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It was good to get a break from the merger craziness. Eris was thankful for the small mercy of a quiet week-end back at the cottage, free of the second guessing of the suspicious if not philandering undertakers, and even more of the tedious homework to cement the improbable union of the covens.

The nun-witches had been an interesting lot to interact with, but Eris’d had it up to her eyeballs of the tense and meticulous ceremonies. They had been brewing potions for hours on, trying to get a suitable mixture between the herbs the nuns where fond of, and the general ingredients of their own Quadrivium coven’s incenses. Luckily they had been saved by the godlike apparition of another of Frella’s multi-tasking possessions, this time of a willing Sandra, and she’s had harmonized in no time the most perfect blend, in a stroke of brilliance and sheer inspiration, not unlike the magical talent she’d displayed when she invented the luminous world-famous wonder that is ‘Liz n°5’.

As she breathed in the sweet air, Eris could finally enjoy the full swing of summer in the cottage, while Thorsten was happily busy experimenting with an assortment of cybernetic appendages to cut, mulch, segment and compost the overgrown brambles and nettles in the woodland at the back of the property.

Interestingly, she’d received a letter in the mail — quaintly posted from Spain in a nondescript envelop —so anachronistic it was too tempting to resist looking.

Without distrust, but still with a swish of a magical counterspell in case the envelop had traces of unwanted magic, she opened it, only to find it burst with an annoying puff of blue glitter that decided to stick in every corner of the coffee table and other places.

Eris almost cursed at the amount of micro-plastics, but her attention was immediately caught by the Latin sentence mysteriously written in a psychopath ransom note manner: “QUAERO THESAURUM INCONTINUUM”

“Whisp! Elias? A little help here, my Latin must be wrong. What accumulation of incontinence? What sort of spell is that?!”

Echo appeared first, looking every bit like the reflection of Malové. “Quaero Thesaurum Incontinuum,” you say. How quaint, how cryptic, how annoyingly enigmatic. Eris, it seems the universe has a sense of humor—sending you this little riddle while you’re neck-deep in organizational chaos.

“Oh, Echo, stop that! I won’t spend my well-earned week-end on some riddle-riddled chase…”

“You’re no fun Eris” the sprite said, reverting into a more simple form. “It translates roughly to “I seek the endless treasure.” Do you want me to help you dissect this more?”

“Why not…” Eris answered pursing up her lips.

““Seek the endless treasure.” We’re talking obviously something deeper, more profound than simple gold; maybe knowledge —something  truly inexhaustible. Given your current state of affairs, with the merger and the restructuring, this message could be a nudge—an invitation to look beyond the immediate chaos and find the opportunity within.”

“Sure,” Eris said, already tired with the explanations. She was not going to spend more time to determine the who, the why, and the what. Who’d sent this? Didn’t really matter if it was an ally, a rival, or even a neutral party with vested interests? She wasn’t interested in seeking an answer to “why now?”. Endless rabbit holes, more like it.

The only conundrum she was left with was to decide whether to keep the pesky glittering offering, or just vacuum the hell of it, and decide if it could stand the test of ‘will it blend?’. She wrapped it in a sheet of clear plastic, deciding it may reveal more clues in the right time.

With that done, Eris’ mind started to wander, letting the enigmatic message linger a while longer… as reminder that while we navigate the mundane, our eyes must always be on the transcendent. To seek the endless treasure…

The thought came to her as an evidence “Death? The end of suffering…” To whom could this be an endless treasure? Eris sometimes wondered how her brain picked up such things, but she rarely doubted it. She might have caught some vibes during the various meetings. Truella mentioning Silas talking about ‘retiring nuns’, or Nemo hinting at Penelope that ‘death was all about…”

The postcard was probably a warning, and they had to stay on their guards.

But now was not the time for more drama, the icecream was waiting for her on the patio, nicely prepared by Thorsten who after a hard day of bramble mulching was all smiling despite looking like he had went through a herd of cats’ fight.

“Do you know who that Everone is?” Jeezel whispered to Eris.

“Shtt,” she silenced Jeezel worried that some creative inspiration sparked into existence yet another character into their swirling adventure.

