(Complete) Ground Force Preparations

The siege towers moved as silently as possible through the pre-dawn stillness, hopefully obscured from the castle’s views and hopefully quiet enough to press up upon their defenses. She and several other warm bodies leaned into the massive things, struggling to force them forwards with the thick and slippery mud sucking boots and wheels down into it. She had to quietly SHUSH several people who groaned and bickered, not wanting their discomfort and hatred of towards the necessary labor to give their movements away to the enemy. With the strain and determination of Sisyphus himself she labored against the mighty tower, wondering if it were even necessary to do so. What would happen if she just said ‘nuts’ to this entire circus and went her own way? What could possibly be worse than enduring more of this disorganized chaos. Gritting her teeth, she fought through the pain and frustration by distracting herself with writing a haiku.

What wrath could Zeus bring
To a man already damned
In Tartarus’ pit?

And what would he think
Were he to spot that boulder
No longer toiled?

Would hell have meaning,
Or would its purpose then cease
If Sisyphus quit?

28 - 20 = 8
Link to Roll

[8/500]​

 

Rook was not the strongest of people. They were, in fact, rather delicate and frail like one would assume most mages to be. The Velten race certainly didn't help in that matter either, with their height only a little above four feet tall. The other Faerin race would find the task of moving the siege equipment... not easy, perhaps, but easier. Instead, Rook helped in other ways. Their magic wasn't mighty as borrow as it was through their Astramancy, but they left their cards clear of the mud and connected to the planes without their aid. It was like going from a clear glass to a frosted window. The knowledge that something moved beyond it was there, but that was all.

A little tendril of power was loaned their way from the odd patron they'd found for Geomancy. It added no extra push like those actually possessing the magic, but it was enough to help clear mud and firm the ground to ease the way of the machines and those pushing them that followed in their tiny tracks.

57 - 20 = 37
(Roll) Ground Force Preparations​

 

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Merkaba stood on her own as usual as the siege preparations went underway. Bored, annoyed, frustrated, anxious... these all were things she was feeling at this moment. Her plan was utterly ignored by a bunch of idiots and she now was expected to deal with their extremely pitiful tactic? Honestly, throwing themselves over the castle wall... by those lumbering Oakhearts? It was comical how ridiculous this was. She hoped they would miss and there would be bloody splats all over the fortress walls... That thought was extremely humorous to the Dark Descender. Indeed she felt like a descender right now.... right into a cesspool of fools.

She stood farther back than most of them. Truly she was in the general area where if she chose to she could put her plan into action. However if the elves felt she was overly aggressive they may not grant her wishes. Ruining the whole reason she was here to begin with. Well, no matter. The witch closed her eyes as things continued around her. Preparing whatever spells or rituals she could do if self preservation became important. Merkaba had little left to do here. She certainly was not about to make herself all tired and worn out with siege efforts. If dark magic was needed. She would have considered using her powers to help. Otherwise they could fend for themselves. Her cult was enough help she was granting these future obstacles anyway...

She stifled a yawn and shot a small blast of dark magic at a group of workers feet.

"Wake up or that could be a enemy attack next time. This should not be taking so long...."

(100-20) * 2 = 180
Roll​

 

There was positively no way that he was about to jump down into the muck and mud and the shit of this filthy encampment to help these… people, for lack of a better word… push their giant wooden toys over towards the castle which they had apparently decided to turn against. He had left before the great betrayal, not wanting to find himself killed in a crossfire, but at a message from Merkaba found himself forced to return and create the illusion he had been participating the entire time. Well, jolly for everybody, they’d decided to betray the human kingdom and side with some knife ears over who knew what reasons.

Frankly he didn’t care; the only thing that concerned him was the fact that he wished to survive this whole sordid affair. He had considered joining the Air Force assault team, up until it had involved catapulting onto the roof and hoping that makeshift parachutes would see everybody safely down. That had sealed the deal: ground force it was for him. His arcanamancy would, he hoped, be of some use in the fight to come but there were no guarantees he wouldn’t just run off again. He was a better spy than soldier after all.

Watching several burly men lean into a siege tower to push it through the mud, he sat upon a boulder from the previous battle and bit into a ripe red apple, chewing loudly. The men glared at him, unable to shout or curse him due to a strict order of silence as they snuck their invading force forwards. A man approached, somebody Earley did not recognize, and smacked the apple from out of his hand into the mud.

