(( please note, that the EFFECTS of the Monster Mash, besides scaring off non-godlike wolves, are COMPLETELY RANDOM, and to be left up to the player that drinks the stuff. Good, bad, funny, sad. I care not. Drunk, sane.. whatever. It's your character, have fun with it. Oh, and remember to drink responsibly. Cheers!))
It took three days to completely get the new drink into production, no matter how much Fidjit howled about it being too late. Fozzle's swirling of concoctions were producing results not quite up to the standards that the beverage company was used to, and while the captured test subjects were plentiful, the side effects of Monster Mash were unpredictable and concerning.
At least for Fozzle. Fidjit could have cared less.
"So what if he's a pixie?" Fidjit said, staring at the tiny, sparkling, winged form of the Dwarf. Mountaineers went missing all of the time due to all sorts of reasons, and therefore made the perfect subjects for testing. Most times, anyway. "The drink worked, didn't it?"
"Yea, Boss," Fozzle said, scratching the base of his long, pointed ear - causing three golden earrings to jingle against one another. "But dey ain't gonna buy it if deys turn into pixies, ya know?"
True, the drink HAD warded off the test wolves they had brought in from the Badlands. The poor creatures had, upon encountering the drink-filled Dwarf, run whimpering across the townscape with tails tucked between their legs. One had even jumped from the cliff to it's death on the rocks below.
In THAT regard, it was a success. Keeping it's drinker in their same physical state, was not so much. Pixies, vegetables, herbs, smallish trees - frogs. Four out of every five turned into some new form of life within two hours of drinking the Mash, while the fifth....
The fifth test had brought forth packs of angry wolves from the valley, as if called by a silent wolf whistle - keeping the Bruisers busy fighting them off, while Fozzle and his alchemists poured more drink down the dazed Dwarven Mountaineer. A new drink broke changed the outcome, sending the remaining wolves back to their dens, while the Mountaineer took up life as a Pixie.
"How long does it last?" FIdjit said, frowning at the Dwarven Pixie. Interestingly enough, it still had a scruffy beard. "Seems to me, youz MAKIN' monstahs insteada runnin' em off, Fozzle." He pointed at the bulbous-nosed, bearded pixie. "Can't even sell dat, cept maybe to the Dahkmoon Faire."
"Dats tha ting, boss," Fozzle said. "Dey ain't turnin' back." He lifted a brown bottle and swirled it, then sniffed the contents before pouting the liquid goo into another vial sitting atop a burner. "Be weez workin' on it. Maybe tomorrah."
"I want dis stuff out da door by tonight, Fozzle," FIdjit said. "Dey ain't no tomorrah, see? Today, or I get one a da broads ta do it for yaz." He pointed his finger at Fozzle. "Got dat? Tonight!"
"Right, boss!" Fozzle said, his eyes going wide. "Tonight it is!" He turned to his assistant. "You heard the Boss, Hot Stuff. Two more tests, and we go ta market!"
Once Fidjit had left, all of the employees turned to Fozzle. "He ain't serious is he?" Hot Stuff said. "Ain't no way we'll sell any a dis, if folks get turned into frogs and herbs, Fozzle. No mattah if it runs dat Monstah off or not."
"I know, sweethawt," Fozzle said. "But we gotta do somethin' or the Boss'll toss me to tha Ogahs." He shook his head, then checked the smoking vial filled with dark, green goo. "If you got any ideas, I'm all ears." She lifted several sheets of paper that showed details of the concoctions they'd brewed over the past few days.
"Good," she said. "Cause I got some, see?" She shuffled through two of the pages, then held one out for Fozzle. "Look, Fozzle. It says right heah, dat we've used too much of tha green goo with the pilsnah. If we leave dat out, we SHOULD be able ta keep the subjects from turning into herbs."
A Gnome seated in a cage suddenly stirred, banging it's head against the bars as it tried to stand. "Hey!" the little man said. "Let me out of here! Let me out of here!" It was the only Gnome they had managed to find, an engineer who had come to Fuselight By The Sea to purchase parts for a depleted kaprium rocket.