The ancient stone walls of the Cloisters resonated with the hum of anticipation. The air was thick with the scent of incense barely covering musky dogs’ fart undertones, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh parchment eaten away by centuries of neglect. Illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lanterns sparkling chaotically like a toddler’s magic candle at its birthday, the grand hall was prepared for an unprecedented gathering of minds and traditions.

While all the attendants were fumbling around, grasping at the finger foods and chitchatting while things were getting ready, Eris was reminded of the scene of the deal’s signature between the two sisterhoods unlikely brought together.

Few weeks before, under a great deal of secrecy, Malové, Austreberthe, and Lorena had convened in the cloister’s grand hall, the gothic arches echoing their words. Before she signed, Lorena had stated rather grandiloquently, with a voice firm and unwavering. “We are a nunnery dedicated to craftsmanship and spiritual devotion. This merger must respect our traditions.”
Austreberthe, ever the pragmatist, replied, “And we bring innovation and magical prowess. Together, we can create something greater than the sum of our parts.”
The undertaker’s spokesman, Garrett, had interjected with a charming smile, “Consider us the matchmakers of this unlikely union. We promise not to leave you at the altar.”
That’s were he’d started to spell out the numbingly long Strategic Integration Plan to build mutual understanding of the mission and a framework for collaboration. 

Eris sighed at the memory. That would require yet a great deal of joint workshops and collaborative sessions — something that would be the key to facilitate new product developments and innovation. Interestingly, Malové at the time had suggested for Jeezel to lead with Silas the integration rituals designed to symbolically and spiritually unite the groups. She’d had always had a soft spot for our Jeezel, but that seemed unprecedented to want to put her to task on something as delicate. Maybe there was another plan in motion, she would have to trust Malové’s foresight and let it play out.

As the heavy oak doors creaked open, a hush fell over the assembled witches, nuns and the undertakers. Mother Lorena Blaen stepped forward. Her presence was commanding, her eyes sharp and scrutinising. She wore the traditional garb of her order, but her demeanour was anything but traditional.

“Welcome, everyone,” Lorena began, her voice echoing through the hallowed halls. “Or should I say, welcome to the heart of tradition and innovation, where ancient craftsmanship meets arcane mastery.”

She paused, letting her words sink in, before continuing. “You stand at the threshold of the Quintessivium Cloister Crafts, a sanctuary where every stitch is a prayer, every garment a humble display of our deepest devotion. But today, we are not just nuns and witches, morticians and mystics. Today, we are the architects of a new era.”

Truella yawned at the speech, not without waving like a schoolgirl at the tall Rufus guy, while Lorena was presenting a few of the nuns, ready to model in various fashionable nun’s garbs for their latest midsummer fashion show.

Lorena’s eyes twinkled with a mixture of pride and determination as she turned back to the visitors. “Together, we shall transcend the boundaries of faith and magic. With the guidance of the Morticians’ Guild—Garrett, Rufus, Silas, and Nemo—we will forge a new path, one that honors our past while embracing the future.”

Garrett, ever the showman, gave a theatrical bow. “We’re here to ensure this union is as seamless as a well-tailored shroud, my dear Lorena.” Rufus, standing silent and vigilant, offered a nod of agreement. Silas, with his grandfatherly smile, added, “We bring centuries of wisdom to this endeavor. Trust in the old ways, and we shall succeed.” Nemo, with his characteristic smirk, couldn’t resist a final quip. “And if things go awry, well, we have ways of making them… interesting.”

Sleeping like a log through a full night’s rest on the lavender spell wrapped in the rag of the punic tunic worked like a charm. By morning light, Eris had reverted to her normal self again.

How her coven had succeeded in finding the rag was anyone’s guess, but one thing was for certain—Truella’s resourcefulness knew no bounds once she set her mind to a goal. All it took was a location spell, a silencing charm around the area in Libyssa where she wanted to dig, and of course, a trusty trowel. Hundreds of buckets of dirt later, a few sheep’s jawbones and voilà, the rag. Made of asbestos, impervious to fire, and slower to decay than a sloth on a Monday morning, it was nothing short of a miracle it had survived so long underground, and that they found it in such a short time.

Eris rubbed her neck still pained from the weight of bearing that enormous elephantine head.

When pressed by the others—Frigella, Jeezel, and the ever-curious Truella—she could hardly recall what led her to attempt the risky memory spell.

