The marketplace had transformed into a makeshift arena, its chaotic energy funneled into eager anticipation. A raised platform stood in the center, its rickety wooden planks creaking under the weight of an elaborately decorated judging table. It had been hastily decorated with mismatched banners—some featuring crude illustrations of food, others suspiciously resembling repurposed laundry. The scent of sizzling oil and exotic spices drifted through the air, mingling with the unmistakable tang of goblin enthusiasm.
Three grand chairs—pilfered from different locations judging by their mismatched styles—were arranged behind the table, waiting to seat the arbiters of this culinary showdown. One was a towering wooden throne with a dragon motif carved down its back, another was an oversized mushroom cap turned upside down, and the last was a rickety rocking chair that creaked ominously anytime the wind shifted. Despite the last-minute assembly, the stage carried an air of importance—at least in the minds of the goblins who had gathered to watch history unfold.
One by one, the judges took their places. First was Grakna the Girthy, a goblin whose belly was so vast and rotund it could serve as both a cutting board and a makeshift drum, a fact he demonstrated by drumming his fingers against it with a self-satisfied grin. His many chins jiggled as he licked his lips, his yellowed teeth flashing in the lantern light. The very thought of the upcoming feast had already sent his stomach into eager gurgles, much to the unease of the nearby goblins.
Next came Madam Ploopha, a swamp hag whos wrinkled green skin looked like it had spent a century soaking in murky bog water. She moved with slow, deliberate motions. Each step was accompanied by the faint creak of old bones. Her beady, muddy eyes drifted lazily over the contestants, evaluating them with a mix of amusement and something more unsettling – an uncanny sense that she could see right through them. The rumor was that she could taste a meal just by looking at it, though whether that was magic or just unsettling intuition remained unknown.
And last was Sir Broggleton the Third, a towering ogre with an exaggerated air of nobility made a grand entrance, grander than necessary. He wore a vest far too tight for his barrel-like frame and a monocle so comically small that it barely clung to the bridge of his wide nose. With a loud, ponderous grunt, he lowered himself into the wooden throne chair, the frame groaning in protest. He lifted an oversized silver fork, inspecting it like a knight about to engage in battle, before dramatically tying a full tablecloth around his neck as a makeshift bib. Sir Broggleton then steepled his fingers, surveying the arena with a measured gaze of a war general plotting his next conquest.
Standing on a precariously high stool in the center of the platform, a gangly goblin with a voice like a trumpet blast cleared his throat.
"Welcome, welcome, one an' all, to da Goblin Chef Showdown!" His words rang out across the market, met with thunderous cheers and the occasional thrown vegetable.
"Tonight we watch da greatest chefs in da land face off in a battle to the death!" The goblin laughed wildly, gesturing toward the golden ladle Gribz put up for the prize. "Nah, its this gold ladle!" The ladle gleamed on the pedestal near the judges' table, a single spotlight from nowhere illuminating its polished surface.
"Da rules be simple! Each team gets one hour to craft their signature dish – somethin' dat defines 'em, somethin' dat tells da world 'this be MY cookin'!' No holdin' back, no skimpin' on spice! But beware!" The goblin waggled his long fingers menancingly. "Sabotage be frowned upon but not illegal! So keep yer eyes sharp. yer spoons steady, an' yer wits about ya!"
The crowd erupted in laughter and applause, stomping their feet and banging pots together in a rowdy display of enthusiasm. Goblins hollered bets over the noise, some waving scraps of parchment while others exchanged crude sketches of what they imagined would be the winning dish. A pair of particularly eager goblin chefs were already sizing each other up, brandishing their ladles like dueling swords. Somewhere in the throng, a goblin vendor tried to peddle his "enchanted" spices, which appeared to be nothing more than ground-up tree bark in repurposed potion bottles. The market was alive with the promise of culinary glory – and absolute mayhem.
