#cakesmith

The sharp clang of steel caused Von Grisleberg to spin on his heel, hand on the hilt of his sword. He relaxed his hand, but not his sombre mood when he saw his apprentice, Bobby McClean, fumbling to pick up the dagger he just dropped on the ground. The apprentice was a clumsy oaf of a boy with blonde hair and blue eyes and a penchant for Ye Olde Spice. Most repulsive of all, his name seemed just ridiculous to Von Grisleberg. It sounded like a name a lazy storyteller would come up with just for filler so he could kill him off later without having to worry too much about it, regardless of whether or not it fit with the stories tone. “What are you doing boy” Jecht whispered in a harsh tone. “Do you wish us killed before we even find what we’re looking for?” “N..No..S..Sir…” “Then put that fething knife away and light a torch” As Jecht made the order, he drew his own torch, soaking it briefly in a canteen at his hip, before lighting it with tinder. The boy did the same. With a prayer to the god of fortune, the pair entered the cave.

——

The lord awoke. Someone had entered his house. He could feel it in the air. He could smell them. More had come for his possessions. But by the gods, they would not have it.

The torte of power was the Cakesmith’s alone!

——

It had been over an hour and the invading pair seemed completely lost. The darkness of these passageways seemed to eat the light from their very flames. They could see only three or four meters around them at best. Progress was slow and Von Grisleberg could hear the boy already starting to moan and complain to himself. A sound that was easily silenced with the back of his leather-clad hand. ‘The prize better be worth this bloody torment’ the old thief thought to himself. Truth be told, he had no idea if he would even know the way out once he had it. Still, he pressed on, with the boy in tow.

“Are we there yet” asked Bobby. “Does it fething look like we’re there to you?” Jecht spat his words like venom. “No” “Then shut the feth up before i run you through myself and leave your corpse for the….” A noise… But from where. From what? The unmistakable dragging of a foot. “For the what?” inquired Bobby. “Shhh! Be still, boy! Do you smell that?” “Mmmm.. yeah i do” Bobby licked his lips. “Smells like…” “GINGERBREAD!!!” Jecht hurled the boy to the floor before the gingerbread claw took his simple head off. He came up in a roll, drawing his sword, still holding his torch in his left hand. The creature stumbled towards him now, moaning horrifically as it did.

——-

His creations had met the intruders, but he knew it was only a momentary distraction. But time was all the Cakesmith needed. He was ready to spring his trap, and the fools would walk straight into it.

——-

The pair ran in a direction that they could only hope was forward, away from the horrible moaning of the gingerbread men. Bobby’s heart was beating so furiously he thought it would erupt from his chest at any moment. He had never been so terrified in his entire life. Von Grisleberg seemed as composed as ever, though – leading the way, double time, down the dark hallways. A light… ahead he could see a light! “There boy! There lies our treasure! Let’s get it and get the feth out of here!”

The light quickly came into focus – a doorway! The room beyond well lit and warm! Without thinking the pair ran straight in. Their second mistake was realised when an ornate stone came crashing down where the door was was, trapping them in the room. Their first mistake was entering the caves in the first place.

Jecht pounded his meaty fists against the walls, but to no avail. “Feth it!” he exclaimed. “Now what?!” As he asked the question he turned just in time to see something airborne and flying towards his apprentice. He opened his mouth to give warning, but it was too late. Von Grisleberg was showered with the remenants of Bobby McClean’s skull and brainmatter. A Banana cream pie had destroyed his head and showered anything in the near vicinity with blood and perfectly whipped cream.

A laugh cut the silence.

“You think you are the first to come for my torte?” “Show yourself!” Von Grisleberg yelled, spinning several times on his heels as he drew his weapon, looking for his assailant. “As you wish… human” From the behind a great golden eclair in the middle of the room, the last of the forge-fathers of cake stepped out. His armor was a brilliantly crafted mesh of pastry and icing. His mighty spatula and rolling pin dripped with a venomous raspberry coulis. “Cakesmith” Von Grisleberg sneered. “The one and the same, lad.” The Cakesmith slowly began walking towards the theif “and you are here for my torte” “No.. i am here for you” Von Grisleberg said simply, putting his sword away. “The kingdom of kotaku needs you, and i have been sent to find you and bring you back with me.” Taken aback the Cakesmith stopped in his tracks. “What could the kingdom of Kotaku need from me?” “You are the finest smith of cakes and pastrys in the land. A great plague has seen to the death of all our butchers, bakers and candlestick makers.” “Such a shame” replied the Cakesmith “Yes, aside from the candlestick makers. Those guys have been nothing but dicks since we installed electricity”. “Quite… but why should i come with you? For centuries i have sat here at my mighty forge, smithing the best cakes a Cakesmith could smith! I am the last of my kind, my home is here”

“Lord Cakesmith… Serrels himself has asked for you..” Jecht said, simply. “Serrels… by the great cheesecake…” “He… he said to give you this and you would understand”. Jecht walked towards the Cakesmith and handed him a checked shirt, torn in half. “It… it can’t be… I… i shall ride with you, and bring the glory of my cakes back to Kotaku! The gods and Serrels hairless girl-chest demands it!” “Really?” “I have a debt to Serrels from the souffle wars. I am am a man of my honor, as much as i am a man of cake”. The Cakesmith sheathed his weapons in his gilded apron. “Come! We shall take the cake-copter!” He beckoned Von Gisleberg to come with him and the pair embarked on their long journey back to see Serrels.

“Oh… by the way.. sorry about that whole deal with exploding yoru friends head” The Caksmith said sheepishly, as they borded the deliciousness of the cake-copter. “What? Oh… him… yeah, don’t about it.. the little bastard had it coming.”