you can," Dahlia said. "Keep their skills sharp and post them on towers. Make sure to line the beaches with whatever barbed wire you have left. The same goes for those pikes."

Silas nodded with a graceful motion, his upper body bowing almost. "Of course. I'll get on it soon."

"Good, now get on with it," Dahlia ordered. "Time is not on our side."

With that, the orc and guardsman moved to exit the tower, their forms wavering as they descended. Dahlia watched them go, a sigh escaping her as she pushed some of her back. The stress was getting to her. Every day, every hour, was a chance that Yorktown could be plunged into a seemingly unwinnable battle.

'Unwinnable. That's how I'm looking at this?' Dahlia mentally scolded herself. When had she grown so apathetic? When did her optimism and faith vanish? Did James' disappearance affect her? Was that why she expected defeat? Because he wasn't here?

"I always come back. Don't worry," James had said with a smile and laugh. "If I don't, who else is going to protect this town?"

Dahlia's hand clenched around the raven pin on her cloak, tears forming in her eyes. She clenched her jaw tightly, doing her best not to outright scream her frustrations.

"Where are you, James?" she whispered. A small breeze picked up around her, specks of snow and dead leaves brushing against the shaman's cloak. Dahlia closed her eyes, a shaky breath leaving her as she did something she hadn't done in months.

She prayed.

Blood-Irk took care in his steps, his lumbering form dwarfing most orcs on the deck. He did not do it out of acknowledgment for the bumbling fools. No, Blood-Irk was more caring for his ship, Dremor's Murmur. Despite the galleon being the biggest of his fleet, its size even dwarfing most Lumen-made vessels, Blood-Irk's weight and height were enough to tilt the ship just slightly. The deck was enough to fit ten orcs shoulder to shoulder, yet even to the orc chieftain, it was far too small.

"Where is Shaman Un'aka?" Blood-Irk ordered in a deep booming voice. Some of the orcs before him all refused to meet his eyes, their gazes focused on the deck. One, however, answered his question.

"Stardeck, Blood-Irk," Jashen responded with a curt nod. Half the orc's face was burned off, a remnant of when their base on Adrien had burnt to ash. Blood-Irk let out a grunt before he turned his focus to the other end of the ship. He walked with slow care, his steps shifting the weight around.

The galleon was big, made by Blood-Irk's own orcs back in Atrox. It had been built of scavenged and looted ships, their hulls and masts nailed crudely together. While its appearance was nothing pretty, the ship was a massive fortress in itself. Capable of housing well over fifty orcs, its main purpose was to act as Blood-Irk's base of operation. Its lower decks were filled with rations, weapons, and relics from other countries and cities.

Of course, despite its massive size, Blood-Irk always had a hard time navigating. For example, he couldn't physically go beneath the decks. Restricted by his towering height and size, the Chieftain was always above the deck or in his quarters, which was also specially made for him.

Blood-Irk grunted as he carefully climbed the steps to the raised deck, his boot straining the wood. Once he was up, he caught sight of the shaman. Un'aka was a man with dark-tanned skin, and his hair was a wild mess. He was smaller than most of the orcs, his height being around the average human.

The shaman wore a cloak of animal fur, its origin unknown to the orc. He didn't care much about that sort of thing. Under his cloak, he had traditional hide armor and clothing, and almost all of his articles of clothing were naturally procured. Trinkets of bone and crystal hung from his neck and arms, where they contrasted with his intricate tattoos.

While human, Un'aka was someone that Blood-Irk had no intention of killing. Not when the shaman had saved him more times than he'd care to admit.

"How much longer are we going to be here?" Un'aka asked, his amber-colored eyes glancing at the orc Chieftain.

"Until the Draugr returns," Blood-Irk answered in a low growl. "I want him to see me destroy this island. I want him to experience the humiliation I did back when we last met."

"Word in the winds say that Holter was killed by Jarl Falk," Un'aka said. He had a calm demeanor about him, his body graceful as he turned around to meet Blood-Irk. For some reason that the orc couldn't grasp, every movement the shaman made was made with grace and precision.

"What?"

"James Holter, the Draugr, was killed weeks back," Un'aka repeated. "The news is recent. All the talk around the south."

Blood-Irk gritted his jaw, his anger flaring through his nostrils. "Lies."

"Truth from what I've heard," Un'aka said calmly. "Jarl Falk had even procured his main vessel as a trophy of sorts."

"Those are lies!" Blood-Irk boomed. The air became silent, the clamoring of orcs and even the whistles of the wind dying quickly. Un'aka stared at Blood-Irk, his expression not changing one bit. That always annoyed the orc, how the shaman reacted little to his outbursts. A fine quality but annoying.

"I am just telling you what people are saying around Valenfrost," Un'aka sighed. "Take it as you will. I am just letting you know that our time here will soon have consequences. The orcs will become restless, Blood-Irk. If they spend a month like this, then there is bound to be conflict. Not unlike the one Silas had started a year ago."

Blood-Irk tensed at the name of the traitorous scum. He grunted. "What do you suppose we do then?"

"I suppose nothing," Un'aka said sharply. "I am no leader or commander. I am simply telling facts. What happens next is entirely up to you."

"I see," Blood-Irk growled. He turned away from the shaman, his gaze falling upon the distant island. He resisted the urge to rest his arms on the railings. He knew he'd break them. "Two weeks. After that, we raze it all to the ground. Draugr or no Draugr."

"Of course," Un'aka said, a hint of exhaustion in his words.

Blood-Irk did not say anything more as he headed back down to the main deck, leaving Un'aka alone on the stardeck. The shaman was an outlier in his clan of kinsmen, a human that had joined Blood-Irk long before his journey to the north. Un'aka had been very useful for Blood-Irk when it came to slaughtering most of the barbarian clans on Atrox's eastern coast. Very useful when it came to buying and selling weapons and armor. And invaluable when it came to the alchemical potions and magical runes he provided.

Blood-Irk had forgiven Un'aka for his misfortune of being a human. Amongst his own, the shaman was treated well and with just as much respect as any orc who bore the Blood surname. His value was immense and it pained the orc to know at the end of their conquest, Un'aka would have to be slaughtered along with his human brethren.

Blood-Irk was a thorough orc. When he made the promise to wipe all of humanity from the islands of Valenfrost, he didn't plan to compromise. Not even to someone like Un'aka.

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