[Fidjit]

Fuselight was quiet for this time of day, as the bright Badland's sun had finally sunk below the peaks, allowing the twinkling of stars to peek through the dusty, red haze of the fading heat. Fidjit, as usual, was staring through his facility's telescope, glassing the distant passes leading into Loch Modan, and watching for the return of his beverage-hauling caravan. It was now a week over due and he was QUITE annoyed.

Unfortunately, because it was past the afternoon shift, he only had his assistant Fozzle to yell at, and that wasn't any fun these days, as the Goblin was as severe a yes man as there was. But he did it anyway.

"FOZZLE!" he bellowed from the elevated industrial chair that gave him access to the eyepiece of the telescope. It was tall for even a Goblin, and this place had been built by own his people. "Where da fel's my caravan? Dat bunch was due back a week ago." He twisted a knob, which created a static screech. "You go tell Frank deys gonna be fel to pay, see? I ain't payin him to lose my drinks." He paused, as normally Fozzle would have dashed up in a panic, bowing a scraping for forgiveness. Instead, there was only silence. He turned. "Fozzle?"

The room was empty, and the desk where his assistant SHOULD have been brewing up a new batch of elixir for the Pond Frog Pilsner? It sat unoccupied. "Of all da times... Hey, BRUISAH!"

The arched wooden door leading to the exterior of the domed, adobe building creaked open, and a large bulbous head peeked in. "Yea, Boss?" the bruiser said, his voice deep and dumb. "You need somethin?"

"Do I need somethin," Fidjit mumbled, shaking his head. "I'd not waste my breats yellin for yaz if I didn't! Where da fel's -"

"Heah, Boss," Fozzle said, panting and running through the open door as if chased by a Stormwind City Guard. "I got some infamation youz gotta see."

"Found him," the Bruiser said, pointing at Fozzle's back now that the assistant had made his way to the elevated platform where Fidjit held court.

"Get outta heah!" Fidjit said, waving the goon away from the door, which closed with a quiet, oaken bang. "Where ya been, Fozzle? My shipments been gone for ovah a week, see?" Fozzle nodded the comment away while digging a crumpled scrap of parchment from his pocket. "Yea, yea, Boss," he said. "We'z on it." Unfolding the scrap, he offered it to Fidjit. "Dis is more important, I tink."

"You think?" Fidjit said, snatching the paper away from Fozzle and glaring at his assistant. "What is dis, an invoice of some sort?" Fozzle shook his head as Fidjit read the report.

"No, Boss," he said. "I just got dat from one uh da Lotus. Seems deys a monstah on da loose in Trisfal thats got the Dead all runnin' scared. Word is, Boss, da Undahcity's all hidin' an jumpin' in dat green goo they got runnin' round the city. Cogzie saw em doin' it, right as rain." He pointed at the letter Fidjit was reading. "It's all dere, Boss. Read it yaself."

Fidjit scratched his ear, then dug a yellowish ball of goo from within using a fingernail. It was in his mouth a moment later. Then he grinned. "Dats amazin'," he said, grinning at Fozzle. "Some howlin' wolf sent em scurryin like rats on a sinkin ship?" He shook his head. "What do ya make of it?" Fozzle shrugged.

"Hard ta say, Boss," he said. "But I know one thing, and dats the Dead ain't scared uh nutin." Fidjit frowned and nodded.

"Right," he said, then giggled in the way that only a Goblin can. "What if it's a ginormous demon dog come to get it's bones back?" Fozzle paused, trying to asses if his Boss was serious. Then, he, too, burst into giggles. "If I was Forsaken, dat'd scare me, Boss."

"Say, Fozzle, I just hada thought," Fidjit said, cocking his head and scrunching his face. It was a look he'd once seen in a Coba Cola ad about ideas, and he felt it helped him think if he mimicked the action. "If that howlin' monstah can scare the Dead like dat, what would it do to Dwarves, or Humans ya think?" Fozzle was taken aback.

"Boss?" he said. "Whatcha got in mind?"

