Sharp colors wash over your uniform, the clean hues showing in the morning sun behind you. Walking across the trim emerald field, your hair blows around your head and you breathe deep. You are a crusader, and this is your crusade. You look to either side as others line up next to race you. They’re all clad in the same colors all running the same race, in the streets of capitals or the shores of island paths. Your pace is matched only by your victory.