Broom Race Public Alpha

Team Durmstrang!

I sighed as I wrapped my black wolf fur closer to myself. It was early October, and there was a definite chill in the air; the impending winter most assuredly on the way. Four schools, one track, one prize. Only a few of us would claim the prize and honor of completing the perilous track that had been marked and set up for us. I intended to be one of those few. Dropping Quidditch in exchange for taking up Broom Racing had hurt, but I knew that this sport was the one that I was most naturally intended for. My strength and my stalwartness made me perfect for facing foes and fellows alike, and in this endeavor, I had to be quick on my feet, able to react, and able to respond to dangers of all sorts. Tightening my grip on my Moontrimmer, I inhaled the frosty air, noting my opponents in turn. Unfortunately, my twin was unable to inform me much about what I was facing beyond the fact that many opponents, specifically from Hogwarts, would not be human like myself.

Hugging my broom to my arm, I breathe into my cupped hands, warming myself up for the first event and my first competition in this area. Hanzo and Greta had partaken in dueling, and I, knowing that I was not especially gifted in the realm of casting, decided to go with a more physically encouraged route. Of course I would be there for them, as I hoped they would be here for me. But even if they weren't, I knew that they would be there in spirit.

It seemed that Hogwarts was not the only school cursed with a mixture of dark magic and misfortune... Durmstrang had recently been stricken by fear and paranoia. Fear of the dark, the literal dark, that which Satan and his minions control. Being of a more... shall we call it intuitive, perhaps curious... mindset, I had been naturally lurking about the school, listening for rumors and attempting to put together more and more pieces of the puzzle. I had no reason to believe that any of these events were mere circumstance. I know that there is more going on than what meets the eye... but I know that I cannot do anything on my own. I need help just as my brother needs my help.

Until then, I must keep my wits and facts about me. One never knows when evil strikes, or when madness makes itself apparent. For now, broom racing. When I have myself a formidable lead, that is when I shall muse more to myself and discover more; thinking of ways to more effectively further my research and skulking between these multitudes of magical schools.

Preparing for Take-off (Flying)

Statistics & Abilities

Reducio

Stamina 10 | Strength 10 | Evasion 10
Wisdom 7 | Accuracy 10 | ArcPower 0

Obnoxiously Strong
+10% to all Strength Checks
Perfectionist
-1 Critical Fail Spell Chances

Broom: Moontrimmer Twink Broom
- +3 to Evasion and Stamina ^ added above ^
- 10% Auto-Dodge Chance
Speed: N/A (Max speed of 5)

Race day... time had gone so fast ever since the time he signed up. He had already made his way down to the grounds and stood their awaiting for the start, his mouth eagerly chewing on a piece of gum to settle his nerves. Even though it didn't look like it, Percy was actually quite nervous for this particular event. If you weren't then you were either a stone cold liar or a clumsy old soul walking into something they shouldn't. Broom racing was well known to be dangerous, probably more dangerous than quidditch if you thought about it. However, Percy knew what he was getting into and had the skills to deal with it head on.

As time went on, more and more people showed up to the track, including students from the other schools. They were a strange bunch, but even he knew they were probably equally as educated with the broom than he was. Percy gripped his trusty Tinderblast broomstick tightly as he gazed now and then at the newcomers, who wore their own broom racing attire. For himself, the Slytherin decided to wear a sweater overall with a range of protective leather over the top to protect his body. It was different compared to the rest, but at least it showed style.

Suddenly, when Percy was examining one of the French students someone roughly bumped into from behind. That person was a Dumstrang student, who arrogantly walked through him and said "sorry" in that annoying Russian accent. Percy stared at him coldly as he walked off, picking up something that could only be described as mumbled Russian gibberish. Gray turned his head to the left and spit his gum to the floor before snarling at the student, almost if he knew he did it on purpose "Bí ag faire ort féin..." mumbled the boy in Irish. It was clear whatever he said in Russian was not meant to be heard by his ears.

When the boy walked over to his place Percy made sure to keep an eye on him as he mounted his own broom, anxious for the race to start. The only thing he would take for a win was either him or someone else from hogwarts coming first ahead of the other schools. This was more bigger than him, this was representing Hogwarts on an international level as a team.