"Exortion," Fidjit said, grinning like he'd been given a bag of gold for free. "What if dat thing worked for us, pal?" Fozzle grinned almost as wide as his boss, though not quite. He knew his place, after all.

"We'd make a killin'!" Fidjit's head bobbed in agreement.

"Gathah tha Company," he said. "We got some plannin' ta do!"

[Fidjit]

It took a day or two to bring together the important parts of the Crimson Lotus and the Fuselight Beverage & Bottling Company. The Badlands weren't exactly on major trading routes, so bringing such a diverse group to Fuselight would normally be difficult. However, the mention of swag bags as welcoming gifts made things a tad bit easier.

Three parts had been summoned by Fidjit, who held controlling interest in not only the Fuselight Beverage & Bottling Company (FB&Bco), but also the Crimson Lotus. The third was made up of the remaining members of Sapper Team Gold, those who hadn't mysteriously disappeared after the Eastvale Incident.

Rumour said they were now regulars at the Blackrock Tavern deep within Blackrock mountain. A friend of a friend who owed a cousin money, had claimed to have bought one a lager on the eve of Brewfest. However, when money is owed, all truth goes out the window, and the rumour remained unconfirmed.

"Say, Fidjit," a sapper named 'Nub' said. "When we gettin doz swag bags, pal? We flew all dis way, and ain't seen nutin but dust an goats." He was seated in the front row of chairs Fidjit had arranged inside the Forum, arched in a semi-circle around the viewing platform where his telescope was situated. Four other Sappers were with him, each wearing gold-coloured vests.

"Yea, mon," a blue, dread-lock sporting Troll said. "Ole Ja'bree no be waitin' too long, now. Mee-stah snake go an curl up undah da shade tree. May-be bite one of dem goats ya be havin."

Fidjit stood atop the platform and listened, nodding and offering words of comfort that all would be revealed when the time was appropriate. He only nodded at Ja'Breeve's ramblings, as none of the FB&Bco could ever figure out what the Crimson Lotus's ambassador ever meant when he talked. However, the five other Trolls with him nodded in agreement. Apparently THEY knew.

"The bag's are on tha way," Fidjit said. "I've got my best men on it, so ain't need ta worry none, see?" Grumbling from the Goblins and Trolls, but no more complaints. Good. Time to move on.

"I've brought youz heah cause of dat disturbance in the Undahcity," he said. "Some wolf monstah's been wreckin havoc with the Dead, scarin em right outta dey's skin, I heah tell. So what weez gonna do is use it ta make some gold for the company's see?"

"Like extortion?" Nub said, elbowing one of the Sappers seated beside him as he grinned at his partners. "If dats true, count me in, Fidjit. They's good money in dat sorta thing, pal."

Fidjit bobbed his head in agreement, smiling at his cohort's understanding of Goblin profiteering. The Trolls, he saw, were quiet, meaning they would take more convincing. "Dat's exactly what weez plannin' ta do, Nub," Fidjit said. "So comin heah means we can plan it out, and see what sorta extrotion'll work best for dis sorta thing."

"Ifn it be a monstah dat be scarin tha Dead," Ja'breeve said. "Da best ting dat keep da hoojoo away be pow'ful mojo, mon. To-tem, and dee like." He nodded, as did the others. "I tink mee-stah snake best uncurl and come have a listen."

"Yea, pal," FIdjit said after a pause. "You have em do that. In da mean time, we got some plannin ta do." At that moment, the door swung open to allow Fozzle, Noz and Brack to enter - each carrying an box filled with cotton bags.

"Sorry weez late, Boss," Fozzle said. "Tha transporter pad from Fuselight by the Seas wasn't workin, and Noz got ported to Bogpaddle. Fortunately, he only shrunk two sizes."

"Whatevah," Fidjit said. "Put em over there and theys can have em when weez done plannin."

Brack, Fozzle and a diminutive Noz placed the boxes with glittering, cloth bags on a table near the door and behind the group. While the Trolls seemed to ignore the bags, the Goblins heads swiveled back and forth to make sure they remained unstolen.

