As Ophyllia made her way down Twinkie Alley, she spied an open window to Colonel Keebler's warehouse. The aroma of fresh baked cakes filled the alleyway and was so overwhelming, Ophyllia had to wipe drool from her mouth several times. Mrs. Lovetts Pie Shop was several blocks away and would be crowded with folks on Tipplefestmas Eve. The open window, however, was right here under her nose. Or rather, above her nose. The window was three stories up and was ajar by just a few inches.

Ophyllia cocked an eyebrow. When had three stories ever stopped her? With a mischievous grin, she began climbing the wooden planked walls of the warehouse. She reached the window with no problems, and the alley was still thankfully clear of people - or gnorcs. Ophyllia scooped-out the joint. A single lantern swayed gently from a wall bracket. Stacks and stacks of piping hot cakes were jammed along the walls and across tables throughout the room. Just as she reached for the window frame to open it wider, a wafer-thin elf struggled into the room with another large tray of sweet goodies. He dumped the treats unceremoniously on a shelf, grabbed the lantern, and left the room. Ophyllia heard the distinct sound of a lock and key at the door. Now was her chance. With cat-like tread, upon her prey she steeled. In silence dread, her cautious way she feeled. Hmmm, that sounded familiar somehow. But it didn't quite have the right ring for rhyme. Tossing the idea in the back of her already cluttered mind, she greedily crept forward to the luscious racks of moist cakes. Yellow honey dunkles with fizzy-winkle and sugar sprinkles, marble-swirled fluff-a-loons with fudge drizzle, and her all-time favorite, double chocolate cream-filled dream dongs. From somewhere in the distance, she heard the distinct sounds of fighting. But the concern drifted away, as she viewed the racks of muffins around her.

Ophyllia's eyes glazed over as she popped the fifth morsel into her mouth. She slid to the floor, a cupcake in each hand, and slouched against the table. Crumbs covered the front of her jerkin and hung suspended in her hair. There were 70 more different tempting goodies to taste. Three hours later, just as the sun was breaking the horizon, Ophyllia crawled moaning into a corner and passed out. She had eaten 69, but couldn't go any further.

Rasor and Danidar quickly backtracked their steps to Suzy Q's. The meeting still seemed to be in progress. Actually, the meeting had spilled out onto Little Debbie Lane. A crowd of townspeople milled about the dimly lit street, occasionally shouting obscenities about 'M's' mother and the Mod Boyz' lack of apparent taste. Rasor didn't care what was being said; they were unimportant, trivial matters. Cookies. Now THAT, was something he would kill for. At that moment, something close to a thought crossed his brain - Hmmm - I would kill for almost any reason - then he shook his head and continued towards the house. He could smell Suzy's cookies from 100 paces. They had that wonderful, burnt dog hair and licorice flavor. His mom used to roll their cookies in ant poison before baking, to give them that extra crispy touch. With the exception of the crispy poison, Suzy's cookies tasted the same as mom's. Rasor wiped a little tear from his eye. Thinking of mom's cooking always did that to him.

Danidar tugged on Rasor's cloak.

"Have you seen Ophyllia yet?"

The young elven priest stood on tip-toe, trying to see over the crowd.

"What could be keeping her?"
"Dunno."

Rasor's brows created such a furrow that it could have been a crevice to hell. He was torn with indecision. Look for Ophyllia, or find more cookies? Of course, Ophyllia could look out for herself. Cookies were completely defenseless, he reasoned.

"Eat defenseless cookies!" he yelled.

He stormed his way through the crowd. Poor Danidar shuffled behind his friend, mumbling apologies to everyone Rasor squashed.

"Some days it just doesn't pay to be a priest."

Rasor found Suzy Q in the midst of the hullabaloo. She seemed very dejected. Twelve plates of cookies lay untouched on the corner of her porch.

"Ah, a snack."

Rasor grabbed a mound of cookies and molded them with one huge paw into a single giant cookie dough-ball. That stack was gone in a matter of munchies. Suzy smiled sweetly. Rasor could get to like Suzy - she had warts in all the right places.

Just as Rasor was polishing off a third helping of cookies, a horrible rumble filled the night air. Danidar came running up to his friend, a purple quarterstaff in hand.

"Gnorcs and brigands!" They heard someone cry,
"Oh my!" as they turned to the disturbance.
"Where'd you get purple staff?"
"Almokian was passing them out. Priests' specialty weapons. Wait'll you see what it does." Danidar winked.
"To heck with what Almokian said - let's get some gnorcs! Them I can handle - I'll leave the ettins to you."

Rasor liked the sound of his friend's speech - and he agreed wholeheartedly. After pulling out his trusty double-bladed axe, Grizelda, he and his elven companion waded into the teeming throng of hairy gnorcs, horses, brigands, and townspeople. It didn't take many swipes of the axe to convince the bullies that they might be better off someplace else. Like maybe a tavern drinking wine.

"Rasor! Rasor! Rasor!"

The townspeople were cheering his name - Danidar stood in the front of the crowd, leading them on.

Almokian grumbled loudly about how they had doomed them all to servitude and enslavement.

"It's all your fault, you've ruined everything!"

Danidar waved him off.

"Humans. They're always so melodramatic. Let's sign up for the party going to Lake Deepbottom. That'll be great fun, we can knock out..."

Just then, Rasor realized that all the cookies had been smashed into the ground after the chaos erupted.