Spirited & Steamed

Ruben, Daiki, and Sszethik head towards Witherbloom. Ruben has Dragon Chess in the afternoon and the concert at the tavern later. He talks to Daiki and Sszethik about patterns—about the strange events that keep happening. “When would we be able to observe a pattern?” he wonders aloud. “How do we know when something like this would happen again? Is there something that we can… what do we need to find a pattern? Do we have magical means to find out what’s happening?” He does not have answers, but the questions won’t leave him.

Daiki offers one. “Oh what if you do like, you know, you can look into the future or whatever?” he says, spiraling into one of his rabbit holes. “If you want to look for a pattern you have to look forward instead of backwards—or maybe look to the back and to the future and whatever.”

Ruben counters thoughtfully. “Well I think you should know your history in order to understand the present. But maybe that counts also for the future. Maybe you should know your history to know the future. I don’t know. Maybe I should ask Rampart next time.”

Lana, meanwhile, plans her day more quietly. She writes a letter to her parents in the dorm and meets with members of the orchestra. She wants to improve her relationship with Alix and Aurelia—since Ari clearly does not want to—so she takes the first violin and the lead of the orchestra out for coffee. It is a small step, but intentional.

By late afternoon, they gather at the Bow’s Tavern, the place where the orchestra will perform once again.

Unlike the refined Firejolt Café, this place is alive and rough-edged. The orchestra sets up on stage while patrons drink and talk. Massive wooden doors open into a space that smells of old mahogany, spilled ale, grease, and food. The scratched floors and worn surfaces speak of years of use. This is no polished salon; this is a pub.

Daiki, unable to sit still, approaches the bar and offers to help serve. Behind it stands a gruff owlin in a leather coat, necklaces draped around his neck. “No need to help. Got this. Do you want a beer?”

Daiki hesitates. The mugs here are enormous. He relents.

Beside the owlin stands Mr. Tusk, cleaning glasses, watching the crowd with stern vigilance.

Ruben orders the smallest beer available—still a half liter. Kroak asks for a specialty. “It’s just beer,” comes the reply, and a full liter is set down. Kroak pays immediately, worried they might forget.

Lana approaches Tusk in a conspiratorial lean. “Do you have something stronger than ale? You know, little glass, high alcohol percentage.”

He pours something clear and harsh. It burns like the cheapest vodka imaginable.

“I have seen things today that I did not thought possible in the world,” Lana confesses. “I am super confused and I need a drink before I am ready to pull back and make music.”

“Have you ever seen somebody eat their own intestines?” Tusk asks flatly.

Lana has seen war—undead horrors, viscera spilling onto the floor—but never that. She describes what she has witnessed. He replies simply, “Alcohol helps a lot with this.”

As the tavern fills, familiar faces stream in: Rosie, Mina—who gravitates towards Daiki—Master Wildemere and Tilana, Nymri, Sszethik, Aurora. Ruben eagerly approaches Tilana, animated from Dragon Chess earlier that afternoon, following up on their matches.

Aurelia arrives late, preparing her sheet music with a composed exterior. Kroak watches her closely; she seems slightly on edge.

The performance begins awkwardly. There is no clear separation between stage and audience. Aurelia climbs onto the bar to conduct. Tusk stands behind her, scanning the crowd.

Sensing her discomfort, Daiki casts dancing lights—soft fireflies forming a semi-spotlight around her. It startles her at first, but then she steadies. He scans the crowd, searching for the sister who haunted the last performance, but does not see her. The tavern is packed to the brim. He adds a subtle raspberry scent—her favorite—hoping to reassure her.

The orchestra begins.

Lana plays. A month of relentless practice shows. She and Alix are more in sync, Ari following properly. The melodies weave and counter-weave; not perfect, not the best orchestra ever heard, but undeniably improved. The audience applauds loudly. Sszethik whispers, “That wasss ssso nice.”

At the end, applause swells again. Aurelia looks proud—pleasantly surprised. Yet her eyes flick around the room once more. Daiki, distracted by joy, notices nothing. Lana does. She scans the room herself and confirms: the sister is not there.

