Baking my way to victory. (Open to any in the knights)

[Amber Eyes]

The Ixian kitchen was filled with delicious smells. The Mystic's nose tickled with steam as she walked through the large room. Several tables filled the center space, each covered with various ingredients in bags and jars. Cherries and creams and candies all lined the far wall, each one opened for a quick sample. The fire pits were all lit. Each held several pans filled with delectable chocolate and vanilla concoctions.

On the largest table that held the cutlery and clean wares were stacked a least three dozen finished cakes that were in various states of the cooling process. It would prove to be a long night.

Kyla Orlouge was painted white and brown with flour and chocolate powder. Her face and hair were caked with batter. The time was now. It had started out as a joke of sorts, surely no one would actually attempt to create such a silly thing. Well, no one but the Daughter of the Dragon. Akiv had given up on her and gone to bed hours ago, but the girl was no where near done.

A soft ding pulled her from her mixing, the latest batch was done. Kyla turned and focused her attention on the large pans of cooked product. They rose from the fire pits and danced through the air on their way to the cooling racks. As soon as they lay neatly in their rows Kyla turned her attention to her uncooked mix. The next set of pans flew through the air and took their places in the pits.

The girl returned to her mixing but soon realized she had a bigger problem. She had used all the pans. With pursed lips Kyla considered her options. Should she give up on her dream? No, she had come too far for that.

Kyla stared at the monumental task before her. She really hated dishes.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle had always loved chocolate, when she could have it. For many years, it was a birthday treat. Akashere would acquire it from one of his secret trading partners. He would travel across the desert with it wrapped in waxed paper, moving mostly at night to keep it from melting into a puddle. Somehow, he would get it to her, always surprising her because she never bothered to keep track of the days. Maybe it wasn't always exactly on her birthday. Maybe he was just guessing. Either way, it was a perfect morsel of love, attention, and imagined memories of the proper childhood she had never enjoyed.

Oh, how things change. Corone, unlike Fallien, seemed to be thirty percent chocolate. She was surrounded by enough of it to make her sick. On at least three occasions, she had locked herself in her bedchamber to spend an entire day sleeping off a tummy ache. Yet, she still loved it.

So much.

So blasted much.

Naturally, the Fallieni dancer found herself outside the kitchen door... somehow. As torch bugs to a fire, or birds to their seasonal homes, she had arrived on the wave of some primal force. She licked her lips and creaked the door open for a mouth-watering peek.

“Kyla?” Astarelle squeaked. She had been expecting one of the castle bakers. To see a member of Ixian's upper echelons working over hot ovens in an aura of flour was... bizarre, adorable, motherly. Her mouth was commandeered by a wide grin, and she tried to hold back a laugh. She must have made some sound, though -like a childing peeping at presents- because Kyla looked toward the door with a curious tilt to her floured face.

Astarelle pushed the door open sheepishly. “Hi,” she offered with a small wave, “I just smelled it and couldn't help...” She forgot her Tradespeak as she saw the full expanse of Kyla's cake campaign. Every pan, and everything that might function as a pan, had been conscripted. There was a platoon of cake, both vanilla and -Bury me!- chocolate.

She took one astonished step into the kitchen, mouth and eyes unable to close even as flour dust cloyed to her. The door swung shut with a surreal swish, swish... swish as if it was the border between the real world and an alternate reality of cake.

Her stomach twisted into a knot of unrestrained happiness and pre-emptive anguish. “Kyla,” Astarelle said quietly as if speaking too loud might wake her from the dream. “What in the depths are you doing?”