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Those participating in the foot race are led outside to the small field that stands beside the building. There is a fairly obvious marked path that goes around the building, this is what those participating will be running.Please check the rules on This post
Running. The old stand by. He thinks as he walks outside to the foot race slice of the action.
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Toren went outside to locate the foot race. The track appeared to be a running path in a field, appropriate considering it was a field day. He walks up beside Reverb and hops on his toes twice to get the blood flowing. "Hello, sir, lovely day for a race. I'm Toren, by the by, don't think we've met in an official capacity," he extends a hand to the man. "Best of luck on the race." Just because they were meant to be competitive shouldn't discourage their sportsmanship.
Halo had at least come prepared with a pair of running shoes. Despite knowing he was going to fail miserably he figured the other mages might at least get the sense that he would persevere in the face of the unknown. He really needed to get back in shape too, so maybe this would be the impetus he needed? He gave the other competitors a friendly nod and started to stretch off so as not to hurt himself too much.
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While not the fastest of runners, Orpheus could hold his own. Giving Toren and the other two mages a civil nod he stretches so as not to hurt himself. I need to work out more... he curses hunself for not taking the time to keep himself in shape. To be fair, he rarely felt himself out of breath whenever he had the misfortune of running to his university classes.
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Leo was a decent runner. Not great, but not deficient in any sense of the word. He strongly prefered to stand and fight, but recognized that running was sometimes essential to survive. It was knowing when to run that sometimes posed a problem for him, but that question now had a clear answer. Today he would run.
He lacks the smile that he wore when he first entered the circle, and he isn't as confident as he was about some of the other competitions. He does give a respectful nod to the other competitors as he arrives at what he assumed to be the starting line.
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Vaeltia bounces over to the Track, following after some of the other mages, and grinning the whole way. The foot race only reminded her of one particular game of tag she had participated in just after she had returned to Sacramento. Obviously this was a simple race, not similar to that piece of history. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t learned anything from it.
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You may start posting rolls and descriptions at any time, and can assume there is a start flag
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Without the aid of magic, Toren considered himself in decent shape, not that he had any spells that would aid him, unless he modified his shoes for extra springiness or something. Maybe his figure wasn't great but his cardio was alright. Okay, well he hadn't jogged in a while but sometimes you just have to put your best foot forward and give it the old college try. He started out pacing himself, but quickly saw that he was falling behind. Shifting to the metaphoric second gear he strained himself during a sprint, only to realize that he would be unlikely to maintain it. The Moros tried to compensate by returning to a steady pace but it could only last so long as he huffed and puffed over the finish line.Like the Dickens, 8suxx
"Oh my *pant* that wasn't *pant* so bad."
Reverb was in decent shape, at least in his mind. While he never set any records while biking and skating around town, he still biked and skated around town. And there wasn't a lot of magic he could throw out readily that would not look like blatent cheating so he sticking to giving it the old high school try. Because he never graducated college.
He takes off fast but stumbles a little. The Obrimus refocuses on the track ahead of him and powers on. In the back of his mind Vincent calls up all the crap the coaches screamed at them running up the field during football practice. Doubling down on those memories he pushes on, going hell to leather to the finish line. Passing it he slows down to a trot and then to a walk. He puts his hands on his head and huffs, winded. "Damn chili dogs." he weezes, his midsection informing that his breakfast probably had not been the choice for foot races.
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