7/18/2025: The Fairview Resort

The rustic tropical resort sprawls against pristine white sand beaches, where tourquoise waters lap gently at the shore. Palm fronds rustle in the warm breeze, and the air carries the intoxicating scent of frangipani and sea salt. Paradise has many things for the hexmates to choose from: surf lessons, tropical cookery classes, birdwatching, a wildlife trail outrigger canoes for fishing.

⚔

Beckaylee and Reyna venture beyond the manicured resort grounds, following a winding wildlife trail that disappears into the emerald depths of the jungle. Thick vines drape between towering trees, and exotic bird calls echo through the canopy above. An occasional spider monkey swings overhead, chittering at the pair. The path grows fainter with each step, until they find themselves in a sun-dappled clearing where something magical awaits.

A Ki-Rin, a unicorn-like creature, stands before them, its golden coat shimmering in the filtered sunlight. Its sharp, central horn and delicately branching pair of antlers arch toward the sky like spun silver, and its human-seeming eyes show wisdom as well as understanding. When it speaks in melodious Celestial, Reyna understands perfectly, while Beckaylee feels the creature’s telepathic voice like move through her mind gently, as if asking for her permission to speak to her in this manner.

“Do you require assistance, wanderers?” the celestial being asks, its voice carrying the softness of summer rain.

The friends exchange glances and politely demur, but Beckaylee’s curiosity gets the better of her. Shyly, she asks, “Could I… could I possibly have your autograph?”

The druid digs from her pack a vial of turquoise ink, an expensive gift from her father. Beckaylee pours it carefully onto the fine sand. The Ki-Rin graciously presses its golden hoof into the makeshift ink pad before the ink seeps away, then stamps the back of her map with a perfect hoofprint that gleams like captured starlight. It does the same on Reyna's map. The pair depart with beaming smiles, feeling fortunate to have interacted with a creature they have only studied about at Strixhaven.

⚔

Meanwhile, high on the resort’s roof terrace, Hester sets up her easel to face the ocean. A sweet scented breeze carries inspiration on every gust, and her brush attempts to capture the moment. She daubs pigment, including some of the materials she brought back from the Underdark, on the canvas to represent the endless expanse of turquoise water, the way sunlight dances on the waves, and in the far distance, the merest suggestion of a storm cloud—a dark smudge against an otherwise perfect horizon. This smudge is the only part of the canvas the Underdark pigments can be used for: the painting is otherwise filled with tropical light. Hester steps back, satisfied with the day’s work, unaware of the ominous prophecy hidden in her art.

⚔

Meanwhile, after tucking away her Headband of Intellect safely in her room, KFC approaches the surf rental booth. Her seven-foot frame requires special accommodation, and the attendant provides an oversized board with practiced ease. The bronzed surfing instructor, his hair bleached white by sun and salt, offers his wisdom with laid-back confidence.

“Three steps, that’s all there is to it,” he says, gesturing toward the rolling waves. “Paddle out to catch a wave. Turn around and stand up. Don’t fall off.” Each of his tanned fingers goes up to count the steps for KFC, who nods.

KFC takes to the sport like she was born for it. Her natural athleticism and balance serve her well as she glides across wave after wave, her joyous cackles carrying across the water. The afternoon passes in a blur of salt spray and pure exhilaration.

⚔

Alister lounges by the pool, nursing a drink in a coconut shell, when they’re approached by a walking stereotype of a tourist. The middle-aged man sports a painful sunburn on his nose that contrasts sharply with his pale, hairy legs sprouting from his Speedos. His Hawaiian shirt is louder than the tropical birds that squawk on the nearby boughs. Alister turns so as not to meet his eyes, but can hear the man's out of place leather loafers scuff across the pool's deck to where he sits, bundled in pool towels beneath an umbrella.

“Martin Buckley,” the man announces, thrusting out a sweaty palm. “Banking and investment. What’s your line?”

Alister regards the offered hand with barely concealed revulsion before taking it between the tips of his fingers for the briefest possible contact.

“Secrets,” Alister sneers. “Do you have one I might want? But only if you don’t trust me.”

Martin’s eyes light up with the gleam of someone about to share insider information. “Are we talking… tips? For the stock market? Like insider trading?”

Alister’s expression sharpens with predatory interest, but Martin disappoints him.

“Buy AI and crypto,” the man stage-whispers conspiratorially.

“What does that cost you?” Alister inquires.

“I put in as much as I can afford to lose,” Martin guffaws, apparently proud of his financial wisdom.

“Hmm. Not good enough,” Alister sneers, declining the offer of a second drink and moving away with his coconut.

But then inspiration strikes. A drunk man tells better secrets than a sober one, thinks the fey. Alister doubles back and suggests they visit the bar for something stronger.

⚔

At the tiki bar, Hendrix the mixologist stands behind an impressive array of bottles, his smile professional but watchful. When Alister requests the strongest beverage available, Hendrix’s response is unexpectedly bureaucratic.

“I’ll need to see some ID first.”