Reminder: please enter. This starts on Oct. 10th

Mikael looked around at the many different faces of his competition. The different schools didn't seem to make much difference. Everyone was against one another, and it was oddly refreshing. It had been one of the reasons he had left the Quidditch team. He no longer had the responsibility of helping or relying on his teammates. Now, it was just him against the world and he wouldn't have it any other way. It had always been easier to trust himself than those around him. Mikael knew he wouldn't betray himself. Relying on others only puts you at a disadvantage. At any moment that person could withdrawal their help and you could crumble to the ground. Mikael refused to let himself be that weak, especially, in front of others.

The boy was wearing his broom racing uniform that proudly proclaimed which school he was from. Inwardly he thought that Durmstrang was the best school here. Though, he knew that was a fact supported by every student here, but towards their own schools. That didn't stop him from still agreeing with his earlier thought. Sure they hadn't won the Quidditch match with Hogwarts, but that did little to sway his sentiment. For someone who showed little care for those around him, he showed a lot of care for his school's image. This confused Mikael a little as he found it hard to distinguish his true feelings. Did he care or not? He knew he didn't care, but why did he somewhat care? Mikael cared for Yefim, but that didn't mean he cared about some random kid in his class.

Mikael mounted his Moontrimmer. He had gotten quite attached to the broom, he liked the way it flew high in the sky with graceful ease. Whenever he was on the broom he could pretend the world was far away. Times like these, Mikael wished it was just him and Yefim. Maybe on their brooms flying high above the world away from others. Like a certain wide-eyed puppy dog Quidditch Boy. All things to considered Niffler was one of the better ones. Even Mikael couldn't say he actually truly disliked the boy, and maybe he even somewhat liked him. Though one thing that had been grating on his nerves lately was the closeness that Niffler and Yefim seemed to carry.

It was entirely possible that he was just imagining things. Though he had trouble telling. Mikael wasn't so sure when the two had become closer, but he didn't like it. A weird feeling grew in his chest. One that felt foreign and weird to him. Mikael was a tad too tired to deal with his thoughts, and he decided to sort through them later. Deciding to focus on the race, he hoped Durmstrang would be able to win this race today.

Stats:

Reducio

Abilities: Lovely Creature and Terrible Presence

Broom: Moontrimmer [+3 to two separate stats, +10% chance to auto-dodge an attack, twink broom]

Stats: | Stamina 8 | Evasion 8 [+3 Moontrimmer] | Strength 8 | Wisdom 3 [+3 Moontrimmer] | Arcan Power 4 | Accuracy 9 |

"A first here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, an interschool race between Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, ilvermorny and Hogwarts!" There was a cheering crowd that erupted in shouts and applause as the students made their way to the starting line. The announcer was a middle-aged gentleman with salt and pepper hair and a gem-colored robe with a long billowing cloak that flapped behind him. His voice amplified with the Sonorusm his charming American accent could be heard throughout the grounds. "I am your announcer, Lazarus Plott. Many, well all of you have most certainly heard of me," his ego as ripe as ever. "And I am elated to enhance this competition with my dialogue," he rode his broom upward. The winds were hard, as they often were at this time of year. His cape spread like a sail behind him as he addressed the crowd from above.

"I am going to iterate the rules of racing once again for those that are unfamiliar with this unforgiving sport." The chatter of the crowd never died down, but the sonorus charm allowed his voice to carry over the clamor. "The objective of the race is to get to the end," an obvious statement but there was always something more to it than just that. "First IF multiple make it to the end," the operative word being if. It was uncommon for multiple racers to make it to the end. While there were some rules, the basic expectation that nobody would be murdered. That certain spells deemed "too dangerous" would not be used. The actual race itself, high speeds on the shaft of a broom through wooded areas, residential zones and sometimes facing varied threats such as Whomping Willows or even dangerous creatures that are not only unpredictable but also aggressive.