Afterward, the mood is looser than at the Firejolt Café. Some orchestra members slip away; others linger. Lana invites Aurelia, Alix, and the theremin player for a drink. Ari declines with a cool, “No, I wouldn’t want to be the extra.”

The theremin player bristles when Lana guesses his name. “Bruce?” she tries.

“No, no, no, no, no. Try again. It starts with King.”

Eventually he declares, “My name’s King George. At least that’s my stage name.”

Tables are pushed together to accommodate everyone. Ruben, having finished his beer, grows unusually talkative—awkward still, but effusive. He recounts Dragon Chess in rapid detail to anyone within earshot.

Javanesh comes by. “Anything to eat? It’s almost dinner time.”

Ruben orders the mysterious “Curties special,” accepting it blindly. More orders from the table follow. 

More drinks arrive. Lana orders a full glass of the strong liquor this time; she can handle it. She sits closer to Aurelia, curious about the tension with her sister.

Kroak tries to convince Aurora to test improved artificial blood potions. Aurora declines gently. “Once it’s finished, maybe. But I’m not of the guinea pig kind. Maybe you should go to the Witherbloom campus more.”

The conversation turns philosophical.

Ruben insists, “You should know your history to understand the present… and the future. Maybe Lorehold is something for you as well, Lana.”

Tilana agrees. “Tactics come from a lot of studying.”

Lana argues for Silverquill—debate, rhetoric. Ruben protests, “You can debate but it will be all empty. It will be all fake news. You should have some content. You are a lady who should have content and not just a big mouth.” he blurts out.

Daiki chimes in gently, trying to mediate. “Well I think if you want to lead you just need to know where you want to go to, right?”

Aurelia adds sharply, “If you lead you need to know exactly what you’re doing and exactly where you’re going. More control.”

Kroak pushes back. “It’s impossible to know everything. It’s impossible to calculate all the options.”

Ruben, flushed and animated, declares, “Well you can calculate. My father is an amazing diviner and he can see into the future.”

Kroak’s eyes narrow. “So are you then saying we have no free will and everything is predetermined by whatever it is your father sees in the future?”

Ruben throws up his hands. “Kroak, you and your bullshit free will discussion. This just doesn’t make sense and you know it—”

Lana, a little amused and noticing that Ruben is probably already buzzed, decides to play a joke. She slips into his mind with her link and, in his head, intones dramatically, “Ruben… I am your father. I see him to the future.”

She tries very hard not to make it sound like her own. She deepens it, hollows it out—but the accent is undeniable. She simply cannot get over it.

In Ruben’s mind, the voice is just slightly darker, more hollow, like a man’s voice layered over Lana’s—but it is very clearly still her.

He clutches his spellbook, mutters a word of power, and booms at the top of his magically amplified voice, “And I am your sister!”

It is three times as loud as it needs to be. The whole bar hears it.

A few heads turn. There is still plenty of noise, laughter in the background, but people definitely look up. Mina glances at Daiki, eyebrows raised, silently asking if they are always like this.

“No,” Daiki says quickly. “This is the first time. And I don’t know if I like this.”

Lana’s eyes widen at the sudden thunderous reply, but she does not break the mind link. Instead, she answers calmly in his head, “You know my sister is exiled, right? And never returning to me. She is gone forever.”

Ruben attempts to respond mentally, tries not to speak out loud—and fails. His magic booms again across the bar. “I don’t know about your sister but—just get out of my head!”

The words echo through the entire tavern.

A heavy boom, boom, boom shakes the floor as Tusk approaches. “I’m going to have to nicely ask you to be a little bit quieter.”

“Yes, of course, Tusk, never mind. It was all my fault,” Lana says quickly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Ruben adds. “She was in my head.”

“It was your fault, Lana,” Kroak mutters.

Tusk looks Ruben up and down. “I think you’ve had enough to drink. I’m not going to pour you anymore.”

“Okay. Well, I don’t want any more. So that’s good,” Ruben replies.

“Okay, let’s stay nice, everyone. Let’s stay nice,” Daiki says, firmly grounding himself.