This simple request triggers something profound within Alister’s shared consciousness. Titania surges forward, seizing control of their body with indignant fury.

“I am over a thousand years old!” she declares with the imperious tone of ancient royalty.

Hendrix remains unimpressed, his expression as unmoved as carved stone. “That’s nice. Come back when you can prove your age legally.”

⚔

Back in the jungle, Beckaylee and Reyna follow what might be unicorn tracks, though their quarry remains frustratingly elusive. Their search leads them into a clearing alive with the chirrupping of amphibian life—a veritable congress of frogs in every shade of imaginable.

Beckaylee’s attention focuses on one particularly small specimen. “Hello there, George,” she coos, scooping up the tiny creature who offers no resistance to being pocketed.

Moments later, a larger frog approaches with the dignified bearing of maternal concern.

“Excuse me,” the mother frog says in perfectly clear Common, “have either of you seen my missing youngest son? He's about as large as a peanut and quite green.”

Reyna crosses her fingers behind her back. “No?”

Beckaylee, feeling the weight of her pocket’s occupant, manages a nervous smile. “We’ll definitely look out for him.”

“Thank you so much,” the mother frog replies gratefully. “Harold is always wandering off. If you see him, please send him home.”

From the depths of Beckaylee’s pocket comes a tiny, muffled voice: “I’ve always hated that name.”

⚔

As if summoned by cosmic irony, the first drops of rain begin to fall. What starts as a gentle sprinkle quickly intensifies, and Beckaylee and Reyna find themselves lost in increasingly treacherous terrain. The jungle paths become slippery and uncertain, visibility drops to mere yards, and somewhere ahead lurks a patch of quicksand made all the more dangerous by their inability to see clearly.

⚔

“Squid?” Alister calls out, desperation creeping into his voice at the rebuff from the bartender.

A piping, disembodied voice answers with characteristic directness. “Why should I? I don’t like you very much, Alister.”

Pleading, Alister whispers back to the empty air, "Can you steal me a bottle of alcohol?”

The ghostly child materializes at Alister’s elbow, eyes solemn. "I don't steal. Mama Titania says stealing is wrong."

Exasperated, Alister sputters, “Yes, Squid, but you could help me leave Titania alone in this body if you assist me with this little task. I need you to steal that bottle."

The child considers the fey’s pleading expression with the cold calculation of youth. “No,” he hisses, "stealing is wrong." And promptly vanishes.

Frustrated but not defeated, Alister returns to Hendrix with a different approach.

“Would a platinum piece change your mind?” he purrs, producing the gleaming coin.

Hendrix pockets the money with practiced ease. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “Particularly if I’m setting up to make a margarita.” He gathers bottles, mixer, salt and fruit with deliberate movements. He places an outsized glass on the bar near Alister. “And I discover I need to go get more ice.”

Hendrix disappears behind the palapa with an ice bucket, leaving the bar momentarily unattended—exactly as intended.

Alister helps himself to the bottle and finds Martin Buckley, moodily sipping the dregs from his coconut by the pool. A gentle rain that has just begun patters steadily on the palapa roof above.

“Would you like to try a new electrolyte drink?” Alister asks sweetly, bottle hidden behind their back.

Martin extends his coconut expectantly, and Alister sloshes the clear liquid inside to the brim.

“Watch it! That burns!” Martin cries, licking the liquid from his hand where it splashed. His eyes brighten immediately. “Hey, that’s the electrolytes? Well, those electrolytes taste just like tequila! We should invest in this company—we’d make a fortune! Thanks for the tip, friend!”

He slings his arm over Alister’s shoulder with sudden, alcohol-fueled affection.

“We are friends now?” Alister asks with obvious distaste.

“Best of friends!” Martin declares, following Alister toward their room as the rain intensifies overhead.

⚔

KFC abandons her plans for more surfing as the rain turns serious and the currents become stronger. Something tells her that Beckaylee and Reyna might need help, so she strides into the jungle to guide them back. She neglects to take the map that the concierge attempts to press on her.

Soon, the rain has drenched her feather. In a clearing, she encounters the Ki-Rin sheltering beneath palm fronds, who warns her with urgent telepathy: “Beware the quicksand ahead—your friends are in danger.”

Following the celestial being’s guidance, KFC finds the pair just as they’re about to stumble into the treacherous bog. Together, they make their way back to the Ki-Rin’s hidden lair—a grotto adorned with crystal formations that ring softly in harmony with the rain.

They wait out the worst of the weather in the magical sanctuary, sharing stories and marveling at their extraordinary day.

⚔

As the storm finally breaks, the group reunites at the resort compound. They find Martin Buckley curled up in Alister’s doorway like a lost puppy, snoring softly despite the hard floor.

“He was afraid of the thunder,” Alister explains with a mixture of embarrassment and surprising gentleness.

In Beckaylee’s pocket, a tiny voice pipes up: “Can I go home now? My mom’s probably worried.”

The first day in paradise has proven more eventful than anyone anticipated, with new friendships forged in the most unlikely circumstances and secrets that are only beginning to unfold.