Extra-curricular activities

Before most of the audience can process it, the performance lurches into chaos. A chest-shaped “prop” moves on its own, its lid yawning open into a mouth lined with teeth. A tongue lashes out and coils tightly around a student’s arm, pulling them in as the creature bites down.

Among the audience, Daiki and Lana notice it almost at the same time. The ribbons of blood are one thing—but then they see it: an actual drop of deep crimson red sliding down someone’s arm. Real blood. Not staged. Not fabric. The crowd gasps, then applauds.

Onstage, the mimic chews, its tongue wrapped firmly around the screaming student. Blood spills onto the tables and floor. Some people lean forward, whispering in awe at how convincing it all looks.

Lana is already moving.

She rises from her seat, eyes locked on the stage. There is no clear path—chairs and people block the way—so she commits. She steps onto a chair, then another, and leaps. In a fluid motion she clears the obstacles and lands on the stage itself. She scans the scene. The mimic is close enough. The student is not. “Get a teacher!” Lana shouts toward the audience.

She raises her hands, palms together – facing outward towards the mimic, white light blooming between them. The glow sharpens, then lashes out toward the creature’s tongue. Radiant energy scorches it, and the mimic recoils slightly.

From the audience, people cheer. Someone claps. Someone laughs.

Lana doesn’t stop. She murmurs a quiet prayer under her breath and gestures again, this time toward the wounded student. The torn flesh knits together, the bite marks sealing closed. The student gasps, still trapped, still terrified—but alive.

Around them, the crowd roars in approval.

“Oh my god, this is so good.”
“They’re breaking the fourth wall.”
“This performance is incredible.”

Rosie—the student playing the monster—stands frozen in her costume, staring at Lana in disbelief, clearly unsure why someone has jumped onto the stage.

In the audience, Kroak sinks lower into their chair, nudging Ruben. “I can’t believe Lana tricked us into coming here just so she could join the show,” they say lightly. “This is really live action roleplay.”

Ruben frowns. He watches carefully but sees no open wounds, no exposed bone—only reddened skin that could easily be stage makeup. When he looks again, the arm seems… fine. Confused, he hesitates… Why are most of his roommates on stage, have they left him out of the plan? Ruben feels sad and excluded and gets ready to leave the room. 

Onstage, the mimic bites again, and this time, it is unmistakable. The teeth sink deep. Flesh tears. Blood pours freely. The student screams, a raw, piercing sound that cuts through the crowd’s chatter. The arm is mangled badly enough that bone is visible beneath shredded skin.

Some people gasp. Others nervously laugh.

“They always go hard for first-year plays,” someone insists.
“It’s meant to look real.”

Lana spins toward the audience, her voice sharp and furious. “What are you doing?! This is a real mimic! Get help!”

The response is laughter, applause.

“Oh my god, this is so cool!”

Grinding her teeth, Lana turns back to the creature and calls down more radiant fire. It doesn’t take. She moves instead, stepping between the mimic and the student, shielding them with her own body as best she can while the tongue remains wrapped tight.

Kroak stands abruptly. “I don’t think this is supposed to happen,” they say, finally certain.

They climb onto the stage, yank a healing potion from their pack, and force it into the student’s mouth. The crowd goes wild again.

“There’s the healer!”

The student chokes, then breathes. Some of the damage fades—but the pain remains.

Kroak presses a hand against the mimic’s tongue, gripping a necklace etched with runes. Power pulses outward, but the magic dissipates before it can take hold.

Daiki, meanwhile, is laughing. He claps along with the audience, giggling, floating slightly above his seat. “Whoa,” he whispers, eyes bright. 

Through his laughter, something sharp and psychic lashes out at the mimic. The creature twitches, its movements jerky now, its tongue scorched and trembling.

As the chaos escalates, Ruben finally starts to feel it—something is deeply wrong – he wasn’t excluded, this is a real incident. Daiki floats closer, still laughing, and whispers, “It’s a real mimic. Just pretend it’s not. I don’t know. It’s a play. Just have fun.”

Another burst of magic flares from Daiki, blue-silver and iridescent, striking the mimic’s chest. The audience stares in awe.

Ruben’s stomach drops. He looks again—really looks. The blood. The screams. The way the healing only barely keeps up with the damage.

“This isn’t an illusion,” he breathes. “Daiki… I thought it was a minor illusion.”

“Well,” Daiki says cheerfully, “it is. Just not that part.”

Ruben flies above the crowd, makes complex hand motions and hurls an orb of crackling energy at the mimic, missing unfortunately.