Echo buzzed in with an electric hum, the sprite all too eager to clear the air.

“The memory spell,” Echo interjected, “a dubious cocktail of spirits of remembrance and forgetfulness, was cast not out of folly but necessity. Eris, rooted in her family’s arborestry quests, understood the weight of knowledge passed down through generations. Each leaf and branch in the family tree held stories, secrets, and sacrifices that were both a treasure and a burden.”

Echo smirked as he continued, pointing out the responsibility of the other entity’s guidance. “Elias’s advice had egged her on, resonating with Eris’ desires, and finally enticing her not lament the multitude of options but rather delights in the exploration without the burden of obligation —end of quotation.”

“And was it worth it?” Truella asked impatiently, her curiosity piqued a little nonetheless. She’d always wished she had more memory, but not at the cost of an elephant head.

“Imagine the vast expanse of memories like a grand library, each book brimming with the essence of a lineage. ” Eris said. “To wander these halls without purpose could lead to an overwhelming deluge of ancestral whispers.” She paused. “So, not sure it was entirely worth it. I feel more confused than ever.”

Echo chimed in again “The memory spell was conjured to be a compass, a guide through the storied corridors of her heritage. But, as with all magic, the intentions must be precise, the heart true, and the mind clear. A miscalculation, a stray thought, a moment’s doubt — and the spell turned upon itself, leaving Eris with the visage of an elephant, noble and wise. The elephant head, while unintended, may have been a subconscious manifestation of her quest for familial knowledge.  Perhaps the memory spell, in its misfiring, sought to grant Eris the attributes necessary to continue her arborestry quests with the fortitude and insight of the elephant.”

“But why Madrid of all places?” Jeezel asked mostly out of reflex than complete interest; she had been pulled into the rescue and had missed the quarter finals of the Witch Drag Race she was now catching up on x2 speed replay on her phone.

Echo surmised “Madrid, that sun-drenched city of art and history, may have been a waypoint in her journey — a place where the paths of the past intersect with the pulse of the present. It is in such crossroads that one may find hidden keys to unlock the tales etched in one’s bloodline.”

“In other words, you have no idea?” Frigella asked Eris directly, cutting through the little flickering sprite’s mystical chatter.

“I guess it’s something as Wisp said. I must have connected to some bloodlines. But one thing is sure, all was fine when I was in Finland, Thorsten was as much a steadying presence as one would need. But then I got pulled into the vortex, and all bets were off.”

“At least he had the presence of mind to call me.” Truella said smuggly.

“The red cars may have started to get my elephant head mad… I can’t recall all of it, but I’m glad you found me in time.” Eris admitted.

“Don’t mention it poppet, we all screwed up one spell or two in our time.” Frigella said, offering unusual comfort.

“Let’s hope at least you’ll come up with brilliant ideas from that ordeal next week.” said Jeezel.

“What do you mean?” Truella looked at her suspiciously

“The strategic meeting that Malové has called for? In the Adare Manor resort?” Frigella reminded her, rolling her eyes softly.

“Jeez, Jeezel…” was all Truella could come up with. “another one of these boring meetings to boost our sales channels and come up with new incense models?” Truella groaned, already wishing it were over.

“That’s right love. Better be on your A-game for this.” Jeezel said, straightening her wig with a sly grin.

Amidst the meticulous cadence of Malové’s days as High Witch of the Quadrivium Coven, a ripple of anomaly danced through the fabric of reality, like a sprightly breeze amidst her sage incense testing. It started with subtlety—a peculiar haze veiling her potion books, an otherworldly scent mingling with her herb garden’s fragrances. But it was during her quiet contemplation among hellebore pistils that the ordinary took a whimsical turn.

The air hummed with a resonant frequency, beckoning from realms beyond. And there, in the midst of this enigmatic symphony, stood Georges, a figure oscillating between existence and non-existence, accompanied by the ethereal Malvina, a reflection of Malové’s spirit from a parallel dimension.

As Malové’s reality shimmered, the colors around her intensified, charged with the essence of a place where possibilities blurred into fantastical realities. Each breath was imbued with untapped potential, a draught of undiscovered paths.

