The Rose Festival

The morning unfolds quietly in the aftermath of the chaotic battle with the mephits and Daiki’s nightly trip. They retrace their steps, recalling how they visited Professor Lang, only to discover that there are no remaining components for the Eldritch Balm. “So…” Daiki begins, but the conclusion is obvious: another dead end. Later, suspicion briefly clouds their judgment when Ruben voices his discussion after Honours class with Professor Vanthrax on the progress of the investigations by Professor Talos. Professor Vanthrax deems that actions are certainly warranted, making Ruben torn between two teachers who oppose each other in their beliefs. 

Preparations for the festival build excitement across campus despite the recent death in the Biblioplex. Even so, the festival approaches.

As they gather to leave for the Silverquill campus, the central grounds are crowded. A massive queue stretches ahead of them, students waiting for transport. 

Nymri and Sszethik stand with them, and conversation slowly picks up. Ruben turns to Nymri, lowering his voice as he brings up the unsettling matter of the doll.

“I think it was moved,” she says, “but last I heard, it got lost again.”

Ruben frowns. “But was it seen again after it was moved?”

“I think it was… for a while. Or so I heard.”

Nymri nods grimly. “This doll keeps popping up wherever somebody dies. So it must be related.”

Daiki stiffens. “Wait—did you say the doll popped up when the person died?”

“Yes,” she replies. “And then it disappeared again. Nobody knows where it is now. Maybe Professor Talos hid it… but I don’t know for sure.”

“That is fair,” Daiki mutters. “This is so creepy.”

Ruben exhales, uneasy. “We shouldn’t accuse professors without any foundational evidence.”

“I’m not,” Nymri says. “I just think it’s creepy as hell.”

“Maybe I should look into Strixhaven’s records,” Ruben suggests. “See if something like this has happened before.”

Nymri shrugs lightly. “Yeah. But first—we’re going to enjoy the Rose Festival, right?”

Ruben gives a faint smile. “Yeah, of course. I mean… what could possibly go wrong at a crowded festival with everyone there?”

They board the shuttle soon after, the conversation fading as they travel toward the unfamiliar Silverquill campus.

When they arrive, the sight is breathtaking. Elegant marble structures rise around them, arches sweeping gracefully across the skyline. Ink-dark ponds shimmer with magical energy, a signature of the campus. “Wow,” Daiki breathes, staring at the surreal beauty.

But the true spectacle lies ahead—the Rose Stage. A massive Colosseum-like structure filled with hundreds, perhaps thousands, of students. Around it, festival stalls buzz with life: games, food stalls, souvenirs, a Potion & Prophecies stand and cheering crowds.

Daiki is immediately distracted. “Oh my god—it’s amazing!” He darts toward stalls filled with dragon-themed merchandise, eyes wide with delight.

Ruben follows more calmly, picking up a pin. “Daiki, have you seen these dragon pins? Maybe… I can get one for you? As a gift.”

“Oh my god, really?” Daiki beams. “I have to collect them all!” Ruben suggests that Daiki starts with a purple dragon and buys this gift for 5 GP.

Nearby, Lana watches, caught off guard. She hesitates, then decides quietly to follow Ruben’s example. Through a subtle mental link, she thanks him for the idea and selects a blue pin to match Daiki’s scales. Ruben, however, is slightly disappointed in Lana, for copying his idea.

When they present the gifts, Daiki is overwhelmed. “Why are you getting me gifts? It’s not my birthday… is it?” He laughs, then lights up. “This looks really pretty!”

Lana smiles softly. “Look—Rubens’ one is purple, and mine is blue.”

“Oh my god… it’s so pretty!” His excitement bursts out of him, and he hugs them both tightly. “Thank you, thank you—it’s amazing!”

With spirits lifted, they turn to one of the festival games—Wizard Gizzard. Daiki eagerly pays for everyone. “I will pay for everyone—it’s my gift to you all!”

They take their places. Energy pulses through strange devices as they attempt to launch glowing spheres into buckets. Lana struggles at first, missing completely. “Wait—how does this work?” she mutters, fumbling with the timing.

