Allow me to tell you a taleabout an infamous incident known as The Great Cake Catastrophe of Eclipsora. A comedy of errors, this one, and a testament to the fact that even the most powerful beings can have their moments of sheer, unadulterated absurdity.
The Great Cake Catastrophe of Eclipsora
It all began with a celebration—The Festival of Eternal Night, an annual event in Eclipsora, where the Day Walkers honor their heritage and the balance they maintain between light and dark. Now, you’d think an event like this would go off without a hitch, right? Well, you’d be wrong.
This particular year, the festival’s centerpiece was to be a grand feast, crowned by an enormous cake, a confectionary masterpiece rumored to contain every flavor known to 4EverMore. The baker, a rather eccentric witch named Griselda, was known for her unconventional methods and equally unconventional ingredients. She was famous—or perhaps infamous—for her experimental magic-infused cuisine.
The cake, a towering monstrosity of sugar and spellwork, was her pièce de résistance. It was said to be enchanted, capable of inducing euphoria and even temporary levitation. What could go wrong?
Well, as it turns out, quite a lot.
Unbeknownst to Griselda, one of her mischievous apprentices—a sprite named Fizzle—decided to add a little extra flair to the recipe. Fizzle, in his infinite wisdom (or lack thereof), thought it would be hilarious to include a pinch of Flickerflame Dust, a rare and unpredictable magical ingredient known for its erratic behavior.
The dust, reacting with the already volatile mix of spells in the cake, turned the dessert into a ticking time bomb of culinary chaos. As the festival commenced and the cake was unveiled, a hush fell over the crowd, their eyes wide with anticipation. The Day Walkers gathered around, ready to indulge in this marvel of magical gastronomy.
The first bite was… interesting. Those who partook found themselves floating a few inches off the ground, giggling uncontrollably. But then, the cake began to quiver. It started with a gentle tremble, then escalated into full-on cakequake. The layers began to wobble, colors shifting and swirling like a psychedelic storm.
Before anyone could react, the cake exploded—not in a violent burst, but in a spectacular shower of frosting, fondant, and enchanted cherries. The entire courtyard was covered in a sticky, sweet mess. Day Walkers, witches, and even the usually stoic Guardians found themselves drenched in dessert.
And there, in the center of it all, was Fizzle, cackling like a lunatic, his tiny form floating in a cloud of sugar. Griselda, covered head to toe in her own creation, could only mutter, "Well, that’s the last time I let a sprite near my kitchen."
The aftermath was chaotic yet comical. It took days to clean up, and for weeks, the people of Eclipsora found random sprinkles in the oddest places. The incident became legendary, a reminder of the unpredictability of magic—and the importance of knowing when to say "no" to a mischievous sprite.
The Great Cake Catastrophe remains one of Eclipsora’s most talked-about events, a perfect blend of humor and disaster. And every year since, the festival features a much smaller, decidedly less explosive cake, with a strict "no sprites in the kitchen" policy firmly in place.
.jpg)
.jpg)