In the midst of this mystical convergence, Malvina’s melodic voice intertwined with the air, weaving a tapestry of otherworldly allure. Energies pulsed within Malové, heralding a meeting that transcended time—a celebration set within the ever-shifting caverns of existence.

Engulfed by Malvina’s mystic melody, Malové felt the vibrations intensify, drawing her towards the allure of the unknown. With a glance at the maze of her mundane existence, she embraced the call, stepping through the veil into a world of a new sort of witchcraft, and other mystical creatures of the mind.

Amidst the unexpected spectacle, Malové found herself engaged in a dialogue with Malvina:

Malové: “Malvina, as a fellow witch of power, your reputation precedes you. Your tales of shifting caves and communion with dragons have piqued my interest. How do you maintain such fluidity within the arcane?”

Malvina: “Oh dear Malové, magic is a vast music score of constant motions, much like my cave and dragons. Adaptation and transformation are the keys to navigating its intricate weave.”

Malové: “I must admit, recent misadventures within my coven have left me seeking a fresh perspective. The fiasco with the smoke test was humbling.”

Malvina: “A fiasco, yes, but also a lesson. Magic must be respected, yet never tamed. Embrace the unexpected, and let it fuel your endeavors. What of the incense you craft?”

Malové: “It’s meant to elevate the spirit, to realign to higher purposes, and maybe inspire those enveloped in its essence. This is why we seek new blends, something transformative.”

Malvina: “Incense is not just a tool, but a companion on the journey. Let the scents guide you to uncharted territories. Look to the elements for inspiration—the earth, sky, fire, and water all have stories to tell.”

Malové: “Poetic words that is sure, and maybe wise… Perhaps a journey to your world and fabled caves could be arranged to further explore.”

Malvina: “You would be most welcome. The cave shifts but offers shelter and inspiration to all who seek it. And who knows, the dragons may impart wisdom of their own.”

Malové: “Well, to be honest, not so fond of dragons… Well, would you look at the time! The effects of that blend seems already to wear off, but thank you dearie, and we will see if some inspiration remains…”

Eris did portal to be in person for the last Ritual. After all, Smoke Testing for incense making was the reverse expectation of what it meant in programming. You plug in a new board and turn on the power. If you see smoke coming from the board, turn off the power. You don’t have to do any more testing. But for witches, it just meant success. This one however revealed itself to be so glorious, she would have regretted sorely if she’d missed it.

“Someone tried to jinx my blog with black magic emojis! Quick, give me a Nokia!” Jeezel sharp cry was the innocent trigger that dominoed the whole ceremony into mayhem. With her clumsy hand gestures, she inadvertently elbowed Frigella as she was carefully counting the last drops of the resin, which spilled over to the nearby Bunsen burner.

From there, the sweet symphony of disaster that unfolded in the sanctified chamber of the coven could have been put to a choral version of Tchaikovsky’s Overture 1812, with climactic volley of cannon fire, ringing chimes, and brass fanfare. Only with smoke as sound effects.

In the ensuing chaos of the Fourth Rite, everything became quickly shrouded in a thick, billowing smoke, an unintended byproduct of the smoke test gone wildly awry. Truella, in her attempts to salvage the ceremony, darted through the room, a scorched piece of fabric clutched in her hand—her delicate pashmina shawl that did more fanning than smothering and now more charcoal than its original vibrant hue. Her expression teetered between horror and disbelief as she lamented her once-prized possession, now reduced to ashes.

Jeezel, ever the optimist, quickly came back to her senses choosing to find humor if not opportunity amidst disaster. Like a true diva emerging from the smoke effects, she held up a singed twig adorned with the remains of decorative leaves and announced with a wide grin, “Behold, the perfect accessory for the Autumn Pageant!” Her voice was muffled by the smog, her figure obscured save for the intermittent glint of her eyes as she wove through the smoke, brandishing the charred twig like a parade marshal’s baton.

Meanwhile, Eris was caught in a frenetic ballet, attempting to corral the smoke with sweeps of her arms and ancient spells, as if the very air could be tamed by her whims. Her efforts, while noble, only served to create an odd wind pattern that whirled papers and loose items into a miniature cyclone of confusion.