Daiki has already received his meal: beef tartare that turned out to be not sweet at all. With some spellcraft it starts to smell—and magically taste—like apple pie. The texture remains raw meat, but the flavor is convincingly sweet. From the kitchen, shrill cries ring out every so often.

“Make it spicy!”

“Needs more love! Needs more love!”

Eventually, the food arrives. Kroak has also ordered Curties Special. Lana has opted for a gamey stew in a cast iron bowl, so hot that touching it would burn. It comes with a piece of bread and a spoon. It looks good.

Others find their Special to be a “rat ratatouille.” The waiter repeats it carefully. “Enjoy your rat ratatouille.” Thin pieces of meat are visible between the vegetables.

Ruben shrugs. “In some countries they call this a water rabbit. Just eat.”

He dives in, dipping bread into the stew and eating eagerly. The dish is surprisingly good—slightly spicy, gamey, but balanced.

Kroak orders two large beers. One had been meant for Ruben, but since he is cut off, Kroak offers it to Aurelia instead.

“It goes well with the rat.”

She considers, then nods. “Yes. I think that would be fine. Thank you.”

They begin small talk. Kroak casually mentions that it was too bad her sister was not there.

Lana, who has been wanting to ask the same thing, listens closely.

Aurelia stiffens. “No. It was actually better that Iso wasn’t here. There’s no need for her to be here. I can do just fine on my own. I don’t need her for anything.”

“I think you’re right,” Kroak says lightly.

But as they continue talking, Aurelia’s composure cracks slightly. “Who does she think she is? She’s so stuck up and controlling. I hate that. I don’t need her approval for anything. Anything. I don’t.”

“But why does it seem like you do care?” Lana asks gently.

“I don’t care,” Aurelia insists, drinking and eating more quickly now.

“You shouldn’t,” Kroak agrees. “Look at how you did tonight. That was amazing.”

“It went so fucking well,” Aurelia says with a grin. “It went so well.”

After about half an hour, Aurora moves to the small makeshift stage with her hurdy-gurdy. She starts with monotone notes, turning the crank, then gradually unleashes lively fiddle-like patterns. Sszethik leans toward Lana. “Sssee? I told you she is also playing a sort of violin.”

The music grows vibrant. People relax further. King George clutches his instrument and jokes about the hurdy-gurdy making an awful sound. Kroak nudges him. “You could also play a hurdy-gurdy next time.”

“Are you crazy? That doesn’t make a nice sound. I have my instrument. She picked wrong.”

Kroak, two liters of beer in, grows gigglier and looser, filter thinning by the minute.

Ruben observes quietly, trying to gauge the mood. People are loosening up. Mina nurses her drink slowly. Tilana barely touches hers. Some drink heavily. Others don’t at all. The room flows.

Eventually, Kroak leaps up. “Ruben, come! We’re going to go dance!”

They pull Aurelia along. Ruben needs little encouragement. He joins in with enthusiastic, slightly awkward dancing—quick, energetic, light-footed. Lana declines to dance and instead tugs Alix’s elbow. “Come on. Grab your violin. We’re going to help.”

Soon they are on stage, fiddles weaving together with Aurora’s hurdy-gurdy. The tavern hums with good vibes.

But Daiki feels off. Something about the energy does not sit right. When Kroak suggests he go work his shift, he nods. “Well… if everyone’s having a great time, maybe I should go.”

He waves and heads off.

As he nears the kitchen, the door bursts open. A scream pierces through the noise.

“The steam! It’s too spicy! It’s trying to kill us! Help!”

Daiki freezes. He had just thought he was not needed.

Ruben calls from behind, “Well, I’m not sober. Someone else can be the hero today.”

Lana immediately checks her armor and weapons. Ready. He takes flight.

Inside, small floating creatures made of pure steam whirl through the kitchen, hurling pots and pans. Curtie the dwarf chef bolts toward the exit.

Daiki hovers, testing the creatures with a gust of wind. The steam pulls away but reforms instantly.