The mimic bites again, acid dripping from its teeth onto the tables below. The student collapses fully now, sobbing, barely conscious, trapped in a cycle of pain and healing.

Lana shouts again, her voice cracking with urgency. “This is serious! This is not part of the play!”

This time, something changes. People begin to murmur differently. Someone screams. A few students stand up and run. Once seen clearly, the horror can’t be unseen. 

Lana calls down another burst of radiant fire and immediately follows it with healing magic, steadying the student once more. They’re breathing. Crying. Alive. Barely.

Kroak turns sharply to Daiki. “Daiki! Get your potion over here!”

Daiki salutes theatrically, pulling a small vial from his pouch. “Fear not, noble warriors!”

He flies to the stage, the crowd utterly convinced he is part of the performance, and pours the potion into the student’s mouth. This one works differently—stronger. Flesh crawls back over exposed bone, wounds sealing more fully this time.

As the healing takes effect, Kroak visibly wilts, their face growing drawn and pale.

“Remember,” they say weakly, “Potions and Prophecies will always be there to help you.”

The mimic thrashes, bloodied and shaking now, its form destabilizing.

Lana plants her feet and reaches for the student, preparing to pull them free.

Kroak steps forward one last time. They utter a single word in Giant—death—and press their hand against the mimic. This time, the magic takes hold. Necrotic energy surges through the creature. The mimic shudders violently, then collapses inward, its flesh hardening, splitting, and finally shattering. The chest breaks apart into dozens of lifeless fragments that scatter across the stage. Lana and the student fall backward, freed at last.

Silence follows. Then sobbing.

The student lies shaking but alive. Rosie stands motionless, covered in splinters, staring at the wreckage in horror.

The battle is over. Lana turns immediately to the injured student, her concern clear as she asks, “Are you okay?” The student clutches her arm, nodding weakly, still shaken. Kroak is already there, one hand steadying the student while the other had moments ago been helping pour a potion, their attention split between care and observation. The student is still bleeding heavily.

Lana hesitates only briefly, trying to speak over the urgency, and confirms that she wants to help. The wounds are still serious, the student clearly bloodied. As Lana places her hands on the student, light and warmth follow. Kroak supports the girl carefully, one arm steady beneath her, murmuring, “Oh, are you okay? Are you okay?” While the healing takes effect, Kroak subtly positions a small vial beneath the student’s arm, collecting a thin stream of crimson before the wounds begin to close. The bleeding slows rapidly under Lana’s touch, but enough blood fills the vial to be useful. Kroak tucks it neatly into their robes.

Rosie approaches, clearly alarmed. “What the fuck is going on?” she demands, glancing between the injured student and the ruined stage. Lana explains quickly, gesturing toward the broken chest, saying that it was a mimic attacking the student and that she intervened to separate them. Kroak adds lightly, “I thought this play had some crowd interaction. It was really well done.”

Daiki swoops in, adding to the confusion with cheerful bravado. He claims he thought it was still part of the performance and urges everyone to just continue. “Oh, we saved this student from this abnormal monster,” he says proudly. “We were such good heroes.”

Rosie looks unconvinced, but her concern for the injured student outweighs everything else. She checks the girl for remaining wounds, brushing away blood, while Lana continues to insist that the situation was dangerous and not part of any performance. Around them, the tension remains thick, even as they collectively pretend this was all some elaborate theatrical moment.

Elsewhere, Ruben has flown off to get help. As he moves through the Biblioplex, he spots an Owlin Silverquill professor—Miss Mavinda Sharpbeak—descending the stairs with calm elegance, unaware of the chaos behind her. Ruben hurries to her, stress building as he formulates his explanation in seconds. “Professor, we have a student attacked by a mimic. Magic didn’t work. It’s bleeding. We need your help—now, please.”

She startles, asks “What?” and quickens her pace, following Ruben. She says nothing as he introduces himself and guides her toward the stage, leaving him unsure whether she even heard his name.

Back at the scene, Miss Sharpbeak arrives to find the injured student still shaken. She immediately rummages through her bag, pulls out a healing potion, and administers it, asking if anyone else is hurt. Kroak assures her that everyone is simply tired. Lana firmly explains that the student was badly injured but is now stabilized thanks to everyone’s help.

Miss Sharpbeak praises them all for their bravery. Lana, however, presses the issue, asking how a mimic could have ended up among illusion props when they had just studied illusion magic. Daiki shrugs and suggests maybe it was part of the group and they just didn’t know yet.