Ruben performs far better, landing precise shots, though he winces when his success knocks Sszethik’s attempt aside. “Oh—I’m so sorry, I didn’t know it would bounce!”

“It’s fine,” Sszethik replies, focused. “I’ll get it next round.”

By the final round, chaos reigns. Lana misfires entirely, her attempt ricocheting wildly and striking her square in the face. She curses under her breath in Giant, rubbing her nose.

Ruben, distracted, misses his shot as well.

Only Sszethik remains steady. He times it perfectly—his sphere lands cleanly in the bucket. “Yes!” he cheers, clearly proud.

Daiki bounces with excitement.

Ruben steps forward, smiling. “Well done. You were definitely the best out of the three.”

“Thank you,” Sszethik replies, selecting his prize, a nice golden dragon pin.

Meanwhile, Daiki admires his own pins, still glowing with happiness. “No, no, I’m okay,” he says when asked if he wants to play. “I think… I need to prepare for our performance. We have to get ready for the opening.”

They make their way into the Rose Stage.

Performers move backstage, preparing props and instruments. Lana is directed to the orchestra pit, while Daiki heads behind the scenes for his role in the performance. Ruben and Nymri take their seats among the crowd.

Backstage, Daiki eagerly organizes his plan—rose petals, dancing lights, even illusions of dragons. “I was born ready,” he declares confidently.

Sszethik nods, though a hint of nervousness shows. “What do you want me to do exactly?”

“Throw the petals when the music goes ‘da da da da,’” Daiki explains enthusiastically. “And maybe do a little snakey dance!”

“I’m not the best dancer,” Sszethik admits.

“That’s okay!” Daiki grins. “We’ll make it work.”

In the orchestra pit, Lana finds Aurelia in a state of stress. “Do you have everything? Are you ready?” she asks urgently.

Lana places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Aurelia, I am fine. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to ace this.”

Aurelia exhales, visibly calming. “Okay… okay.”

Above them, the crowd begins to quiet.

Dean Thalonrook steps onto the stage, his voice magically amplified. He welcomes everyone, acknowledges the recent tragedy, and calls for a moment of silence. The arena falls still.

Then, with a final word—“Enjoy the Rose Festival”—the energy surges back to life.

The Grand Strixhaven Orchestra takes the stage to thunderous applause. Musicians spread out in a wide arc, instruments ready. The conductor raises her hand, radiant energy gathering around her as she begins.

Isolien holds no baton—yet as she moves, a spectral wand forms in her hand. Her entire body seems to flow with the motion, and a radiant aura gathers around her as she guides the first note. It is unlike anything seen before. Magic emanates from her, not a recognizable spell but something innate, something woven directly into her being.

As she leans into the music, that spectral energy spreads outward, touching each member of the orchestra. They respond in perfect synchronicity. The sound that follows is breathtaking—layers of volume and softness intertwining in ways that seem impossible. From the stands to the farthest corners of the venue, the audience hears why this is the Grand Strixhaven Orchestra. They are not just better than the Arcanum Ensemble—they are leagues ahead.

The music flows seamlessly into the next acts. Performers from the Playwrights Association step forward, their improvisations unfolding over a softer, festival-like backdrop. A poet from the campus’s Dead Poets Society delivers a stirring oration. Then, at last, the moment arrives.

Someone meets Daiki’s gaze and points. It is time.

From the ground, in each corner of the stage, rose bushes begin to grow—lush and sudden. Dryads emerge alongside them, and the music shifts into a delicate waltz. At first, it is quiet, almost tentative, but it builds, layer upon layer, until Daiki and Sszethik enter.

Daiki glides above as Sszethik takes position below. They pause in the center—just a heartbeat—and then begin.

Rose petals scatter as they dance. Sszethik moves in fluid, serpentine motions, his body weaving in elegant arcs while illusions shimmer around him—tiny flashes of fire, fleeting shapes of dragons, bursts of sound that enhance Daiki’s magic. Above, Daiki conjures fireflies—dancing lights that swirl like living stars. Then come the dragons: bursts of colorful sorcery that streak through the air like fireworks, each one forming a fleeting, blazing creature before vanishing into the sky.