“They’re real!” he shouts. He feels instantly responsible for the group, because most of them are incapacitated due to their drinking. Out of that feeling, he fires a burst of power—lightning shaped like a blue dragon’s head—and one creature explodes into dissipating vapor. The emotions Daiki’s feeling, make that surge of energy and magical power possible. 

Ruben rushes closer. “If it has red eyes, don’t kill it—capture it! We need it alive! Otherwise save yourselves! Be awesome! I love you all!”

He blesses those close by: Daiki, Kroak, and Sszethik.

Kroak follows, casting a glowing spell that outlines one of the creatures in light. “Come on, guys! We need to save the staff!”

Lana dashes into the kitchen, shield raised, longsword in hand. She casts Divine Favor as she moves.

A steam creature breathes scalding vapor at her, but she dodges cleanly. Two others claw at her armor without success.

Her eyes flare with light—frustration, confusion, fury burning just beneath her calm exterior. She leaps onto the counter and slashes down hard.

Steel bites through steam. Radiant energy flares. The creature shrieks as vapor leaks from its form.

Sszethik snaps into action after Ruben’s audible disappointment of just standing there, finally shaken from his daze.

Behind them, some patrons flee. King George bolts, shouting, “I’m too young to die!”

Aurora keeps playing.

And in the kitchen of the tavern, beneath smoke holes and hanging pots, the fight against the living steam rages on.

Sszethik lifts a hand and says they have to subdue them, casting Sleep into the fray. A shimmer settles over the flying mephits near Lana, and include Kroak standing at the wrong place at the wrong moment. They drift downward, bodies sagging as drowsiness overtakes them.

“Great,” Lana says as one floats down beside her.

Sszethik mutters, “Oops, oops,” backing around a corner. “Can you wake up Kroak? Sssorry, sorry.”

The mephits react. One exhales a cone of scalding steam toward Lana—and toward Kroak’s motionless form.

Kroak, unconscious, cannot dodge. The blast is weak—only a lick of heat—but it is enough to rouse them. 

Another mephit lashes out at Lana with claws. The blows carve into her—slashing and fire mingled together.

Ruben pulls three feathers free. The feathers flash into force and streak toward the waking mephit. The impact leaves it reeling. “Amazing.”

Kroak pushes themself up; their Witherbloom pendant flares, and they bitch slap the mephit down on the ground, frost-laced magic clinging to it.

Elsewhere in the room, Tulk finally leaves the bar, strolling towards the kitchen without urgency.

Daiki lifts a hand again, radiant power gathering. The flare strikes the mephit before Kroak. It bursts apart in a violent rush of steam.

The explosion ripples outward. Everyone nearby feels the blast. Lana tries to throw herself between the remaining sleeping mephit and the scalding surge, to make sure the mephit doesn’t wake up. She steps forward but takes the full brunt of the blast in her face. The steam scorches her, searing red across her skin. She staggers, badly burned. Unable to block the blast fully, steam bursts to the sleeping mephit without waking them up.

Kroak, having braced, feels nothing. “Easy. Like a sauna. It’s very nice.”

Daiki, magic still coursing, lashes out again with radiant energy at the mephit to the north. It falters under the blow. 

Sszethik circles carefully. “Yesss, yes, I’ll be careful.” He gestures and releases poison spray at the mephit. The mist washes through steam and does nothing.

The waking mephit inhales and unleashes another cone of steam at Lana and Kroak.

“Fuck,” Lana breathes. She fails to evade it. Kroak manages to blunt the worst of it, but Lana takes the full scalding blast. She collapses. Her body slams against the counter, then her weapons and shield clatter loudly to the floor—clang, clang, clang—before she tumbles down after them.

“God, Lana, don’t you die on me!” Ruben cries.

He hesitates, glancing at the sleeping mephit. “If their eyes are red then we should take it, but I have no—there are no red eyes, right? No goo? No weird reaction?” Seeing nothing unusual, he turns instead on the active one and sends more feathers flying. The force slams home. The mephit explodes in another blast of steam.

The scalding vapor rolls over Lana’s fallen form, licking across her burned skin.

“Oh no, the ice-cold lady is now the girl on fire—oh my god, do something, Kroak!”