Miss Sharpbeak frowns and admits she doesn’t know. The equipment should not contain magic. She promises to speak to the equipment managers and begins dispersing the crowd, repeating, “Nothing here, nothing here.”

Kroak, noticing the lingering audience, stands and claps loudly. “Let’s give them a round of applause for this play,” they announce, praising the LARP group sponsored by Potions and Prophecies. Some people join in, clapping hesitantly. Ruben adds a slow, confused clap, clearly not understanding what is happening. Lana refuses to clap at all, visibly uncomfortable with pretending a life-threatening incident was entertainment.

The applause gives the moment a false sense of closure. Rosie bows slightly while still watching over the injured student. Miss Sharpbeak continues ushering people away, visibly troubled. When asked again what happened, Lana recounts seeing real blood, realizing the chest was a mimic, and jumping onto the stage to stop it.

Miss Sharpbeak thanks them again, calling it an unfortunate incident. Daiki asks Rosie who set up the decor and whether she knew about the mimic. Rosie insists she didn’t—the props weren’t magical, and there are dozens of similar chests in storage.

Ruben listens carefully and suggests that perhaps someone masked the magic or prevented detection. Miss Sharpbeak ultimately explains that mimics are nearly undetectable when shapeshifted and that monsters sometimes find their way onto campus. She thanks them all again for preventing disaster and, before leaving, hands each of them a platinum piece.

Before the group leaves, Kroak approaches the injured student, now identified as Vi. They ask how she’s feeling and, after confirming she’s improving, rummage through their bag and offer her a potato. “It’s rich in potassium. It will help.” Vi thanks them, even admitting she’s mostly fine and just practicing her crying now. Daiki, apologetic, asks if he can have a potato too. Kroak promises more are back in their room.

Eventually, the group decides to head back to the dorms to celebrate and study. The afternoon has worn on; the second sun hangs high while the first begins to set. In the dorm common area, Ruben and Daiki settle onto couches to study. Lana retreats to her room for quiet reading. Kroak joins the study session, feeling an unfamiliar pressure now that Ruben is taking things so seriously.

As part of their practice, Ruben creates an illusion of a chest with a small tongue, eerily similar to the mimic from earlier. Daiki examines it, sniffing and wondering aloud if they need to lick it. Kroak immediately points out the tongue and declares it obviously not a real chest. The exercise quickly reveals its flaw—everyone is relying on sight alone.

Daiki, ever fearless, puts his hand near the illusion. “If it’s a real mimic, it’ll bite, right?” he reasons. When nothing happens, he shrugs. “Maybe it’s not a real mimic.”

Kroak sighs, half-amused, half-resigned. “That’s definitely one way to test it.”

Kroak says they are really glad Daiki is with them in the dorm, and adds that from now on they will just have Daiki touch everything. Daiki says he does not think it is hungry. Kroak replies that Daiki can go first every time and tells him not to worry, adding that they might save him if it turns out to be a real mimic.

“Okay.” Ruben continues, saying that if it is a dangerous monster, then Daiki just puts his hand in it. Daiki explains that he tried to think it through and figured that if it were a real mimic, it would bite. Since it does not, maybe it is not a real mimic. Kroak agrees, saying that sounds correct, though it looks very convincing.

Ruben argues that there have to be better ways than taking damage just to know for sure, comparing it to facing a Demogorgon and deciding to let it eat your brains. Daiki just moves forward. He goes through it—and then realizes he falls through it entirely. He says he has fallen into the illusion: “I’m fine!”. Ruben asks again what they think now: is it a mimic or not?

Ruben says that to pass the class they just had, they need to remember what the teacher said and use their senses. He concludes that it is not a real mimic and suggests it is a kind of illusion. Daiki agrees, saying, “I think this is a kind of illusion because I just fell through it.” Ruben agrees and dispels it with a flick.

Daiki flies across the room toward a plant sitting in the opposite corner. He asks what kind of magic it is, closes his eyes, and remembers something from home. The flowers begin to bud and bloom. Kroak points out that the flowers were not there before and suggests it must be conjuration. Daiki says Kroak is probably right but notes that the plant itself was already there. Ruben asks whether the spell might be transmutation instead of conjuration, reasoning that it changes physical properties, even if he is not sure that is correct. Daiki agrees that it sounds good to him, he explains that he remembered his home and let the magic flow, comparing it to what druids do when they make plants grow. He says he does not know if it has a proper name. Ruben says it sounds like transmutation.