The performance builds with the music. Petals fall, lights flicker, dragons soar. It is a full spectacle—movement, magic, and music intertwined. And at its peak, everything surges at once before gently receding. The roses sink back into the ground. The lights fade.

The crowd erupts.

Sszethik, usually nervous, finds himself swept up in the moment, dancing without hesitation. Ruben cheers loudly from the crowd, urging them on. Together, they have created something unforgettable.

Backstage, Daiki is practically bouncing with excitement. “It was amazing! We did so great! We did so great! Thank you, Sszethik!”

The audience cheers and rises once more, accompanied by the chaotic hum of kazoos in the stadium that were distributed when everybody took their seat earlier.

Daiki grabs one the moment he finds it, joining the noise with unrestrained enthusiasm.

Ruben eventuallyacquires a royal blue kazoo branded with the Strixhaven emblem for his collection of trinkets. When the performers regroup, he greets Daiki and Sszethik with high-fives and a warm smile. From within his cloak, he produces roses for the performers in the Sword Coast traditions—one for each of them.

Daiki beams. “Oh! Cool! Thank you!” He uses magic to wrap the stem around his horn, proudly wearing it. “I got so many presents. It feels like it’s my birthday today!”

Sszethik steps forward with something of his own—a pin shaped like a dragon. “I picked the Lorehold one for you. That’s where you want to go, right?”

Ruben is visibly moved. “This is too kind… I couldn’t possibly… could you pin it on my lapel?”

As Sszethik helps him, Daiki grins. “You look so cute together.”

Ruben blinks. “What do you mean?”

Daiki only laughs.

The festival continues. Plans are discussed—more performances, more acts. Ruben recalls his own challenge for tomorrow: ten simultaneous games of dragon chess. Daiki, suddenly struck by a practical concern, rushes back to the stage to gather fallen rose petals. “Crap… I need these for tomorrow!”

Sszethik helps, laughing as they collect what they can.

Meanwhile, Lana prepares with the Arcanum Ensemble. She steps onto the stage with her hair loose, softer than usual, her usual composure shaken by the sheer size of the crowd. She stumbles slightly as she sits.

But when the music begins, everything changes.

The performance is flawless. The orchestra follows her perfectly, each note resonating with precision and emotion. For a moment, the crowd disappears—it is just her, the music, and the feeling behind it.

At the end of the piece, a single tear, white and sparkly – just like her eyes are when she feels a burst of emotion – slips down her cheek.

From the audience, Daiki sobs openly. Even Sszethik is moved, his expression serious, touched by both the beauty of the music and the memory of the student they honor.

The mood shifts again as the performance transitions into something livelier. The showband joins in, instruments blending into a festive rhythm. Magic fills the air—lights, shapes, illusions. Students dance, play, and celebrate. Daiki adds his own fireflies to the sky, weaving them into the shared spectacle.

“This is the best thing I’ve seen at Strixhaven,” he thinks, completely absorbed.

Then the Playwrights Association takes the stage.

The charismatic actor Quintilius begins dramatically: “Hear ye, hear ye!” The performance quickly turns into an improvised spectacle, calling audience members to participate. A furious ship captain. A sea serpent.

Daiki answers the call.

He flies forward, embodying the role of the serpent completely. “I wasss hungry,” he hisses, mimicking Sszethik’s serpentine speech. “And I needed food to eat!”

The crowd loves it. Cheers and kazoos erupt again as the scene grows more chaotic—more characters, more absurdity, more laughter.

Sszethik joins as a cowardly monarch, swept up in the excitement. “Off withhh hisss head!” he cries, though his uncertainty shows.

The stage becomes a whirlwind of improvisation.

And then—

A crack.

From within, something massive shifts.

The illusion shatters as a real creature emerges—a hulking owlbear, screeching as it steps onto the stage.

For a split second, everything freezes.

Then panic erupts.

The crowd’s joy collapses into fear. Kazoos fall silent. Students scream, scrambling away. Quintilius breaks character entirely—“Fuck!”—and runs.

Daiki turns, still half in character, face-to-face with the beast.

The festival has turned into something else entirely, Lana sprints toward the backstage-area to grab her weapons, and throws her javelin – trying to slow the owlbear down. Kroak produces a witch bolt from their spot in the stands. 