“Why don’t you get off of your pompous ass and help us PUSH, soldier?” he asked, stabbing Earley in the chest with an angry jab of a finger. Smiling, the mage thief simply reached behind himself and pulled another apple from his inventory, biting into it.

“…Sir,” he mused, chewing the fruit for a few seconds before spitting it in the man’s face.
“I do not take my orders from you. In point of fact, they come from her,” he said, gesturing towards Merkaba before taking another bite.

Honestly. He was a terrible soldier.

24 - 20 = 4
Link to Roll

[229/500]​

 

Logic was sound considering they put one of the largest men to work on pushing the machines. Working out back home was nothing like handling these monstrosities of war. Every inch of his being, various muscles straining as mud splashed over his feet, rain beating into his tense features in efforts to delay the Felis. If it were not for the environmental conditions none of the soldiers would be having as much trouble as they were now. Alonso just hoped he did not get sick from all this work, and by no means did he want to discover a harsh truth of Terrasphere sending diseases to his actual body.

This was his punishment. Once again he failed to bring a sense of closure and wisdom to a plan which caused more divisions between each guild. Yet, what could he do? Alonso had not risen in power compared to the guild leaders, and he contemplated more than causing a productive outcome. His chest heaved up and down, wide shoulders a sturdy force against the battering rain and the rebellion of the machine. Every so often he glanced at his energy levels to determine when he needed to stop. A steady rate, but not enough to make the man drop all of this progress.

He noticed the push becoming harder, other soldiers succumbing to fatigue. The object his group was trying to push forward came to a halt. Alonso's hearing zoned out the majority of the situation. Something about the mud being too thick for this abomination to move on. "OUT. OF. MY. WAY" the Felis said as the others rushed to the side, spooked by the sudden outburst of the hulking feline. He paused, then charged forward and slammed himself into the machine, a roar echoing into the putrid weather.

Frontal wheels managed to get through the hampering mud as the others made haste to continue assisting the push. A sign not to cross the bearish man the wrong way.

79 + 0 - 20 = 59
Link to Roll​

288/500​

 

It appeared as though there was absolutely nobody present that wanted to work sanely as well as quietly. From her own ineffectual struggles against the siege tower, to the witch and warlock who snapped at or spat at others, to the large felis that risked giving them all away by creating noise. She wanted to groan and shout at the man to keep QUIET during the secret push forwards, but resisted the urge. Instead she glared at him and imagined clubbing his head in when this was all over, while reciting the definition of “stealth” out of a dictionary for him to educate himself on. She would beat the understanding into him if she had to.

The men and woman pushing the tower beside her seemed overly encouraged by the progress the felis had made and she had to shush them once more, trying to keep them from just kicking and shouting at the siege tower in their efforts to get it to move. As if volume was what would give them strength… Sighing, she whispered quietly for them, trying to caution a calm and level head.

“…If you have a tangled knot, patience will untie it. Patience can do lots of things, have you ever tried it?”

39 - 20 = 19
Link to Roll​

[307/500]​

 

Rook whistled quietly under their breath as they worked. They weren't useful in raw physical power so they remained at their post using borrowed prowess from something Other Than to aid the forward march. The feel of the illusion magic draped around them by the elves was interesting and Rook was, for a moment, tempted to go seeking the one they would call to for such works and wonders. Now wasn't the time, however, considering all the noise and bluster. This was, after all, supposed to be work under cover to advance under the nose of the enemy. With others forgetting this or assuming the illusions could muffle spoken word? It would be dangerous to stray mentally should they draw an early attack.

"Like the night's breath, or in between the high roots where the sky sons go still. The eerie lull-song of ill tides. Be silent like it, be still. We will succeed. In earthen blood We will not end."

With that quiet string of words spoken to no one and everyone, the caster flexed their hands as they cast another borrowed spell. The Astramancy mimicked as it was bade and convinced the earth beneath the wheels to force away the water miring it down. A few patches solidified to stone, a temporarily easy path for the siege tower to tread before it eventually returned to the mud's greedy grip. There was only so much and for so long that one could fight the world's state, even with magic.