Kroak drops beside Lana. “I will see if I can find a potion of healing on Lana’s body.”

“All right, cool, perfect.” Kroak finds a potion of healing and pours it into her mouth. “Don’t worry, I got you.” Color returns to her face as the magic knits some of the damage closed.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, pushing herself upright. She calls on her own magic as well, mending more of her wounds. 

With the fight ended, Kroak pulls out their sturdy iron pot—the same one once used to capture frogs. They invert it over the still-sleeping mephit, folding the small, scorching-hot creature inside, and sit on top to keep it contained.

“Kroak—sorry, but before you do that,” Lana says quickly. “We should examine—check it for balm or if it has something it should not have. It’s asleep, so it is not dangerous.”

Ruben rubs his temples. “I’m not sure what you all drunk from which goblet, but I think these are just ordinary mephits. Did you see anything that gives a hint of being cursed? There is no goo. They didn’t react weirdly.”

“Why are you whining so much? Come on, we just killed the mephits, we captured one. You should say good job, guys,” Kroak snaps.

Amid the bickering, Daiki had investigated the surrounding pots before leaving. Inside, there had been a thin lining of black oil drooping along the metal.

“You should check the pots,” Daiki had warned Sszethik. “I think there is some balm inside there.”

Satisfied, Daiki flutters back. “I gotta go. I have to work. Good luck. Keep the mephit alive and don’t get yourself killed. I hope you’re all right, Lana.” And with that, Daiki departs.

Now Lana turns toward the cook’s area. Seeing no cook present—only Tulk nearby—she moves to grab one of the pots.

“There’s Eldritch Balm in the pot,” she insists.

But the vessel is enormous—nearly a meter across—and filled with scalding fluid.

Lana turns around abruptly. “Yeah yeah yeah—um, does somebody have a vial? We can take a bit of the fluid in this pot and a bit of the Eldritch Balm which is like here in the rim.”

Ruben blinks. “So suddenly there is Eldritch Balm again and there’s a vial and a violin—what is this for—incestuous—oh my god.”

“Do you have a vial or not?” Lana shoots back.

Kroak calmly makes one out of thin air. A flask appears in their hand.

“Great, thank you. Great.” Lana wastes no time. She dips the flask into the liquid, careful not to touch it herself. She takes some of the fluid from the pot and then fills the rest with Eldritch Balm so that it matches exactly what is in the cauldron—fluid and bomb together—so they know every single thing in it.

She focuses on what she learned from Ventrax and begins investigating the substance through instinct and study. She leans in close to the pots. The fluid clings to the inside. Some parts are thicker, less oily—almost tar-like. It looks as if it had been applied much earlier and only recently melted into the main contents of the pot. She collects some of the thicker parts as well.

She straightens and addresses the group. “How are we gonna take the mephit to Professor Lang?”

Ruben rubs his temples. “I’m not even sure if Professor Lang is in office on this day…”

“I don’t know either. I know I’m not going to go to Witherbloom, so I won’t know.”

“I mean, I can see if there’s some magic around, but that will take ten minutes if I can concentrate a bit. Maybe we have to get this as soon as possible to Professor Lang, but maybe someone can contact her with—I don’t know, I can’t think clearly. Sorry, guys. I don’t want to show myself to the professor in this state.” Ruben says.

It turns out Professor Lang is off today. It’s the last day.

“My point exactly,” Ruben says, and immediately pulls out his spellbook. He begins preparing a ritual, focusing on detecting magic.

Around them, the kitchen staff move quickly. Mina is already interviewing people to report for the Strixhaven Star, Tusk helps with cleaning, and the cook returns. Javanesh enters and joins in clearing up the mess. The staff bustle about as Ruben remains absorbed in his ritual.

Kroak, meanwhile, steps outside the kitchen to check whether everyone else in the building is okay—especially the group they were with. They consider suggesting to Aurelia that she fire someone from the orchestra for cowardice—the “turmeric guy,” as Kroak calls him.

Aurelia does not respond much. She seems contemplative, nursing her beer.