Then the owlbear moves.

Despite its slowed pace that Lana caused, it barrels forward with terrifying force, charging straight through the crowd. Students scatter, some too slow to avoid it as it shoves them aside. It reaches one unfortunate first-year and lashes out with its claws, striking them down instantly. The student collapses beneath its massive paw, bleeding heavily, pinned to the ground. Without hesitation, the creature snaps its beak toward Kroak—but the attack glances off, missing them.

The owlbear looms over them, clearly enraged, clearly focused.

Daiki sees it all unfold—the chaos, Lana trying to get his attention, the lingering arc of magic still connecting Kroak to the beast. But as the owlbear turns fully toward Kroak, something in him shifts. The playful, gleeful act drops away. His expression hardens.

Daiki surges forward, veering slightly to the side as his eyes ignite with an angelic glow. “Leave my friends alone!” he shouts, thrusting his hand forward. Fire erupts from his palm, scorching into the owlbear. The flames strike true, burning into its hide. He follows it with another burst of radiant magic, but this time the creature resists, shrugging off the additional effect.

Kroak steps in next. They move right up to the owlbear, placing a hand against it. “Don’t.” Dark energy surges through their touch, tearing into the creature. Then, through the lingering magical connection, another pulse of energy lashes through it. The owlbear staggers, now visibly bloodied.

Kroak shifts position, stepping in front of Daiki. A shield.

Nearby, Sszethik attempts to lash the creature with a thorn whip, but the attack goes wide as he stumbles back, trying to keep distance. “We got to protect Kroak,” he calls toward Ruben.

Lana, witnessing everything, rushes forward. She closes the distance, planting herself near the owlbear. Her expression tightens. “I don’t want to kill it,” she says firmly. “We need to drag this thing to the professor’s office.”

She raises her hand, summoning radiant energy. The spell strikes, but only partially—the owlbear resists most of the damage. Still, it weakens further under the assault.

Ruben steps in, clearly annoyed because an earlier spell – chromatic orb – did not take any effect. “Again…” he mutters, aligning himself with Lana’s thinking. He gathers scattered rose petals, lifting them into a swirling cloud above the owlbear. “Let dreams shape your world,” he intones, casting Sleep.

For a moment, it seems like it might work—but the owlbear resists, shaking off the drowsiness entirely.

Enraged, the owlbear retaliates. It lifts its paw from the crushed student and slashes at Kroak, striking them hard. The force sends Kroak reeling, bloodied. The creature follows with a snapping bite, but this time Kroak manages to evade it.

The student beneath its paw is barely clinging to life.

Daiki rises higher into the air, glancing briefly at the surroundings, realizing the potential danger of his flames. But there’s no time to hesitate. His expression sharpens again as he looks down at the trapped student.

He inhales, then unleashes something new.

A radiant, shimmering blast pours from him—not the earlier flames, but something brighter, almost celestial. Silver-blue light streaked with rainbow hues engulfs the owlbear.

The attack lands.

Hard.

The creature lets out a shriek—not of rage this time, but of pain. The light pierces through it, burning from the inside out. Its form begins to distort, unravel, revealing something unnatural beneath—black, viscous fragments, something wrong, something constructed.

Then it bursts.

The owlbear explodes into shards, fragments scattering outward in a violent shock. Pieces tear through the air, striking everything nearby. Kroak is caught in the blast, along with several students. One collapses with a kazoo still in his mouth, the instrument letting out a pathetic wheeze as he falls.

Kroak drops unconscious.

Around them, more students go down.

For a moment, there is only chaos.

Lana doesn’t hesitate. She rushes forward, eyes wide as she takes in the damage. The owlbear is gone—nothing left to lift, nothing left to move. Just injured bodies scattered across the ground.

She drops to the nearest student, the one crushed beneath the paw, and places her hands on them. Light flares in her eyes—bright, almost otherworldly—and then fades. She moves quickly from one to another, repeating the process, restoring just enough life to keep them going.

Ruben kneels beside Kroak, urgently searching through their belongings. “There must be something…” he mutters, but finds nothing. “Alright—hold on.” He steadies himself and works to stabilize them instead. When Lana lays her hands on Kroak they stir faintly. “That is much appreciated.”