83 + 0 - 20 = 63
(Roll) Ground Force Preparations

[ 370 / 500 ]​

 

At long last, it came time to begin the siege. With the actual battle looming on the horizon, Amane found herself grateful that preparations such as these had to be made, providing her with ample distraction from the fact that in a few scant hours she would be going to war against Falderen, and the players that sided with them. For all the creatures that she'd fought and killed in Terra Sphere, none of them had been remotely humanoid, and definitely none of them had been sentient. Somewhat subconsciously, the part of her that was a normal university student recognised that this was the fine line between being a gamer, and letting TS rule her life. Once she crossed it, something within her — too nebulous to define — would be irrevocably changed.

But to turn her back on her allies, her guild, even the Yladians, whom she made a promise to support...that too was out of the question. She made the choice to pick up the game, and unless she had the determination to put it down forever, this was a consequence that she knew she'll have to face, either now, or months into the future. But sooner or later something would force her to kill. Idly, paradoxically, with a nonchalance born from hysteria, Amane supposed now was as good a time as any to lose that innocence.

Perhaps it was her distraction, but when she pushed the siege weapon that she'd been in charge of, instead of inching forward the contraption skidded on the wet mud, nearly rolling backwards as she hurried to correct it. Even after pushing multiple times, the weapon hardly made any progress forwards, and Amane wondered if, despite her lack of a crafting skill, she should've gone to help with the parachutes after all.

21 - 20 = 1
#8

[ 371 / 500 ]​

 

"ZZZ" As the band of elves and player characters began to move out the loud snores of Roland accompanied them. Laying on top of a rock somewhere in the middle of the camp, he laid sprawled out in a drunken stupor from the night before. It had seemed his own wine was a bit too strong, and the lack of robust planning had annoyed him enough to drink far more than he usually could handle. In fact, it was the mention of crafting make shift parachutes that sent him over the edge, "What kind of idiots think parachutes are more efficient than bluffing our way in?" He had said out loud numerous times in an increasingly loud and drunken manner.

Eventually, the night had faded along with his consciousness leaving him in his current state of distress. As everyone had begun to prepare, moving their siege machines forward, Roland merely lay snoring in the middle of the road. Many a cart were forced to a different path as several tried and failed to raise the drunken warrior, leading to a small waste of time.

1 (fumble) - 20 = -120
(Roll) Ground Force Preparations​

 

Progress that was sure was progress none the less, and as long minutes of straining carried on, the towers slowly slid forth through the mud towards their destination. There was quite a bit of concern about just how useful an army could be after it had exhausted itself moving the towers, or perhaps killed itself by launching most of its casters into the sky and hoping that they landed on the roof still among the living. They had been making parachutes to protect themselves from a fatal landing, made from whatever they could harvest from the siege camp as the towers struggled to move forwards. It hurt to think that Astor would come down with anything less than her canvas blueprint map of the castle as his parachute; their commander descending with their target emblazoned upon his parachute as a symbol for others to rally towards him and their goal of conquest. Or was it liberation? Whatever, it hardly mattered how they justified the choices made. In the end perspective was merely a different way of how an event was colored by your views. It did not count for truth.

58 - 20 = 38
Link to Roll

[288/500]​

 

Any sort of outright conflict and physical violence with the man was avoided as he was quietly gagged by friends and dragged away, leaving Earley to sitting upon his perch and playing the part of Most Hated Person In Camp. It was his way of contributing, he smiled to himself, as he watched people struggle to pack everything up quietly or push the towers forwards and against the castle defenses. If they all hated him, they could unite in the spirit of friendship, and put that aggression towards the job they were clearly struggling to do. It seemed that despite a few generous pushes forwards, something kept happening to inhibit their progress. Boulders had to be rolled away to clear a path for the towers. Boots got so sucked into the mud that soldiers were cut free of them and rescued. And now, a lazy thief and mage sat eating an apple while others did the true work.

He finished eating and tossed the core into the mud nearby, then laced his fingers together and muttered an incantation. With a burst of magic, he teleported himself INTO one of the siege towers, to yawn and rest out of sight while people slowly struggled to push his new napping spot forwards.