The goblin emcee grinned, revealing several missing teeth. "Now, let's meet our brave competitors! Who among ya thinks ya got da chops to claim da ultimate prize?"
Gribz the Gourmet strutted up like he owned the whole bazaar. He raised his wooden spoon high, smacking it against his palm like a war drum. "I be da REIGNIN' champion o' goblin cuisine! My skills unmatched! My flavors so bold, they bring tears to da toughest orcs!" He spun dramatically, his apron catching on a crate, nearly sending him tumbling, but he recovered with a flourish. "No chef alive can beat me!"
The goblins in the crowd roared in approval, some chanting his name, others throwing scraps of what might have been food in his honor.
Next came Jophyr, wings tucked neatly behind him, with a look of absolute confidence. Snik Snak walked beside him, rubbing his temples.
"We accept the challenge!" Jophyr declared. He used the same righteous energy he usually reserved for battle. "Cooking is a noble pursuit, a testament to skill, artistry, and discipline!"
"We're just making food," Snik Snak muttered. "Why do you have to make everything sound like an epic poem?"
The crowd muttered in confusion at the celestial competitor. Was Jophyr there to actually cook or bless the ingredients into submission? There was a smattering of applause, broken by raucous cheers as a pair of goblin twins leapt onto the stage.
They brandished their dented ladles like battle axes. Bing and Bong, famous across goblin kitchens for their questionable interpretations of recipes, grinned wickedly.
"We cook wit' PASSION!" Bing cackled.
"And a lil' bit o' violence!" Bong added.
The audience loved them, cheering louder than they had for Gribz and chanting the twins' names as the duo high-fived and prepared for absolute culinary chaos.
"Dere ya have it! Let da showdown begin!"
Snik Snak crossed his arms as he and Jophyr stepped toward their assigned cooking station, a rickety wooden counter covered in mismatched pots, suspiciously dented pans, and an assortment of knives that had clearly seen battle.
"All right. We've got an hour," he said, rubbing his hands together. "We need to go about this precisely, Glowstick. Precise, balance, and good technique. Every flavor has to work together."
"No, no, my friend, a meal is an experience! A display of power and creativity and this is a grand culinary duel – we must meet it with boldness!"
The kobold groaned. "I'm gonna through out of this kitchen if you say 'divine intervention'."
Jophyr raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I swear upon the celestial realms, I will not say 'divine intervention.'"
"Good. Now, we-"
Before Snik Snak could finish, Jophyr clapped his hands together. Light flashed and a glowing bottle appeared in his cupped hands. Jophyr uncorked the vial and a golden mist spilled out like an ethereal tide, coating their entire workstation in a soft, shimmering glow.
"Ambrosia Nectar," the Empyrean said with a smile.
With an almost mischievous flicker, everything on their workstation table – ingredients, knives, pots, even the cutting board – lifted off the surface and began to float.
"What. Did. You. Just. Do." Snik Snak's eye twitched as he lunged at a drifting carrot, only for it lazily spin out of reach.
"A touch of Ambrosia Nectar! It infuses every dish with the essence of the heavens. Elevates the flavor, the texture-"
"And the utensils into the stratosphere!" Snik screeched, flailing as a perfectly diced onion block hovered tauntingly above his head. He reached for a knife, only to have it twirl away like an elegant dancer refusing to be caught.
"Ah. Yes. It appears it has a…rather literal effect on elevation."
"You think?!"
With a deep inhale through his snout, Snik Snak forced himself to focus. His eyes darted around, analyzing the absurd predicament while the crowd erupted into a mixture of gasps and guffaws. Some goblins pointed and jeered, others placed frantic bets on whether Jophyr's celestial magic would end in glory or a literal explosion.
"Oi! What kinda cookin' be dis?!" Gribz hollered from across the platform, waving his wooden spoon like a weapon. "Dat ain't cookin' – dat's floatin'! Ya cheatin' already?!"