Lana returns to the worst-off student, the one with the crushed ribs. She kneels beside her, holding her steady as the girl wakes—only to scream in agony. Lana winces but stays with her, placing her hands gently over the injuries. This time, the magic is stronger, more deliberate. Light pulses from her eyes down through her arms, glowing along her veins, gathering in her hands as it pours into the wounded body.

The bleeding slows. The wounds begin to close.

“I will help you,” she murmurs softly.

Nearby, Daiki watches, shaken. The adrenaline still surges through him, but guilt creeps in. He studies Lana’s movements carefully, trying to understand, trying to mirror what she does.

“I’m so sorry,” he says under his breath. “I have to prevent it next time…”

Lana’s voice touches his mind directly. “You know this wasn’t your fault, right? It was to protect. Don’t feel bad.”

He exhales shakily. “Oh… thank you. I didn’t know I would kill it that easily. Sorry…”

Around them, the chaos begins to settle, though confusion lingers.

Ruben looks around, frustration clear. “I can’t help but notice that Professor Talos is not having this world under control.”

Daiki frowns. “Where is any professor actually? We warned them about crowded places, right?”

Lana shakes her head, still tending to the wounded. “Why is it us every time? Why?”

Daiki’s expression slowly shifts, a hint of his usual energy returning. “Maybe it’s our archenemesis… and we are truly the heroes of Strixhaven.”

“I sincerely hope not,” Lana replies.

Ruben sighs. “I think it’s quite annoying these monsters tend to die before we can collect them.”

Daiki takes to the air, circling above the scene as he scans the area carefully. His eyes dart from person to person, searching for anyone who stands out—anyone who isn’t afraid, anyone who might have witnessed what just happened. Below, students are scattering, their faces filled with confusion and fear, murmuring to each other, clearly shaken.

Ruben, looking around as well, mutters, “Who looks… uh… looks evil, with a red cloak or—”

But nothing immediately matches that description. Instead, Daiki spots a familiar figure pushing through the crowd—Professor Vantrax, moving quickly toward the arena, clearly intent on assessing the situation.

Seeing no obvious suspect, Daiki immediately flies toward him. “Professor! Professor! There was an owlbear and—I don’t know—it exploded! Please help us!”

The professor listens, already beginning to examine the scene as Daiki recounts everything that happened. Together, they start investigating—picking through debris, examining traces—while Lana joins them, observing and assisting as needed.

Meanwhile, backstage, Ruben and Sszethik move through the clutter of props and side rooms. They open doors, check behind curtains, and sift through the chaos, searching for anything unusual. As Ruben feels along a stack of props, he suddenly pauses.

Something is cold.

Then, from behind a set of crates, a voice snaps, “Ew—ew—get your gross hands off me!”

Both Ruben and Sszethik turn toward the sound. Ruben approaches cautiously, peeking around the edge of the side room. “I… don’t see anything, Sszethik, but I heard a sound…”

“Okay. Let’s move the crate on three.”

“One, two—wait, do we go on three or—” they ask simultaneously.

“On three.”

They pull together, shifting the crate aside. Behind it, among painted props of waves and monsters, sits a small doll. It looks almost cheerful—until it speaks.

“You’re ugly.”

Ruben hesitates, then brightens slightly. “This could be the door we were trying to find, right? I think we found it, Sszethik.” He glances back, clearly pleased.

“Why were we finding a doll?” comes the dry response.

“Well… a doll is always related to these events. It shows up, gets lost, insults everyone…” Ruben gestures awkwardly to Sszethik. “I mean, it insulted you too, but I don’t think that’s true.”

“You look like you snack on owlbear pellets. Disgusting,” the doll shoots back.

Ruben fumbles for a response. “Um… your mother is so fat that—uh… well… I shouldn’t say…”

“Such a good insult. If you say so.”

After a moment, Ruben sighs. “Maybe we should bring the doll. Do you think it’s dangerous?”

“I mean, you’re going to bring me in those ropes? Those ugly things?” the doll sneers.

“Sszethik, say something, please…”

“I think it’ss jusst trying to insssult us.”