Ruben then asks Kroak what they can do. They decide to cast poison spray without actually hurting anyone and aim it at the hearth, then mutters words and makes unsettling hand gestures. A spray of mist blasts toward the hearth, shimmers briefly, and dissipates. Kroak warns everyone not to breathe it in. Ruben observes that it leaves residue and seems to interact with the environment, suggesting it is probably not an illusion. Daiki says he thinks it is damaging magic. Ruben reminds him he said evocation and reasons that raw power meant to damage others fits evocation. Kroak says they are not sure those are the right answers, but they are good guesses. Ruben thanks Kroak for contributing a difficult example. They comment that this is a good example of why spell classification is debated and that people never agree.

---

Lana, all this time, is alone in her room – studying and writing a letter to Jorund, her mentor. She writes about her dorm mates, the mimic, how she protected others, healed a fellow student, and how the teacher in charge did not know what was in storage. She reflects on how rules do not always apply and writes in a neutral, analytical tone, though her concern shows through.

Jorund,

I am writing after spending some time alone, as I needed to set recent events down clearly and in order. There was an incident. My dorm mates and I were involved when the situation escalated. There was a mimic present in a play and attacked a student—something neither the students nor the teacher overseeing the area appeared to be aware of. I handled the matter as professionally as I could. My first concern was ensuring the safety of others, and when a fellow student was injured, I focused on stabilizing and healing them before anything else. At the time, several students did not seem to grasp how dangerous the circumstances truly were, which concerns me more than the creature itself.

What troubles me most is not only that the teacher in charge did not know what was kept in storage, but that this lack of knowledge seems almost expected here. Rules and procedures exist, but they do not feel reliable in practice. Authority does not always align with preparedness, and that makes it difficult to know what standards I should be trusting. Things go wrong, I understand that. I am trying to learn how the rules here function—not just as written, but as they are actually followed. 

To that end, I attended the class Basic Magical Auras and have been memorizing the material. We’ve discussed using our senses to discover several types of magic. I am not naturally skilled at this kind of study, but I know that knowledge, even imperfectly held, can save a life. Possibly my own.

I have also been thinking more carefully about my magic. The evocation I use manifests as radiant damage—it harms, decisively. Yet that same source allows me to heal, to mend what is broken, which I understand now touches on abjuration as much as anything else. Light and force, injury and protection, drawn from the same place. I cannot help but see a parallel there: in myself, in this school, in the way structure and danger coexist so closely. There is both clarity and shadow here, often indistinguishable until it is too late.

I will continue to observe, to learn, and to act carefully. I wanted you to have an accurate account, and to know where my thoughts currently stand.

—Lana

She reads the book from the Biblioplex to memorize the lesson, thinking about her magic and how it both hurts and heals, and how it reflects a balance between light and dark. After sending the letter, she comes out of her dorm as she hears a strange, musical knock on the door.

The door opens, and standing in the doorway is a very bright, quite short tiefling with long brown hair and two horns protruding from her head. She wears an elegant red robe with red-and-gold accents and carries herself with unmistakable confidence.

“Hello, this is dorm room, 7 2 A—” Lana begins, trying to orient the situation, but the tiefling beams and cuts in cheerfully.

“Hi! Oh, great, so happy to see you, you’re in perfect timing. I’m Aurelia. Aurelia Sharpnode, B Orchestra. This is the fun part of your scholarship orientation.”

Lana blinks. “You are—wait, you’re from orchestra?”

Aurelia nods enthusiastically. “So you’re joining the orchestra, congratulations! So happy to have you. I mean, it’s required—it’s required for you—but in a really exciting way.”

Lana hesitates. “You mean… I’m sorry, you mean the whole dorm? Or do you mean me?”

“That’s fine, that’s fine. No, no, you. You, you, you. You are here on scholarship, yes?”

“Uh, yes, I am.”

“Perfect. I got the right—you’re Lana, no? You play the violin, yes?”

“Uh, yes. Hello. Yes, I do. May I ask—did Jorund arrange this?”

“Well, it’s part of your scholarship, yes. You are here on the musical scholarship, so you joined the orchestra. You are going to be— depending on how good you are, you may either be the third or the fourth violin. You don’t look like a first or second violin to me. Third or fourth, I think.”

Lana straightens. “Can you please—I’m so sorry—can you please make up your mind after you hear me play?”

Ruben lingers behind her, visibly intrigued, watching Lana try to be outspoken while clearly processing the bluntness of the assessment.

Aurelia waves the concern aside. “I will hear you play, I’m very excited. First rehearsal is tonight. We have three rehearsals a week. The other nights you will practice, of course, because you need to practice the pieces. A lot of harmonics, a lot of live instruments, a bit of chaos. I think it’s one of the best communities on campus. You’re also required to join, but I think it’s one of the best communities on campus.”