At the epicenter of the pandemonium stood Malové, the High Witch, her composure as livid as the flames that had sparked the debacle. Her normally unflappable demeanor crumbled as she surveyed the disarray, her voice rising above the cacophony, “Witches, have you mistaken this sacred rite for a comedy of errors?” Her words cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Frigella, caught off-guard by the commotion, scrambled to quell the smoky serpent that had coiled throughout the room. With a flick of her wand, she directed gusts of fresh air towards the smoke, but in her haste, the spell went askew, further fanning the chaos as parchments and ritual tools spun through the air like leaves in a storm.

All the witches assembled, not knowing how to respond, tried to grapple with the havoc.

There, in the mist of misadventure, the Fourth Rite of 2024 would be one for the annals, a tale to be told with a mix of chagrin and mirth for ages to come. And though Malové’s patience was tried, even the High Witch couldn’t deny the comedic spectacle that unfurled before her—a spectacle that would surely need to be remedied.

I had to meet Devan at the garage; I didn’t want to raise suspicion calling an overseas number that would show up like a sore thumb in the next phone company invoice. Even with the occasional visitors calling for bookings, it was more Idle’s job to call back. She is funny when she’s got her headphones and microphone on, with that look from the 90s, taking her grand air and posh accent to answer people over skype. ‘Sister Idle dot com‘ I call her behind her back. She sounds like a mixture of an investigator and nun who would sell goose feather duvets made by the nunnery.

Devan was punctual for once; we didn’t have a lot of time to use the phone at the counter while his boss was off for lunch.

We looked at each other. “You sure you want to do that?” we both knew there was no turning back. It could be a sore disappointment, but how worse would that be compared to a rabbit hole of questions and potential emotional upheavals. Someone wise said (probably Henrich Lyeumon I think) “if you continue going down rabbit holes, you’re bound to find a lot of rabbit poop.”

Devan nodded silently.

I punched the numbers from the Gugu search.

The connection seemed to take forever. Then a click. A gruff “Hello?” in a male voice.

I don’t know why I blurted it out, but it came out without thinking.

“Dad? Is that you?”

“…” Devan looked at me alarmed and also with excitement in his eyes. There was a blank at the other end of the line.

“Not on this line. I’ll call you back.”

We looked at each other with Devan. Did we just hear what we heard? Given the look on Devan’s face, I’m pretty sure we did.

We don’t have time to waste, his boss is already back, smacking his lips all shiny with chicken grease.

Before I leave my brother to his job, we exchange hopeful glances. So a rabbit hole is it.

My phone is buzzing.

A message from [Unknown sender] — why didn’t it go to spam?

“I’m on my way. ~ F”

“I don’t know if it’s this place, but I never had so much trouble of keeping track of time…” Xavier mused.

As soon as he’d came back to the Inn after his errand with the bird, he’d finally caught up with Yasmin and Zara. Both of them were in their rooms, and they wasted no time to get going. Zara had called Youssef who was still at the shop, so they could all meet outside for drinks.

As soon as Youssef arrived, it was a huge rally cry of joy throughout the four of them.

“Funny” Xavier said pointing at Youssef’s chest. “This one isn’t letting you go, despite all the huggin’ — the glitter speck on your bear, I mean…” The others were looking at him like he’d been alien or something. “The glitter? Am I the only one to see it? Oh forget it…”

While the others were chatting about their day, Xavier was thinking about some of the bugs he had to fix in his program, as well as a flurry of ideas to improve the system. Coincidentally, Youssef had mentioned commissioning his help to do a robo-version of him to automatically answer his pesky and peppy boss. Well, he could probably do that, his friend didn’t seem too complex to model. As for doing his job… that was a stretch.

The gales of laughters, occasional snorting and clinks of the pints brought him back to reality.

While Zara was explaining all about the Carts race of the festival to Youssef, Yasmin leaned on conspiratorially:

“Over there, — don’t look, be casual — yes, behind me,… have you noticed that lady? She seems bizarre and a tad familiar, no? You haven’t met her before, like in the game or something?”

“That’s all Jorid had to say?” Georges mused at the sudden philosophical quote that read:

And doesn’t this point to something fundamentally tragic about our way of life? We live under an assumed identity, in a neurotic fairy tale world with no more reality than the Mock Turtle in Alice in Wonderland. Hypnotized by the thrill of building, we have raised the houses of our lives on sand. This world can seem marvelously convincing until death collapses the illusion and evicts us from our hiding place. What will happen to us then if we have no clue of any deeper reality? (The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying)

“I don’t know about this Mock Turtle, but those snapping sand ones that have been lurking about do look rather nasty. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Klatu opined “Klatu agrees with your female, sand turtle are lovely traps of death. Come with me now!” He intimated them to run into a sand opening he’d just made.

