But this contest is completely over. Yes indeedy, the Doom of Mandos has decended. Fear my wrath.
My goodies, of course, arrived first, first of all the goodies in the bake-off. Were it not for the Númenorean stubborness and rejection of inevitability by the competition, that should have been that. I would not only be the Vala of Doom, I would also be Cookie King for a year.
Let us examine! Emerging great and terrible from a smithy I borrowed from Aulë is but the merest beginning of the total pwnage. Behold! The brownies of the Noldor, in their natural splendor:
And then, made from the remaining sap of Telperion, is the secret family egg dish of the Valar. Here is its humble but amazing batter beginning:
It prepares to enter the furnace of Aulë:
And here it emerges, to be placed among the stars (and served to the judges)!
Last, there is the sacred spicy nut brittle of the Vanyar, eaten only every 157 years, at the special feast of the Movement of the Foot of the Lark. It is cooling.
Arrogant mortals will always regret going up against the forces of the Valar.
And looks like it is ready to ship to the cookie judges, including the great Cookie Queen and her co-judges themselves via the Eagles of Manwë.
And we have some beautiful music to accompany it!
(Thanks to some nameless Canadian Maiar who will remain unlinked, alas, until the contest deadline has passed. But this was a team effort.)