Ruben nods and attempts to obscure the doll with a minor illusion, forming a box around it. The doll immediately scoffs, “Ah, good. You blot your ugly little faces. Thank you. Now shoo.”

Ignoring the commentary, Ruben reaches down to pick it up.

“Ew! Ew! Have you never heard about consent? Stop touching me!”

“Well, my doormate lays her hands on everyone as well, and I never hear any problems…”

“Stop touching me! What did you say?”

Despite the protests, Ruben carries the doll back to the main arena, where Daiki, Lana, and Professor Ventrax are still investigating. As he approaches, the professor looks up, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Always with this doll… quite a conundrum.”

Ruben nods eagerly. “Well, I followed your advice, professor. We took the liberty to be active in the research, and Sszethik and I found the doll. It’s… indeed insulting us.”

“I am very proud. You did well,” the professor replies. “However, I do not think we can contain this doll. There seems to be some sort of arcane magic—”

“Yeah, of course you cannot contain me, you filthy creature!” the doll interrupts. “Ugh, you smell worse than the swamp I’m from!”

Lana narrows her eyes. She steps forward, voice sharp. “Oh look, there is the chaos doll. Tell me, do you just wreak havoc because you’re powerful, or because you are a tiny, tiny plastic ego that can’t handle being on a shelf?”

The doll recoils slightly, then snaps back, “No, no, no—this hurts, but it hurts less than when your fat mom sat on me.”

Daiki quickly interjects, flying closer. “Don’t fall for the trap! Anyway—what swamp are you from? Can you tell us?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” the doll sneers.

Daiki presses on, feigning confusion. “Yeah, so I’m lost. Can you tell me where I go to get back to my swamp?”

The doll huffs. “That’s right—you fit in with all the other dead bodies. Just walk past the edge and piss off, you ugly—”

Daiki turns immediately to the professor. “Do we know a swamp with dead bodies?”

“The Witherbloom swamp,” the professor replies.

“So it’s from Witherbloom.”

“Are you stupid? Do you want me to spell it out for you?” the doll adds.

Ruben chimes in, thoughtful. “Professor, is this a mascot from Witherbloom? Is this a recurring thing?”

“I have not heard of it,” the professor admits. “But this doll appears at every event. Every attempt to contain it has failed.”

“So we have to go to the source, right? The swamp?” Daiki says.

“I will never lead you there. You smell way too bad,” the doll snaps.

Ruben begins casting a spell, studying the doll carefully. After a moment, he frowns. “There is strong necrotic magic on this… and some divination magic around the arena. Someone may have been watching.”

Lana exhales. “Maybe we can’t contain her, but if we find her again, we could force her to lead us.”

“We can just ask—who created you?” Ruben suggests.

“Never tell. You’re too ugly.”

Daiki leans in closer, inspecting the doll. “Maybe there’s a tag…” He flips it slightly. “Ah—Sally.”

“What are you doing? That is very inappropriate! You are going over all the boundaries!” the doll protests.

“So, Sally… do you have other friends?” Daiki asks.

“You’re not my friends. You’re ugly.”

“Why is being ugly such a problem?” Ruben asks.

“Sometimes good isn’t good enough. Being ugly is just—worse.”

Lana sighs. “Sassy Sally… who hurt you?”

The doll just continues its barrage of insults.

After a moment, the professor speaks again. “We may not be able to contain it, but there is something else. This corruption—this eldritch balm—we suspect it can be neutralized with holy water.”

Lana immediately perks up. “Oh—great. I have something in my pocket.” She pulls out a vial. “Holy water. From my home.”

The doll recoils instantly. “Get that filthy stuff away from me! I hate it!”

Lana steps closer, holding the vial threateningly. “Now you tell me where you’re from and why you are doing this… or I will use this.”

The doll writhes, trying to pull away. “No, no, no, no—get it away—!”

Lana doesn’t budge and continues the threat.

Finally, the doll breaks. “Alright, alright! I’ll tell you the truth!”

The doll groans, clearly distressed, and finally begins to speak—describing a location, explaining where it comes from, its voice losing some of its bite as it gives in under the threat.