Chef Grumblefoot, a gnoblin whose beard was as tangled as his temper, scowled at the posters. The Annual Gnoblin Bake-Off was upon them, and this year, the prize was the coveted Golden Spatula. Grumblefoot, reigning champion for five seasons with his legendary ‘Moss-Cake Surprise,’ usually faced little competition. Until now.
A new gnoblin, Pip, had arrived, radiating an unnerving cheerfulness. Pip’s specialty? Rainbow Sprinkle Muffins, a sugary abomination Grumblefoot considered an affront to gnoblin culinary traditions. “It’s about savory,” Grumblefoot grumbled to his apprentice, Squib, “about the earthy tones of fermented lichen and the robust crunch of roasted beetles!” “But Pip’s muffins are so… sparkly,” Squib whispered, mesmerized.
The day of the bake-off arrived. The village square buzzed. Grumblefoot, with his toweringMoss-Cake, oozing a pungent, artisanal goo, presented his masterpiece. Pip, meanwhile, unveiled a precarious stack of shimmering, multi-colored muffins, each adorned with a single, perfectly placed berry.
The judging began. Mayor Thistlewick, a gnoblin of discerning palate, took a bite of Grumblefoot’s Moss-Cake. His eyes rolled back in ecstasy. “Ah, the taste of tradition! The essence of gnoblin-hood!” Then he tried Pip’s muffin. His face scrunched. “Sweet… cloying… what is this?”
Grumblefoot smirked. Victory was assured. Until one of Pip’s muffins, left unattended, suddenly pulsed with a soft, green light. A tiny, iridescent fairy, no bigger than a thumb, emerged from the muffin’s side, blinked, and then fluttered around the Mayor’s head, sprinkling him with shimmering dust. The Mayor gasped, overcome with a sudden, uncontrollable urge to dance. He began a flamboyant jig, much to the shock of the assembled gnoblin crowd. Then another muffin pulsed. Another fairy emerged. Soon, the village square was a scene of bewildered gnoblin judges and spectators, all compelled to dance by the mischievous fairies emerging from Pip’s baked goods.
“It’s not just baking,” Pip explained, beaming, “it’s fairy husbandry! My grandmother taught me. The sprinkles are enchanted seeds, the perfect environment for baby pixies to hatch! They give off a joy-inducing aura.” Grumblefoot stared, aghast. “You’ve baked live magical creatures into your food?!” “Well, they’re very tiny,” Pip chirped. “And they love sugar!”