"While the goal is always to get there yourself for the sake of honor and glory, being the first... or in some cases the last," yes it was that dangerous and that was why there were mediwitches on standby. "The goal is for your house, or in this case school to win. Look at your housemates. Look at your schoolmates. Victory is not only yours, but also your schoolmates." Indeed, there was an incentive to protect your own. To work together. For there to potentially be a leader among the pack.

"Everyone on their mark." A look of determination would flash over Headmaster Plot's eyes. "Get set," he lifted the tip of his wand skyward. "GO!" As he shouted the final word, a blast of crimson light would shoot from the tip of his wand like a red rocket and burst into the sky. That was the signal to GO.

FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NOT POSTED YET, ENTER NOW OR YOU WILL BE BEHIND.

What I need from you in your post:

• 50 word narration
• The speed you are moving on your broom [refer to your broom speed to know what your maximum speed is]
• The action you take. You get 1 action (in addition to movement) per round. If it is targeted at someone, please state who.
• Your stats. Your abilities. Your broom.

You can edit your post until the post deadline, so posting before someone does not place you at a disadvantage. If anything, it can throw off your opponents if they make actions specifically in response to you. Remember, while you are in this for yourself, you are also in this for your house. Your housemates are your teammates.

The deadline for your post and action is October 19.

The announcer guy finally started talking, though Yefim was glad that Mik decided to join him at his side. He gave him a huge grin, the kind that came from pure excitement and wanting to share it. He added in a thumbs up for good measure, assuring him that they had this in the bag, since that was the unequivocal truth. There were no teams any more, just individuals with either grace or malice. A goal to reach, obstacles to be surmounted. They were all going to be easy, and certainly the goal line would be full of Durmstrang students, leaving all the dainty Americans and Frenchies in the tree branches. He could tell by looking at Mik's face that he felt much the same, that wasn't something either of them had ever quarreled about, they both knew Durmstrang was the best school on the planet, and raised the best students. There was no room for failure.

The second that the announcer dude said go, Yefim was moving. Fast. His broom wasn't shiny, slick, or fancy, but it was as fast as he needed it to be. He would be throwing all caution to the wind, because of course he would, and try to set a precedent by barreling ahead as fast as his broom could possibly go. Besides wanting to keep an eye on his buddy, he wouldn't be looking around at the competition. He was elated to finally put that pent up energy into becoming a human bullet. He wasn't worried about stupid obstructions, he would just masterfully fly through them of course.

Action 1: Fly
Action 2 If Mikael (Percival Rainwood) falls off his broom, save
Speed: 5

Stats ◇Sta: 6 (7) ◇ Eva: 7(8) ◇ Str: 10 ◇ Wis: 3 ◇ AP: 4 ◇ Acc: 10 (12) Broom Comet 180 (Max speed 5) Broom stats written in red (+2 accuracy, +1 evasion, and +1 stamina)

Abilities Martial Artist Terrible Presence ◇ Known Spells ◇ Health 700/700

Mentioning: @Percival Rainwood (Mikhail Halldorsen)

Yefim only speaks Russian and a bit of English. Russian will be in brackets.

♠don't care for the critics, my words are like physics ♠

And the race is on. Keeping his eye on the prize, Lucas is a go. Kicking Nimbus into high gear, Lucas notices some sullen-looking girl and branches his wand. "Fillpendo," he mutters. One eye on the girl and the other on the race track. Lucas looks around eggs his broom on, just a bit faster.

♠born for this, the score ♠
Action 1: Fly
Speed: 6
Broom: Nimbus 1700
Action 2: Knock-back jink
Target: @Aurelia Notrésvace

Eyes straight. No looking back. Adrenaline coursing through his veins. There was a tension in the air in anticipation for the race to begin. Finally, the announcer arrived and then it happened. The race had started

"Go Hogwarts!!!"

He yelled before kicking his broom to full speed and taking off. Failure was not an option.

Action: Fly
Speed: 6
Broom: Nimbus 1001 (Max speed: 6)

Stats:
Stamina: 6
Evasion: 5 + 1 = 6
Strength: 6 + 2 = 8
Wisdom: 7 + 2 = 9
ArcPower: 6
Accuracy: 5