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Gwendas sent me another glare just before she turned to face the crowd. Smiling with all pleasantness, she began her recitation.
Her poem expressed a heated romance between lovers while they danced. The pair almost brushed lips as they battled with each other through their twists and turns. It finally finished with a hot embrace.
In Elven, it was not a bad poem, likely written at the same quality as the one I submitted.
The crowd cheered.
“Excellent work Bard Ravenborn,” The MC said.
She smirked as if his praise was her due. “Of course.”
“Next is Bard Silvercat! If you please…”
I recited my poem, stressing the right places, and pausing where needed. The words expressed the romance between a dancer and the dance itself. In Elven, it sounded like the slow buildup to a perfect seduction between a woman and her dance; the tilt of the hips to entice, of legs brushing past each other and a spin’s exhilarating dizziness. It ended in a blown kiss and parting, leaving the dancer wanting more.
When I finished and looked out at the crowd several women and a few gentlemen peered at me with heated gazes that I ignored. Frankly, if I thought about it too much, it might give me nightmares. My eyes once again wanted to wander over to my partner but I stopped myself. Fortunately, everyone realized that they were too quiet and politely gave me a cheer.
“Now it’s time for the judging.”
The audience voted. Then the judges went over each of our poems.
The first judge said, “Both of your poems expressed the essence of the dance. They were also of the same great quality. I give you both a tie.”
Ravenborn ground her teeth and shot me a glare; which was becoming her favorite pastime.
“While I agree with my colleague,” the next judge said, “I think Bard Ravenborn’s poem fits with tonight’s theme of bonded love better, so I’ll cast my vote towards her poem.”
The last judge tilted his head and raised a brow at the judge next to him. “While it’s true that they have the same quality and that Bard Ravenborn’s poem fits tonight’s theme of romance better, I believe Bard Silvercat’s poem had more depth to it.”
“And with that,” The MC said, “Our judges have concluded that it is a tie. Next, we’ll see what our bonded pair have to say.”
Davis and Ernawen both peered at each other and smiled.
“Even though Bard Ravenborn’s fits the theme of our celebration better, we both prefer Bard Silvercat’s so we’re going with his.”
“Wonderful!” The MC said. “And since the audience also votes for Bard Silvercat, he’s won this round! Still Excellent work, from our two competing bards.”
I bowed in thanks to the couple and then the audience. Gwendas glared at me, a vein ticking on her forehead. For a second, I thought she would argue with the bonded pair, but she apparently had better etiquette than that. She merely held her head up high and walked off the stage as if she owned it.
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Gwendas Ravenborn: You were lucky just now. Your luck will cost you later.
After I turned around, I grimaced at her childish response. Didn’t she know that the worst she could do to me, her clan had already done tenfold over?
When I reached my waiting spot, I turned to face the crowd. As Braid and Irisal took center stage my eyes wandered over to Mia. Why were her cheeks so flushed?
Her eyes briefly met mine before we both decided that the happenings on the stage were more interesting.
“Next up, is Bard Blackotter, against Bard Redhen. Your topic is, ‘Wine.’ You have two minutes!”
The minutes passed quickly.
“Perfect! I’ve received both of your completed short poems. We’ll start with Bard Blackotter. If you please…”
Braid’s agreeing grin dazzled the senses. As he recited each line, a faint illusion of a scene appeared before me, and probably before others as well. Something that happened when a bard created a fantastic quality composition and their Writing skill had reached level 30, that is, if they had the proper amount of Creativity and Charisma, which I didn’t; so even though my writing skill reached level 62, and I had created several transcendence quality works, I’d never been able to use this property of the skill.
As Braid spoke, the illusion moved. It was a simple poem, but perfect in its simplicity. Just like the illusion, the poem spoke of night, fire, and the cool sips of deep ruby that made a moment worthwhile.
Well, shit. It looked like I might lose this contest after all. I turned to poor Irisal to at least experience some schadenfreude. Her face turned white and then red.
“Amazing!” The MC nearly vibrated with excitement. “This was the illusion effect of level 30 writing, when a bard recites a fantastic quality work they’ve written. Of course, just having level 30 doesn’t work. A bard also needs to have at least 10 Creativity and 30 Charisma in order for the illusion to appear. Well done, Bard Blackotter.”
He flashed a dimpled smile at the MC. “Thank you.”
“Next up is Bard Redhen. If you please…”
Irisal shook her head. “I concede. Bards are supposed to be bold, but we also know when to bow out.” And with that said, she bowed at the crowd and at Braid then walked off stage.
“Well, that was not unexpected after that performance. Congratulations Bard Blackotter for winning this round.”
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Braid bowed to the crowd and thanked his opponent. This time he did not go back to his waiting spot. He turned to me and raised an eyebrow, silently asking if I thought that I had what it took to compete with him in a fight of actual levels against skill levels.
Slowly, I smiled at Braid, and glided over to the green circle on the stage, using my expression to convey that I was up for the challenge and did not fear his illusions, even if I couldn’t produce them myself.
“This is the final round, Bard Braid Blackotter, level 15, against the infamous Bard Lorevinel Silvercat, eternally level 4 but with master level skills. Who will win? How about you, Bard Blackotter. Do you feel confident?”
“Absolutely.” My opponent’s eyes twinkled with his high Charisma. “But writing each poem takes time, creativity and energy. If, at any given moment, one doesn’t have enough of either of those, then they’re bound to fall short of what they can do.”
Ah, what excellent verbal sparring, hinting that as a mere level 4 I don’t have enough creativity to compete.
“And you, Bard Silvercat? Do you have what it takes to win?”
“It depends on the topic. Although we bards like to think we can create poems for any occasion, if we don’t have the experience with the subject, then when we write about it, our words miss the heart of the matter and the piece falls flat.”
There, take that. I may not have had his levels but I had exponentially more experience writing than him.
Braid’s forever grin twitched after he received my little message.
The MC nodded happily. “Too correct, Bard Silvercat. And with that said, the final topic of this contest is a little more difficult considering that neither of you have experienced it before.” The MC’s dark and mischievous expression made my skin crawl. “The topic is, ‘Soul Bond.’ You have two minutes!”
The timer appeared but my mind blanked for ten seconds. No experience with a soul bond? Ha! Hahaha.
Memories of these past few days briefly overwhelmed me. And I could only think of a few lines to describe what I felt, and the utmost emotions that came to mind. I wrote it all down in the shortest poem possible. It wasn’t transcendent quality by any stretch, but it dripped with truth.
Probably, it would have been better to write what they expected; something about a perfect love or some such nonsense. Still, although I wanted to win, it would be better if I didn’t. Fewer people would notice us when we skulked off to the back rooms.
So I sent it in, with ten seconds left on the timer.
“Excellent! Both poems are in.”
“If nobody minds. I’d like to read mine first,” Braid said. Ah, was he hoping to scare me?
“I’m fine with you reading first,” I said as I crossed my arms and posed magnanimously.
He nodded in thanks then began to recite.