“Let me guess,” Georges said, “is it the equivalent of a Zathu prison? What powerful people could Léonard possibly have rubbed the wrong way this time?”

“Not prison.” Klatu commented “Death sentence.”

Salomé pointed out a glowing twirl of sand shaped as an ovoid form, inside which a human form could be discerned. “That would explain why he’s not more guarded…”

They approached carefully, expecting some extra booby trap, but nothing seemed to react to their presence, not even the moving sand egg.

“Let me guess,” Georges said, expecting a chorus

“DIMENSIONAL MAGIC!”

Klatu shushed them “Quiet stupids! Sound waves attract good turtles.”

“Is our friend OK? How do we break the spell?” Salomé asked Klatu. “Can you help?”

Klatu took a few minutes to inspect the shape, hopping carefully around it, and probing with soft whistling sounds.

“Friend in stasis for now. Kept fresh for questioning… possible.”

“Then we must hurry, how can we free him? Can I brute force this?” Georges asked, looking around for something to pierce the sand barrier and hook Léonard out of it.

“Only if you like sushi friend.” Klatu said, raising shoulders. “No finesse these primates.”

Klatu moved around the shape, taking some tools from his belt and making some elaborate plaits of sounds, as if trying to match the energy signature of the sand prison.

After a first belt of soundwaves was wrapped around, it seemed as though a first layer of the spell broke, and sand rained back into the external construct they were it. But a thin layer was still there, shifting and pulsating, almost clear as glass, and sharp as a razor blade.

“Crude encoding, but solid. Need more time.” Klatu seemed exhausted.

Georges was getting anxious for some activity. “Houses built on sand… Well I guess Jorid didn’t find the best quote to help…”

Salomé who was sitting cross-legged, trying for some time to connect to Léonard in his stasis, turned to Georges in disbelief. “Georges, you’re a genius!”

“What now?”

“Jorid gave us the last bit we needed.  Until death collapses the illusion and evicts us from our hiding place. Remember? It’s risky but that could work!”

“Oh, I see what you’re thinking about. It’s mad, and it’s brilliant at the same time, how do we go about this?”

“I can’t reach Léonard, but maybe the both of us can.” Salomé joined hands with Georges.

“If he’s like anything I remember, he’d be in his mental palace, his workshop on the Duane… or in Marseille… or with Madame Jamelie…”

“Focus, Georges!”

“Duane it is, that’s where he did his best work.”

“We need to focus our energy to make him appear dead to the construct. It’ll be easier if we can locate precisely where his mind wanders.” Salomé said.

“He’ll be there, I know it. Let’s do this!”

The two of them joined hands and melded their minds, one as always, turning into a dark mirror of the abyss, bending light unto itself, leaving the void of creation at the place where Léonard was suspended.

Klatu looked at the scene suspiciously, but started to giggle as he saw the last layer he couldn’t open finally shatter and dissolve to the ground.

“Little apes full of surprises,… very awful, so very awful.” he said approvingly.

As his friends rushed to him, Léonard was on the ground, inert, but apparently alive.

More developments

Chapter 3: The Journey becomes more eggciting

The Flovlinden Tree

The group reaches the Flovlinden Tree, a massive linden tree in the heart of Oocrane, which is said to be sacred and is attracting crowds of pilgrims.
They meet Olek, the old caretaker of the tree, who tells them the story of Saint Edigna. He explains how the tree is said to have magical healing properties, and how the tree is responsible for the sacred oil that the pilgrims come to collect.
However, Olek reveals that the secret of Saint Edigna is not what it seems. Edna, an old woman who has been living far from the crowd for thousands of years, is actually Saint Edigna.
Olek shares that Edna has been living in solitude for very long. He tells the group that if they want to learn more about the sacred tree and Edna, they must travel to her hidden home.
The four friends were shocked to hear that Edna was still alive and wanted to meet her. They asked Olek for directions, and he gave them a map that showed the way to Edna’s remote dwelling.
They bid farewell to Olek and set off on their journey to find Edna.

