Another competition entry - this one reached 7th place. Tiff uttered the last words of her summoning ritual and stepped back as, around her, a score of other young elementalists did the same. This was the first test of the competition – to properly, and quickly, complete the summons. Before her, the air started to moisten, and a cold wind manifested as the collected magic of all the contestants chilled the air. She took a moment to look around - some of the hopefuls were starting again, but such mistakes cost points when so many were watching.
Looking back to her own coalescing magic, Tiff smiled – she had made no such error. She had been practising for weeks and knew every utterance, every pause, and every gesture that was needed. Before her, a creature of water and ice formed and as it moved, suddenly gaining awareness of its existence, she bowed in respect. The elemental before her did the same. Tiff reached behind her to pick up her hammer and broadest chisel from her desk, the flowers from Mat lying ignored and forgotten between her tools. Tiff winced slightly as she placed her chisel upon the elemental and struck with her hammer. She knew that the creature couldn’t feel pain and had agreed to this, but it was still difficult to disassociate from how she would feel if it was done to her. However, the feeling didn’t last long: soon, she was lost in her work. Every movement was familiar, shaping the magnificent creature before her into the shape in her mind. Some artists had sketch pads full of ideas and directions: Tiff’s hands wove a realisation of her vision, fluid and unpausing. Her mind tingled with a familiar buzz - a sending from Mat, but Tiff didn’t acknowledge it. She already knew what he would say. A message of support, just as the flowers had been – pleasant, but unwelcome at the moment. The other people around her would be working just as hard as Tiff was, and she couldn’t afford any distractions. Even the buzz had thrown her, and she needed to use small magic to reverse the last few strokes. Irritated, she dismissed the sending. Tiff took a moment to breath and find her calm again. She knew that Mat understood how important this competition was to her – a chance to receive a place at the fabled Tower of Artistic Thaumaturgy. He, a few years older, was already successfully making his own way through an education in alchemy. Sometimes, though, Tiff thought he had forgotten how difficult it had been to secure that place. Yes, she had largely ignored him for the past few weeks – months really. She’d needed to prepare and practice – the elemental sculpting contest wasn’t the only way to get into the Tower, but it was the most prestigious and likely to be successful for somebody of her means. Tiff knew that she had talent, but it was supported by a great deal of hard work. Sometimes it seemed that Mat, himself a natural at his chosen discipline, didn’t appreciate how much work she needed to put in. Anyway, after the competition she would make it up to him. Whatever the result, the pressure would be off, and Tiff would be able to relax. The sound of shattering ice and a wail broke her absorption, and her heart raced. Thankfully, it wasn’t her elemental destroyed by a clumsy scrape, but it so easily could be. All her dedication destroyed in a single misjudged movement. Tiff put Mat and their difficulties out of her mind. She needed to focus. Looking critically at her work so far, Tiff was pleased. She had brought the elemental far from its natural form, enhancing in some areas and diminishing in others. She didn’t look at what others were doing: either her design would be sufficient, or it would not – Tiff couldn’t afford the time to second guess herself. When the elementals walked down the aisle, witnessed and judged by the crowd, Tiff could already see that she would be able to be proud of her work. A cry from the centre of the workshop broke her revery, and she glanced over. The elementals in middle of the chamber were starting to melt. Perhaps their summoning had been poorly cast? No – more were starting to disappear, taking the artists’ visions with them. Tiff looked to her own project and saw that it was also glistening. She licked her lips and tasted it – there was salt in the air. Salt? It was vital that the air was clean for this kind of work – salted air was a poison for creatures such as they had summoned. Not only would something like this ruin the competition, but it went against the treaties with the elemental lords, centuries old. Who could have done this? It didn’t matter right now – she hurriedly started to perform more spells, desperately trying to shield her elemental from the air. Tiff had worked too hard for it to be for nothing. It was too late. No matter how she and the others in the room tried, and how hard they had worked, their spells had no effect. It would be another year before the celestial conjunction necessary for this kind of summoning came again. Another year, another cohort of hopefuls to compete against, even slimmer odds. Desperately, she performed ritual after ritual, trying to ward off the air itself. Panting, failing, she heard somebody exclaim over a vial in the room - alchemical sabotage to salt the air. As her creature melted before her, along with her dreams, Tiff sank back onto her bench, moving the flowers away to put down her tools. She noticed, for the first time, that there was a card attached. “If you took the time to read this, protect your project from salt. Love you. Mat.”
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