A priest and a nun are on a trip to a faraway monastery when their car breaks down in the middle of nowhere as a blizzard rages above them.
They find a deserted cabin and take shelter. They find a sleeping bag, a bed, and a pile of blankets.
The priest, being a gentleman, offers the nun the bed and takes the sleeping bag for himself. As they get tucked in for the night, the nun calls out, "father, father, I'm cold!" so the priest gets up and puts another blanket on the nun. "is that better, sister?" he asks. "yes father, much better," she replies.
So he gets back in his sleeping bag and starts to nod off when she again calls out with "father, I'm still cold!" so once again, the priest gets up and puts another blanket on her, ensuring she is tucked into the bed well. "Is that better, sister?" he asks. "Oh yes, father, that's much better," she says. So the priest gets himself back into the sleeping bag, and this time is just starting to dream when he wakes up to her call of "Father, father, I'm just so cold!"
The priest thinks long about this and finally says, "Sister, we are in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard. No one but you, myself, and the Lord himself will ever know what happens here this night. How about, just for this night, we act as though we were married?"
The nun thinks on this for a minute. She can't help but admit to herself she's been curious, and finally answers with a tentative "OK, father, just for tonight, we will act as though we are married."
"Wonderful." The father replies, "Now get up and get your own darn blanket, you great lazy lump!"
There were once four powerful witch covens: the witches of the mountains, the deserts, the forests, and the seas. For a thousand years they made war with one another, casting curses and hexes and bringing all manner of malady to the land in their hatred for one another. One day, they decided the only solution was to convene for a meeting of all the covens, in which they would either strike a deal for peace, or end it all in violent bloodshed.
The sea witches arrived first, carried upon a tidal wave that bore them up and onto the coast, the waters crashing loudly as they struck the shoreline as if to announce their presence.
The mountain witches rode down the hillside upon magical storm clouds, thunder and lightning bursting from their steeds of vapor, a tumultuous blizzard ravaging the mountains in their wake.
The forest witches, shape-shifters, emerged in the form of gnarled roots which encircled the meeting place and rose out of the ground, bending and twisting into humanoid silhouettes from which sprung skin and clothing, as a flurry of leaves swirled around furiously.
The sand witches arrived in a catering truck.