Snik Snak groaned, shoving aside the floating ladle that bonked him in the forehead. "All right. Fine. We can fix this. I just gotta-"
He flicked his claws and muttered the words of a counterspell. A pulse of magic rippled outward, disrupting the effects of the ambrosia nectar. One by one, the ingredients and utensils plummeted back down, sending vegetables bouncing off the cutting boards and a precariously airborne pot clattering onto the stove with a loud clang.
The crowd gasped again, this time in awe. Goblins murmured amongst themselves, impressed despite the chaos. "Ooooh, shiny magic ain't da only magic at play here," one whispered. "Da scaly one got tricks, too!"
Jophyr blinked as his glowing mist dissipated. "Oh. That works, too."
Snik Snak jabbed a claw at him. "No more magic food. We're cooking the normal way. Understand?"
"Define normal-"
"You know what? I'll just counter whatever nonsense you try next."
From the judges' table, Sir Broggleton let out a booming laugh, slapping his knee.
"Excellent! This contest already proves most entertaining!" Madam Ploopha merely grinned, her murky eyes gleaming with amusement.
Gribz scowled, pointing his spoon at the pair accusingly. "Ain't over yet! But if ya magic-happy lot ruin my stew, I'm servin' yer heads on a plate!"
Jophyr, undeterred by the comments and Snik Snak's increasing frustration, puffed out his chest and held up a hand as if delivering a sermon. "My dear friend, you know as much as I that a dish is more than just sustenance – it is an experience. One must see the grandeur, feel the brilliance, behold the majesty of true celestial cuisine. I admit I was overzealous with the Ambrosia Nectar, for that I hope you accept my dearest apologies. I know what our dish will need to give us that extra edge. Starlight Flour!"
The kobold's tail stiffened. "I don't like how you said that."
"This magnificent ingredient is said to capture the very essence of the stars themselves, infusing every dish with the radiance of the celestial spheres. With it, our creation shall not be merely tasted – it shall be witnessed."
"That sounds like a terrible idea," Snik Snak snapped. "Food isn't supposed to be bright enough to signal ships!"
The Empyrean disregarded the kobold's protests and, with a dramatic flourish, clapped his hands. A pouch of Starlight Flour appeared in his hands and, before Snik Snak could grab it away, Jophyr opened the pouch and a blinding glow exploded outward, illuminating the entire stage like a miniature sun.
Bing let out a squawk. "Oi! Who turned da sun on?!"
Bong swung his ladle wildly and cursed. "I CAN'T SEE ME OWN HANDS!"
"For a guy with all-seeing celestial wisdom, you sure don't see problems before they happen," Snik muttered, rubbing his eyes to clear the dazzling spots from his vision.
"I see no problems at all, little one," Jophyr replied. He hummed thoughtfully before summoning the last thing. Leaves settled into the mixing bowl, a deep, harmonious chorus of angelic voices began to sing. The tones echoed through the small town, reverberating like a choir performing in a grand cathedral.
Snik Snak winced as the flour's glow still clung to the air. Everything was bathed in an otherworldly shimmer. But as he cautiously stirred Jophyr's basil with the other ingredients the kobold had managed to put together, the intense brightness started to dim. Their kitchen's blinding glow softened into a warm, golden aura, no longer searing retinas, but giving everything a dreamlike quality.
The crowd murmured, uncertain whether they were witnessing the preparation of a meal or the prelude to a sacred ritual. One goblin wiped away an emotional tear.
"Dat's…dat's da prettiest soup I ever seen."
Bing squinted at the now shimmering mixture. "It stopped burnin' me eyes!"
Bong scowled. "Aww, I kinda liked bein' a prophet of da food apocalypse."
"See, little one? Balance! The harmony of celestial and mortal cuisine, perfected!"
Snik Snak shot a glare at Jophyr, but said nothing as he reluctantly kept stirring, the holy herbs still harmonizing in the bowl with an unsettling amount of enthusiasm.