Cackle of Terror

The duo fled out of the cave at unheard of speeds, narrowly escaping the raiding coven mother, who was currently tailing just behind. Her flying lux relentlessly rushed through the air, gaining speeds that overtook their own.

Saratoga had no idea how to properly fly a broom, as she'd never been trained to do such a thing before. But the broom seemed to have a mind of its own. It took them into the forest in an attempt to lose their pursuer.

Had this been merely a simple chase, the duo would have escaped with no issues. But the coven mother was bold and sent a plethora of insidious magical fireworks to disrupt their getaway, eventually leading the perfect shot and knocking them prone off the broom.

They both tumbled across the dirt and shrubbery. Crashing so thunderously caused them to be dazed.

Above them came the coven mother, delighted at disabling the two momentarily.

“You and your mother are so alike, Saratoga. You both run from responsibility, leaving a big mess for me to clean up.”

Saratoga regained her senses and rose up against the coven mother.

“How could you betray us like this?” She growled.

“Your mother would have changed Everything we stood for. She wanted to waste our magic helping the people we were supposed to be terrorizing. I had no desire to hand over my power to someone so misguided!”

“Why bring terror at all? It made people hate us.”

“Because it's fun!” cackled the old witch. “Those mortals are so helpless, and their screams are so satisfying.”

To the young witch, being a bother to others was no entertainment. She never found much joy in helping the average man though. Instead, she found pleasure in the process of creating their aid.

Whenever she'd craft proper medication, or mix just the right brew, she felt such pride. But only until the next challenge reared its head around. In all the conflict, she'd been unable to savour the joy of actually crafting a philosopher’s stone.

“But why do you need the tears at all?” asked Moliugas to the old witch.

“Obviously, we all want the elixir of life. But if I were to drink it myself, I'd be able to live forever! Then I'd never need to worry about handing down my power to someone ungrateful to our heritage.”

“The elixir merely cures curses,” argued Saratoga.

The coven mother wiggled her finger in a taunting gesture.

“For those who are not cursed, the elixir grants immortality.”

The young witch only knew how to make the elixir, not all of its properties. But now she wanted to defend it even more.

She had brought their last elixir of life along with her, but she had no intention of handing it over to someone so rotten, especially since that person was responsible for cursing her and her mother… Not to mention causing the deaths of all the other witches, and perhaps many more.

At one point, Saratoga had thought the enthused cackle of a high ranked witch sister would have brought joy to her ears, but now it only made her skin crawl.

Once more the coven mother demanded the drink, but Saratoga refused to give it up.

Just when the old witch was about to strike a decisive magical strike on the two, Moliugas cleared his throat and stepped forward.

“Elder witch, have you ever seen the elixir of life?”

His sudden question caused her brow to raise, but she smirked.

“I have not. Why? Is it as glamorous as I've heard?”

Moliugas had a plan to deceive the old witch, but it only had a chance if he could persuade her to think of it as dingier than it truly was.

“What a fowl looking liquid… I'd rather drink caster oil. Truly not very appetizing, but they say medicine never tastes very good.”

Saratoga was at a loss, but quietly watched for any hint of what Moliugas was trying to get at.

“It's an earthy colour and quite the blend of strange smells. Isn't that right, Saratoga? You did drink it, after all.”

She nodded along with him. Contrary to his lies, the drink had quite the pleasant look and smell, with a refreshing after taste, much like mint.

Moliugas played up his game as if he wanted to spare the old witch from the awful taste, but he never expected it to work.

Instead, when she proclaimed she didn’t care what it looked like, he blew a flame at the ground to produce a smoke screen from dead leaves, giving Saratoga and he cover to run into the forest.

“I assume you have a plan?” Saratoga asked.

“I do!” pointed up the rind in excitement. “So start foraging for the most foul of ingredients. We'll give that witch something alright, but it certainly won't let her live forever.”