A timer appeared, distracting me for a precious second. I closed my eyes and brought up all the various phrases that had been rolling around in my head. Random thoughts and half songs with no beginning or ending. And I quickly came to one conclusion. Music was joy.

Twenty seconds had passed.

I took all of these confusing things, tore them into manageable pieces, and composed a quick hopefully coherent poem to express my true thoughts on the subject.

A full minute more had passed.

Then, before I submitted my composition to the MC through the messaging system, I double-checked that my poem made artistic and logical sense, and sounded pleasant in Elven.

Ten seconds left on the timer. I sent it.

A chill ran down my spine as it always did after the fact. Though I was used to it, I once again checked that the poem I submitted was the one in my mind and not some horrendous amalgamation, even if my chance to change it had come and gone.

This was a speed contest, so our reputation as bards was not on the line; after all, not every bard could write poetry with haste. And quickly writing poetry wasn’t necessarily the mark of an amazing writer, as some of the best bards could spend decades to write and edit one poem before they considered it perfect.

The MC made introductions for Pirata while I posed in a way that wouldn’t overstep her limelight. It was the polite thing to do.

She delivered her poem, a whimsical little thing that was fine for a low-level contest like this.

“Music

Notes in harmony

Running together to create the new

Bringing all emotions to life

In time to a melody”

The crowd cheered and the MC then introduced me.

Some poets, when faced with a crowd, would sweat or stutter. Some pretend to be unaffected but still constantly ruminated over what others thought of them. I, however, learned a long time ago to not give a shit. As a prisoner, I couldn’t afford to care about what others thought; after all, some already considered me half-property. To me, the only thing that mattered was the art itself and having full charisma stats plus bonuses. And nothing gave Charisma bonuses like the attitude of being above the shit piles while still being humble enough to know when improvement was needed. Contradictory, of course, but some contradictions were necessary to the mindset of an artist.

“Next is Bard Silvercat. If you please…”

I nodded, posed to show off my best sides then recited what took so little time but felt so natural when writing.

“Listening, breathing, living, joy

All come together

With one

Single

Precious

Sound”

The crowd cheered. Then it was our turn to be judged. Considering what I needed to do after this, I honestly felt like bowing out of the contest now. But I couldn’t, because, from my behavior during other poetry contests of this nature, that would be too suspicious.

The crowd sent in their votes, but those were hidden from the contestants until the end. Then the judges took their turns.

The first judge quietly said, “Pirata, yours was whimsical but also, unfortunately, a bit childish even for speed poetry like this. Lore, Yours, while a little short was still thought out and elegant.”

I nodded and thanked her.

The next two judges said similar things, allowing me to win the judge vote.

Next, was the couple’s turn. They looked at each other, eyes sparkling with happiness then they nodded. “We choose Bard Silvercat’s poem.”

“Congratulations, Bard Silvercat for winning!”

Unconsciously, my eyes found her in the crowd, as if I needed to see her approval of my win to really feel happy. Ridiculous.

After forcing my eyes to move past her, I bowed to the crowd and Pirata, then moved back to the glowing circle on the ground that represented my place on the stage.

The MC then introduced the next two competitors.

Irisal walked up while her orange and red robes floated around her ethereally.

“Now, introducing Bard Irisal Redhen. She is a level 13 bard who is well known in the area and has competed in several contests in higher leveled cities and even won a few of them.”

“Her opponent this round is Ilatan Ocrewen.” A woman stepped up wearing yellow as her main color with forest green accents. “This bard is level 11, and while she hasn’t won any contests yet, she is very famous for her adventuring discoveries.”

She bowed to the crowd as they cheered.

“Now, onto the topic! ‘Beautiful Skies.’ You have 2 minutes!”

The two stood in practiced thinking postures designed to look cute.

The two minutes passed quickly but when it ended I could tell that something was wrong from the stiffness in Ocrewen’s pose.

“Bard Ocrewen…” The MC started.

“I finished my poem a dozen seconds too late. I apologize.”

“That’s alright. It happens occasionally. Two minutes is a short amount of time. Unfortunately, this means that you forfeit this round.”

“I understand.” She bowed gracefully and stepped off the stage, head held high even in defeat.

“Bard Redhen, you have the option to read your poem or not. You win this round either way and it won’t need to be judged.”

Her cheeks burned. “I think I’ll keep this poem a secret if you don’t mind.”

The MC nodded and Irisal stepped back to her place on the stage.

“That’s it for the first round.”

“Next is the second. And the first two to go up is Bard Gwendas Ravenborn and Bard Lorevinel Silvercat.”

I stepped up to the front while eyeing Gwendas. Her murder-filled gaze made it seem like my parents had killed hers. Oh, wait, that might have happened.

“Bards! The topic for this challenge is, ‘Dancing.’ You have two minutes!”

The timer appeared. Once again, a barrage of half-finished works flitted through my mind. For two seconds I considered creating a poem about a dance between a married couple but decided against that as it was too on point. Forty seconds in, I grabbed a section that seemed to fit being in love with the dance itself and finished the phrases off. I then double-checked its readability and sound before I sent it off for judging with two seconds left on the timer.

Two poems created almost back to back drained me mentally, physically, and creatively, but I was a practiced bard; controlling the muscles in my body to ensure the stress didn’t show on my face or in my movements was second nature.

The MC smiled at the audience. “Good! All poems are in this time!”

Cheers resounded through the room.

“First up is Bard Ravenborn. If you please…”