"Okay, boys," Fidjit said once his employees had taken their seats. All told, there were now twenty five in the room, with twenty of them being Goblins. "Heres da plan. Hot Stuff?" He motioned toward a Goblin broad in the back seated next to a mechanical box. "Hit da lights."

The lights blinked out just as a projector illuminated an image on a rapidly descending screen behind Fidjit. There was a drawing of Lordaeron, another showing the Undercity, as well as a squiggly circle marked, "Monster". It was placed in the Trisfal Glades with a question over it's 'head'.

Crude, yet effective, the Goblins began chattering and pointing at the drawings. Lines leading to the monster from the city indicated approach, as well question marks in Brill, the Flight Tower and the road leading into the Undercity itself.

"Okay," Fidjit said, his shadow covering the lower portion fo the screen. "Here's what we gots." His shadow finger pointed to the monster. "Somewheaz, theres a monstah dats scarin all the Dead. We need it workin for us, see?"

Heads bobbed in the audience. "Two," he said, moving his finger to Brill. "We need ta get some of those totems Jabreeve was talking about, start sellin em in da streets. We can do that heaz."

"Three," he said, moving his shadow finger to the Undercity's upper courtyard. "We need somethin else ta make a profit while we figyah out how to captyah dat monstah." He looked toward the gathering. "Any ideas?"

"Bribe it!" a Goblin called out. "Give it bones!" another said. "Trade the Dead for it's help!" another said. Hot Stuff was busy taking notes in the back, as Fidjit provided agreeable feedback for each of the ideas tossed out.

"Yea, I like dat," he said for one idea. "Nice, pal," he said for another. "Dead need bones, dats for sure," he said on another.

"How about a drink?" Noz said, slightly taller now that the transporter malfunction was wearing off. "Seems we make enough a dat here. Why not make one ta protect the Dead from the monstah?" Fozzle cocked his head, then looked back at Fidjit.

"Say, boss," he said. "Dat ain't a bad idea at all." Fdjit frowned.

"Ain't you supposed ta be loadin wagons?" he said, placing his hands on his hips and ignoring Fozzle. All heads turned to glare at Noz, still known for ruining the Great Enterprise with the terrorist style bombing of Eastvale. Though most had approved of the action, once it had failed to accomplish what it intended, all fingers pointed toward him and Brack.

"We're all done wits dat, boss," he said. "Dats why I'm here, see? But I was thinkin'. Since Fozzle's a magician wits his potions an all, why not whip up a batch a monstah mash or somethin' like dat? Dey drink it, then they'll be left alone by the Wolf." He snapped his fingers. "Simple as dat!"

Fidjit turned to Fozzle. "Well?' he asked. Fozzle nodded.

"We can do it, sure," he said. "But we'd need to know more about what makes dat thing so scary." Goblins in the room nodded and began mumbling. One said something about the swag bags, but was elbowed and told to shut up. "We know they been cravin mana, so a mana potion would be the base. Then, maybe some pilsnah, a bit of the green stuff, maybe some..." he rambled off, talking to himself as the Trolls began to stir.

"Ow bout Ole Jabree go out dere and find dis ting?" the Troll said after being quiet during the entire presentation. "Mee-stah snake be bout read-ee to leave da sun, mon. He say dat monstah be easy to chahm wit da Loa. Make it do what we want, den hold pee-pole 'ostage to pay."

Another troll nodded, chuckling a deep, slow and sinister laugh. "Dat be righteous, mon," he drawled, the teeth and beads draped across his chest rattling as he talked. "Da Lotus be approvin o dis."

Fidjit stared at the Trolls, then nodded slowly. "Yea," he said. "Certainly. Glad ta hear tha Lotus approves."

"But I need you ta make those totems," Fidjit said. He looked directly at Noz and pointed. "Since youz all done wits the wagons, you and Brack head out dere and tells us what dat monstah wants."

Noz's mouth fell open, and he looked at Brack. "Don't we got wagons ta load, pal?" Brack nodded. "Yea, boss. we got twenty or so just waitn'" Fidjit smiled and shook his head.

