And so, the would-be-conquerors leave the sleepy town of Dacquoise, not as fearsome sorceresses, but as ridiculed failures, flailing and bouncing in an effort to keep their well-chastened behinds from the jaws of the canine that goads them ever onward, and carrying their wands in ways they had never anticipated. The cheering crowds weren’t their army, as expected, but the villagers who they had hoped to subdue. (Patreon)