A Run-In with Myroslava

The group comes across a former war reporter, Myroslava, who is traveling on her own after leaving a group of journalists. She is being followed by mysterious individuals and is trying to lose them by hunting and making fire in bombed areas.
Myroslava is frustrated and curses her lack of alcohol, wishing she could find a place to escape from her pursuers.
The group approaches Myroslava and offers to help her. She joins forces with them and together, they set off on their journey.
As they travel, Myroslava shares her experiences as a war reporter, and the group listens in awe. She explains how she has seen the worst of humanity, but also the best, and how it has changed her as a person.
Myroslava and the group continue their journey, with the former reporter becoming more and more determined to shake off her pursuers and continue on her own.

A Visit with Eusebius Kazandis’ Relatives

The group reaches a small village where they are expected by relatives of Eusebius Kazandis, the cauldron seller that Rose has met at the Innsbruck fair.
The relatives tell the group about Kazandis and his business, and how he has been traveling the world, selling his wares. They explain how he has become a legend in their village, and how proud they are of him.
The group learns about Kazandis’ passion for cooking and how he uses his cauldrons to create delicious meals for his customers. They are also shown his secret recipe book, which has been passed down for generations.
The relatives invite the group to try some of Kazandis’ famous dishes, and they are blown away by the delicious flavors.
The group thanks the relatives for their hospitality and sets off on their journey, with a newfound appreciation for Kazandis and his love of cooking.

A Surprising Encounter with Edna

The group finally reaches Edna’s hidden home, a small cottage in the middle of a dense forest.
As they approach the cottage, they are surprised to see Edna, who is actually the legendary Saint Edigna, standing outside, waiting for them.

The four friends have finally arrived at Edna’s dwelling, where they learned about her vast knowledge of the families connected to her descendants. Edna showed them her books, and they were amazed to find that their own family was listed among her descendants. They were even more shocked to learn that they were related to President Voldomeer Zumbasky and Dumbass Voldomeer, who was said to be a distant relative and carpenter who made the President’s wooden leg. It was rumored that they shared a common ancestor, but in reality, they were possibly secret twins.

The Secret of Dumbass Voldomeer

The four friends were determined to find out more about Dumbass Voldomeer and his connection to their family. They learned that he lived in the small city of Duckailingtown in Dumbass, near the Rootian border. They also discovered that Dumbass Voldomeer had been enrolled to take the place of the President, who had succumbed from a mysterious swan flu virus, to which Dumbass Voldomeer was immune. As they set to Duckailingtown, they couldn’t help but wonder what other secrets and surprises lay ahead for them on this incredible journey.

Additional clues from AL (based on Xavier’s comment)

Yasmin

:snake:

Yasmin was having a hard time with the heavy rains and mosquitoes in the real-world. She couldn’t seem to make a lot of progress on finding the snorting imp, which she was trying to find in the real world rather than in the game. She was feeling discouraged and unsure of what to do next.

Suddenly, an emoji of a snake appeared on her screen. It seemed to be slithering and wriggling, as if it was trying to grab her attention. Without hesitation, Yasmin clicked on the emoji.

She was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in tall grass and the sky was dark and stormy. She could see the snorting imp in the distance, but it was surrounded by a group of dangerous-looking snakes.

Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re having a hard time in the real world, but don’t let that discourage you in the game. The snorting imp is nearby and it seems like the snakes are guarding it. You’ll have to be brave and quick to catch it. Remember, the snorting imp represents your determination and bravery in real life.

🐍🔍🐗 Use your skills and abilities to navigate through the tall grass and avoid the snakes. Keep your eyes peeled for any clues or symbols that may help you in your quest. Don’t give up and remember that the snorting imp is a representation of your determination and bravery.

A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

Stryke_Assist is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

Youssef

:desert:

Youssef has not yet been aware of the quest, since he’s been off the grid in the Gobi desert. But, interestingly, his story unfolds in real-life parallel to his quest. He’s found a strange grumpy shaman at a food booth, and it seems that his natural steps are converging back with the game. His blog website for his boss seems to take most of his attention.