“Can we come watch the rehearsal?” Kroak asks.

“The rehearsals are closed,” Aurelia replies brightly, “but soon we’re going to have the first performance.”

“When?” Kroak asks.

“When, when?” Daiki echoes.

“I think at the end of the next tenday. This is very important, Lana. You need to practice a lot because at the end of the next ten days—not this coming weekend but the one after—we’re going to have a performance at the Firejolt Café.”

“Oh, nice,” Daiki says.

“Yes, yes. Anyway, Lana, you show up, you play, you try, you do what we need. And if you’re good enough, you can maybe get into the A orchestra, the prime orchestra. They get to do the really exciting pieces.”

“I know a song you can play,” Daiki blurts out. “Remember the song I did yesterday with the little dance? You can play that piece, please.”

“Um, yes. Aurelia, thank you so much for the obligatory invitation,” Lana says carefully. “I will be there tomorrow night—no, tonight. Yes. Tonight.”

“Yes. Tonight.”

“I will check my repertoire. What time and where do I need to be?”

Aurelia explains that there is a small practice room on campus, a little to the north, a sort of band room with a stage, one of several similar spaces scattered around. “Yes, yes, it will be very exciting. First time.”

Ruben steps forward. “Um, Miss Aurelia?”

“Yes?”

“Do you store your instruments in closed chests?”

“Well, we have a little thing for the violins and everything, but not a lot of things are in chests. No, not particularly.”

Ruben nods gravely. “We’ve discovered a mimic. It was in the storage of the live action roleplay group. So maybe just be very careful tonight, okay?”

“Ruben,” Lana says firmly, “with all due respect, I don’t think this applies now.”

“I think you should be careful.” Ruben trails off.

“I don’t know why he did that,” Lana says, regaining composure. “But anyway, I will bring my violin, I will check my repertoire, and I will see you tonight in your little orchestrating room.”

“Oh. Make sure you have eaten,” Aurelia adds. “The first practice session will be roughly three to four hours.”

“Miss Aurelia,” Daiki says eagerly, “do you have a lunch break? Because then I can maybe—no—make Lana bring some sweets from the Firejolt Café if you like.”

“Well, she could bring sweets. This is very big for her. I can see that she’s very happy about it.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. I’m very happy I can help out and strengthen the orchestra. Thank you for the opportunity. And thank you for making the obligatory part very, very clear to everybody here. That is just very helpful.”

“Wait, wait, wait—Miss Aurelia, another question,” Daiki says.

“Oh, really. I’m sorry,” Lana mutters.

“Aurelia, I really like your outfit. Can you tell us what house you’re in?”

“Why does everybody cut into my conversation?” Lana asks. “I’m getting invited for this obligatory thing and people are just coming into my conversation.”

“We’re just excited for you,” Kroak adds.

“Well, yes,” Aurelia says proudly. “I am the conductor, so of course I’m in Prismari. I go for the gold accents because they fit really well with music. My musical accents are gold. I’m going to lead the A orchestra someday. And everyone in the B orchestra—I will guide them to the best of my abilities. Mandatory does not equal miserable. Mostly.”

She smiles broadly, turns, and walks off, proud and radiant.

“Well,” Lana says after a moment, “that was interesting.”

“Amazing,” Kroak replies.

Lana turns back to the others as people in the dorm look on. She seems unfazed, if a little speechless. “I wanted to join you for some more studying, but it seems like I have to practice my violin and warm up for this evening.”

“I think you play very nicely,” Ruben says. “And it’s only the B orchestra. I think you’ll be okay.”

“Well, yes, but I want to do well. I came here because Jorund arranged it. He never told me about a musical scholarship. He just said he knew people. So I’m a bit confused. I need to make the most of it. The same as studying.”

“I think you worry too much,” Daiki says.

“And I think you worry too little.”

“Agreed to disagree.”

“That’s fine. If I make too much noise or you don’t like my music, just knock on my door. I’m going to practice. I feel… nervous.”

Lana goes into her room and closes the door. She opens her violin case, revealing crumpled, messily folded sheet music—most of it unnecessary, since she knows the pieces by heart. She checks it anyway, then begins to play.

The sound that fills the room is technical and demanding, heavy with arpeggios, racing across the violin in complex patterns, touching every register. She plays, stops, adjusts, and plays again, refining each passage—warming up, honing, preparing herself for the performance to come.