Too bad for him, as Dwarven subjects had recently dried up.
"How much is too much, Hot Stuff?" Fozzle said, giving the Gnome a brief glance and a smile. "Hang in dere, pal. We'll have ya outta dere in a jiffy."
"You better!" the Gnome said. "My king will hear about this!" Fozzle waved a hand, dismissing the Gnome's threats and ignoring him further.
"Whatevah," Fozzle said, turning his attention to Hot Stuff. "What sorta formula ya got there?" Taking the paper, he scanned the notes and nodded. "Let's give it a shot, sistah, and see what we come up wits."
The two Goblins gathered a group of liquid-filled vials, and using Hot Stuff's observations, created a mixture that turned bright green, bubbling beverage when placed into a clear bottle. Fozzle swirled the drink around and grinned, handing the bottle to Hot Stuff.
"Shall we test?" he said, as Hot Stuff sniffed the drink. She nodded, and walked toward the Gnome's cage.
"Try this, pal," she said, offering the bottle to the caged Gnome. "Tell us what ya think, and we'll let ya go, see?"
"I'm not drinking that," he said, moving toward the rear of the tiny cage and shaking his head. "Not on your life, Goblin!" Hot Stuff giggled, while Fozzle called for the Bruisers.
"Look, bub," she said, as the Funkwork's main door opened, allowing four, large cudgel-bearing Bruisers into the room. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way." She shrugged. "I don't care which ya choose, but either way, youz drinkin' the mash."
The Gnome snapped his mouth closed, then covered it with his hands. "Nope," he said, voice muffled. Fozzle chuckled.
"Hard it is," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing toward the Gnome. On command, the Bruisers marched forward, threw open the cage door and extracted the struggling Gnome - dragging him out by his hair, hands and shoulders. A metallic industrial chair was bracketed to the floor near the cage, and the Gnome was slammed onto it's uncushioned seat - creating a ringing, meaty thump.
Leather straps were forced over his wrists and ankles, and a strap was placed around his forehead - locking him to the chair. "Stop!" he wailed, his muscles bulging against the straps as he strained. "Don't do this, don;t do this!" he said, pursing his lips as a Bruiser pried his lips apart, so another could shove a funnel into his throat.
"Gahhrrrblll!" the Gnome said, then gagged and gulped as Hot Stuff poured the liquid into the funnel.
"Hold tight, kiddo," Hot Stuff said. "Alllmost done... " She nodded as the last bit of Mash dripped from the bottle, then handed it to Fozzle. "All in, Fozzle." The Gnomes eyes were rolled back in his head, as bright-green liquid drizzled down his chin.
"Very good, sweethawt," he said. "Take him into tha pen, so we can bring in da wolves." The Bruisers removed the chair from it's brackets, lifted the chair containing the drooling Gnome, and carried it out the back door into a fenced, dusty yard.
"Behind tha fences!" Fozzle said, as a pair of Goblin stablemen stationed on the opposite end of the stable prepared to lift the gate from a pen attached to the fence. "Release tha wolves!"
Three, large, half-starved desert wolves burst from the cage and into the corral, their eyes locking instantly on the drooling Gnome strapped to the chair. Dropping into a hunting pose, they took one step forward then stopped: their eyes going wide; the fur standing on their backs.
A trio of howls burst forth, ones filled with fear and horror, and the wolves raced toward the cage from which they had come, scrambling over one another as they fought to reach the back of the cage. Whimpers came from within, and the Goblins dropped the gate - locking them inside.
"It worked!" Fozzle said, slapping Hot Stuff on her back. "Now, lets see if he turns into a flowah."
Three hours later, the Gnome was still a Gnome, and the Monster Mash was put into production. Three hours after that, the drink was stuffed in crates and heading for Fuselight By the Sea, to be sailed up the coast for delivery into the Undercity and Silvermoon Cities. And with them, went Noz and Brack - chief sales representatives for the Fuselight Bottling and Beverage Company.