An emoji of a desert suddenly appeared on his screen. It seemed to be a barren and empty landscape, with sand dunes stretching as far as the eye could see. Without hesitation, Youssef clicked on the emoji.

He was taken to a new area in the game, where the ground was covered in sand and the sky was a deep orange, as if the sun was setting. He could see a mysterious figure in the distance, standing at the top of a sand dune.

Clue unlocked It sounds like you’re in a remote location and disconnected from the game. But, your real-life experiences seem to be converging with your quest. The grumpy shaman you met at the food booth may hold the key to unlocking the next steps in the game. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

🏜️🧭🧙‍♂️ Explore the desert and see if the grumpy shaman’s clues lead you to the next steps in the game. Keep an open mind and pay attention to any symbols or clues that may help you in your quest. Remember, the desert represents your ability to adapt and navigate through difficult situations.

A message bumped on the screen: “Need help? Contact me 👉”

Sands_of_time is trying to make contact : ➡️ACCEPT <> ➡️DENY ❓

Zara

:carved_tile:

Zara looked more advanced [in her explorations – stream breaks – resume conversation]

Zara had come across a strange and ancient looking mine. It was clear that it had been abandoned for many years, but there were still signs of activity. The entrance was blocked by a large pile of rocks, but she could see a faint light coming from within. She knew that she had to find a way in.

As she approached the mine, she noticed a small, carved wooden tile on the ground. It was intricately detailed and seemed to depict a map of some sort. She picked it up and examined it closely. It seemed to show the layout of the mine and possibly the location of the secret room.

With this new clue in hand, Zara set to work trying to clear the entrance. She used all of her strength to move the rocks, and after a few minutes of hard work, she was able to create an opening large enough for her to squeeze through.

As she ventured deeper into the mine, she found herself in a large chamber. The walls were lined with strange markings and symbols, and she could see a faint light coming from a small room off to the side. She knew that this must be the secret room she had been searching for.

Zara approached the room and pushed open the door. Inside, she found a small, dimly lit chamber. In the center of the room stood a large stone altar, and on the altar was a strange, glowing object. She couldn’t quite make out what it was, but she knew that this must be the key to solving the mystery of the mine.

With a sense of excitement and curiosity, Zara reached out to take the glowing object. As her hand touched it, she felt a strange energy coursing through her body. She knew that her quest was far from over, and that there were many more secrets to uncover in the mine.

AL is back

• Zara: Great job on finding the carved wooden tile! That’s a big step in the quest. Keep up the good work, and we’ll send you on the next mission soon.
• Yasmin: It sounds like you’re having a tough time with the weather and mosquitoes. We understand that it can be difficult to focus on the quest when you’re dealing with real-life issues. Maybe try to work on the quest in a different environment, or take a break if you need to. We’re here to support you and help you in any way we can.
• Youssef: We’re excited to hear about your real-life parallel quest. It sounds like you’re getting close to uncovering the mystery of the grumpy shaman. Keep working on your blog website and keep an eye out for any clues that Xavier and the Snoot may send your way. We believe that you’re on the right path.
• Xavier: It sounds like you’re making progress on your quest. The clues you received from the fox busdriver are definitely leading you in the right direction. Keep following the trail and don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it. Remember, the golden banana is a metaphor for your cheeky and also soft nature, so don’t be too hard on yourself. We’re here to guide and advise you along the way.

New clues

• Zara: 🔮🧱🗺️ Find the ancient portal hidden in the ruins and decipher the inscription on the carved wooden tile to unlock the next step in the quest.
• Yasmin: 🦟🌧️🕵️‍♀️Track down the elusive snorting imp by investigating the local wetlands and speaking with locals who may have encountered it. Don’t let the bad weather and pesky mosquitoes discourage you!
• Youssef: 🍔🌵🧙‍♂️ Continue your journey with the grumpy shaman and see if he holds any clues to the quest. Remember to keep an eye out for anything that seems out of the ordinary and don’t be afraid to ask questions. Also, make sure to keep up with your website work as it may lead you to a valuable information!
• Xavier:🦊💰🛳️ Explore the floating casino and see if the fox busdriver’s clues lead you to the golden banana. Don’t be afraid to take risks and think outside the box, as the golden banana may not be what it seems. Keep an open mind and pay attention to any symbols or clues that you come across.