Back in the kitchen, Lana asks, “Who wants to share their dorm room with a mephit? Because we need to store this to contact Professor Lang probably in the morning.”

As she says this, she overhears Tusk muttering to Javanesh, “We really have to put up security first. This creepy doll and now these mephits. What the hell is going on here?”

“Sorry—what did you just say?” Lana asks, stepping closer.

“We have to raise security.”

“Yeah, of course, because you had a mephit—but did you say something happened before?”

“Well, earlier today we came in and started cleaning, and there was this creepy doll. This creepy doll that appears around campus. It starts insulting all my staff. I had to get one of the professors to get rid of it.”

“There was a creepy, alive doll that started insulting people?”

“Well, what is alive? It was creepy. It had purple dreadlocks—or pink, what you would call it. It was disturbing the work. We had to dispatch it. We’ve thrown it in the fire before, but it doesn’t work.”

Ruben casually asks, “Which professor took it in?”

“Oh, it was Professor Talos.”

Lana’s eyes widen. “Okay, but—I’m sorry—you threw the doll with the dreadlocks, purple or pink, doesn’t matter, into the fire? Which fire?”

“Yes. Well, I threw it into the fire, but it doesn’t matter. It sometimes comes back and it is insulting everyone.”

“Anyway, I’m going to have to ask you to vacate the kitchen. We have to clean up. Thank you for saving our cook and saving our kitchen. You didn’t have to—I was on my way—but thank you.”

A potion of healing and a small pouch of money are handed to Lana, since she stands closest. Then she steps in front of the group. “Well, let’s see how much is in there.” She opens the pouch, containing sixteen gold pieces.

Outside, Kroak notices Grayson nodding towards them expectantly. Kroak approaches.

He points toward the stage. Aurora is still there, playing her hurdy-gurdy.

“Oh, you want me to introduce you to her?”

“This is the perfect opportunity to make some marketing,” Grayson says, striking a power pose. “Famous heroes. Potions and Prophecies saving the day again. I can see the story already.”

“The story’s been posted twice already,” Kroak mutters. “It’s less convincing if it comes from me every time.”

“Well, that is obviously true—I am much more charismatic. But you also have to learn that skill. Let me show you how it’s done.”

He strides forward and raises a toast. “A toast to the heroes from Potions and Prophecies! The heroes on campus! Best potions that you can get around here! And proud, proud member of the future entrepreneurs of Strixhaven!”

The crowd stares at first, baffled. Then a few voices cheer. Some clap. Grayson beams.

“You’re welcome! Of course I am here for you—your benevolent Wildemere! You know what? Tonight, drink on me! One round of drinks! Everyone!”

People rise and head for the bar. Javanesh rushes out of the kitchen, alarmed, and makes a beeline for Grayson.

Kroak glances apologetically towards Aurora, who continues playing, though her music is largely ignored. She seems a little sad that her talent is underappreciated, but she keeps performing.

Back inside, Lana says, “Okay. We’ll divide the money in the common room later or something, if everybody’s okay with it.” She waits for agreement.

Ruben, distracted by his ritual, nods absently. He had been slightly taken aback when she counted the coins immediately, but he says nothing. He focuses on completing detect magic.

When Ruben finishes his ritual, he surveys the area. There are several magical items in the kitchen—knives sharpened by minor enchantments—but there is no distinct magic emanating from the cauldrons, the Eldritch Balm, or the blackened substance. It seems to have dried out and lost its magical properties. Even the last living mephit shows no particular magical marking. Then he realises Divination magic is present in the middle of the room 

“Okay,” Lana says, nodding. “And I told you guys I have two types of Eldritch Balm—the old and the new—and that it was oozing out of the old thing. That’s in the flask.”

Then she pauses. “Last short thing. Where is Alix?”

Alex is sitting at the table with Aurelia and Nymri. Lana approaches, looking relieved. “Thank you for taking care of my violin and putting it inside the box. Thank you.” Lana says to Alix.

With the violin returned, friends revived, the group has again encountered creatures under the influence of Eldritch Balm. Also, a weird doll is mentioned, but just like the mephits, just disappeared before the party could see it.