"...SILVER!" The roar echoes down along the line, now that they've been spotted and arrows begin to be fired. At least among the Lions, proud bastards that they are. It works as well. Better armored, slower, and moving in close formation they're more than ready for the hail of arrows that come spewing forth from the besieged fortress as they all push towards the shallow stream. It is all a distraction of course, the real attempt being paid for in their blood as with every siege, it all comes with a heavy cost. The choice is to either pay, or wait. And ibn Marak will not wait. The catapults start now. No reason to be silent, and balls of flame hurtle into the fortress.
The hailstorm drops, soldiers drop. Most injured, some dead, but it doesn't stop the continual wave from storming up to the walls with ladders ready. A heavy price to pay, for somewhere now useless and nothing but a pinnacle of pride. But that doesn't matter to the mercenaries that were already ahead of the Lion's cry, honor and prestige instead being replaced by simple hard coin. Part of the fortress' wall started to crumble under siege fire, not enough to warrant a full scale assault but enough to tease the Commander. Enough, to risk his soldiers lives.
Heavy siege ladders thud against the wall, custom made just to the right height. Just below the crumbling remains of the parapet, here on the side of the main assault where the companies of the band are spent. A heavyset sergeant stands at the base of one such ladder, other soldiers seeking to brace it as others push themselves upwards. Here, against the rocky outcropping, most of the land turned to mud with the season and the flooding of the stream, there is little purchase but if gains can be made quick enough... "MOVE. WANT HER TO LIFt HER SKIRTS." The Irzali sergeant practically bellows in Iken's face, and before he knows it, the Tessouare is hauling himself up. Clad in helm, breastplate, and vambraces, he isn't the first or even the fifth so there is no shield. Just enough armor to try and stop any arrows coming down.
All around him, even as he takes hold of the first rung, despite the breach above along the parapet, arrows come down on them. Rubble comes down. Iken is fairly sure even a bucket of nightsoil comes hurtling down to spoil and disgust the companies aim as they try and force defenders back from the wall. The young man does his best to ignore everything. It is just a wall. Get over it. You stepped over the stream. You can step over the wall. Go. Then there is nothing but a bundle of bodies coming his way, the ladder beneath his hands feeling as insubstantial as air and he is falling backwards...
And darkness. Nothing but black. The Tessouare doesn't move, just remains still though his hands begin to stray. His right is remarkably still, though as he touches the hilt of his greatsword and light begins to flood into view... it twitches. It takes a while, but eventually despite eyes being wide open... nothing but crates end up filling his view.