2 - 20 = -18
Link to Roll

[270/500]​

 

Aeiou had discovered the camp as the preparations had begun. He had traveled through the night, hiding in crevices, taking shelter under bushes, and slopping through the mud as it congealed beneath his feet. He had nearly lost his boots three times, and his white robes were already mucked and torn by the time he found a man to report to. Surely enough, the man raised a skeptical brow at Aeiou’s request to help out. A little Velten, not known for anything but pretty parlor tricks? The man scowled and waved him away, only jabbing a finger in the direction of the first aid tent when Aeiou pleaded. Alas, it was already being taken down. Apprentices were toting kits and baskets out, Medics and clerics were gearing up and heading towards the behemoth siege towers. Aeiou gnawed on his lip with frustration. He was hoping to be in the tent, but it seemed that the only use he would be was out on the field. He sloughed onwards.

Weaving through and around legs, the grunts of the soldiers and volunteers cut through the air. You could only be so quiet when pushing a war machine. Even less so when you appeared to be getting nowhere. A group struggled against their siege machine, anchored in the mud. Their straining groans soon became snapping commands and arguments. Aeiou could see the frustration gather in their forearms, now trembling. A few steps inbetween shuffling bodies, and Aeiou pressed his hands against two soldiers’ backs. Before they could swat him away, Aeiou murmered a small “Buff: Helping Hand”. A warmth sputtered at the base of the mens' spines, working up into their arm muscles, like a gentle massage. The pain subsided enough for the men to grumble thanks and push onward with newfound motivation.

74 - 20 = 54
(Roll) Ground Force Preparations​

 

*Astor Balthas

Come on guys, it can’t be this hard to move some giant ass towers across a field of mud and over and an overflowing river. What is everyone doing? Push harder!!! Do you all want to cramp your fat-asses up the few siege towers we have at the wall?

Let’s move boys and girls, clean up the camp sight, walk with the illusionists and make yourself useful already you sorry lot, the keep isn’t going to siege itself you know?

Astor offered some encouraging (?) words to the troop moving the massive siege towers. It was incredibly hard work. Thankfully, Astor’s magic came in handy considering the fact that with Pyromancy, he was able to harden the mud that the wheels of the siege tower was rolling on. Everyone should be thanking him for commanding and doing the grunt work. How very not like someone in his position.

Anyone nearby and see Astor igniting the mud amid the heavy rain. It really didn’t help that much, but something was better than nothing.

97 + 20 - 20 = 97
(Roll) Ground Force Preparations

[422/500]
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After a night of very, very good sleep (if a bit short), Ilusa woke up, full of energy. She snuggled more to the body full of warmth and typed a quick message to @Astor Balthas .

Ilusa Nakhalee

Astor, loging-out to eat breakfast, etc, will be back before the start of siege

As she wrote so she did, took a quick shower, ate breakfast, had a light training, another quick shower and she returned to the game.

Before the time too! Thus she made sure that her avatar needs too were appeased, a breakfast and water, having left some for Astor and then came time clear the camp. Of course she packed back the beaver fur and luckily the clothes soaked the few hours before were.. Not completely dry, but almost completely dry, so she could wear them.

…Only for it to become a moot point as when she stepped outside the tent, the rain poured down on her, soaking her to the bones.

“…” Looking very much like a drowned cat, she was definitely not happy.

After that came bit of.. Indecision time. Just which group should she join? After some time of hmming and thinking, she decided to help the siege tower group; if mostly because they had a higher probability of being attacked, which meant a higher probability of her managing to heal hurt people.

…Of course that meant that she had to push the tower. Which was ridiculous. She was not a physical fighter, she was a healer! “Nnnghhh-!” Still she did her best. Pushing it. Using all the strength of her avatar. Cursing in her mind the mud that was slippery and made it hard to push the heavy tower. “Ghhrr.” Her tail swayed agitated, but at least this strenuous activity meant that she was not as cold as she would have been otherwise. As the new message from Astor blinked into existence, she hissed at it.

It was hard work! Especially when one cookie managed to topple drunk over in the middle of the path, forcing everyone to go around him.. Because he was still in the massive party, which meant no player could do damage to him. It was a miracle the illusion magic had managed to muffle the sound and the commotion.

She almost wanted to send a message to Astor, ask if she could get closer to him and the fire he kept making, but, decided to instead keep pushing the tower.

78 + 0 - 20 = 58
(Roll) Ground Force Preparations​