"Not any mores ya don't, bub," he said. "You're gonna find out what makes day monstah tick!"

[Fidjit]

"Why not make a drink to ward of da monstah," Brack said, his tone mocking and sarcastic. They had left the meeting to make their way to Fuselight by the Sea, then catch a steamer to Ratchet. From there, they'd take a blimp to the Undercity, and finally walk over the hill into Brill. "Nice goin, pal. You just got us sent out ta be monstah bait." He threw his hands up. "Dolt!"

"Hey!" Noz said. "Knock it off. I was tryin ta get us outta dat wagon-loadin bidness, and into somethin more profitable, see?"

"It worked," Brack said, still pissed off at being sent to Trisfal Glades. "But I doubt we'll see any gold from dis. More like rows o nasty teeth, chompin our legs off er somthin horrid like dat." He muttered something under his breath that Noz couldn't hear.

"Least dey coulda done was send us a sappah team," Noz said. "All I got is a few sticky bombs, and dat ain't gonna do squat against a monstah dat scares the Dead." Brack grunted, and continued toward the transporter pad. It was going to be a long trip, and the outcome made him wish for Redridge again. At least the Stormwind Guard weren't monsters.

========================

Inside the Fuselight Funkworks, heated conversation was taking place between the Trolls and the Goblins over what would be most important. The Lotus felt that they should decide what the totems looked like, how they worked and to what the costs would be. Of course, the Goblins care nothing about the other stuff, cost is all they heard.

"Now dat's waaaaay too much, Jabreeve," Fidjit said, marching around on the dias, creating tinkling, jingling sounds from the massive number of gold and platinum chains dangling around his neck. "Weez takin all da risk, see? Dey should be made outta buildin' scraps we got from Bogpaddle. We got tons o dat stuff. Be perfect for the totems."

"You no be tellin ole Ja'bree how to be makin his totems, mon," Jabreeve said. "If dey be ta workin, dey be built da Lotus way, or no a ting."

"You be tellin it straight, mon," the tooth and bead-bearing Troll added, earning nods and grunts of approvals from the others. "We be makin da to-tems ou-wah way, or dey no be made."

"Really?' Fidjit said, then shook his hands. "Aight, do it like ya want. We'll focus on da drink." He pointed a finger at Jabreeve. "Dey bettah be da best totems money can buy, see?"

"You no worry bout a ting, mon," Jabreeve said, standing and indicating the Lotus was finished. The other Trolls as well, following their leader toward the door. "We be grabbin da bags on da way out. I be takin one fo mee-stah snake, so he no be eatin da goat."

"Yea, yea," Fidjit said, waving them off. "But only one per custamah, got dat?" He turned and scanned the remaining Goblins. "Fozzle?"

"Yea, Boss?" the assistant said from a seat at his work station.

"Whatcha plannin'?"

"Well," he replied. "Da broads an I been tinkin, see? We don;t have to know why the monstah's scarin the Dead an all. We just got ta make it so dey don't care, see? The Elves, too. With the way they like mana an all, deys gotta be more scared than the Dead, if ya ask me."

"Okay," FIdjit said, glancing at his time piece on his wrist. "Dat don;t answer my question, though. Whatcha plannin do wits the drink? I ain't got all day!"

"No worries, Boss!" Fozzle said. "We gotcha cuv-ah'd. Hot Stuff and I'll mix up da batch. Got some mana potions, some frog pond pilsnah, a bit a funk..." He twirled his fingers in the air. "We'll stir it all togethah and see what we come up wits. It'll be a winnah, I can tell ya dat right now."

"And I'm making the poster!" a short female Goblin said. She wore green shorts with a halftee as a top - showing more skin than clothing; just how Fidjit liked his broads. "Gonna call it Monstah Mash! Keep da Wolf at Bay so you have more time to play! Drink Monstah Mash." She held up a poster, crude, yet clear as to the intent. Colourful, too, Fidjit noticed. He liked the lavender and green she had him drawn in. Lifelike.

A Goblin, very similar to Fidjit, was holding up a bottle labeled, 'Monster Mash', and smiling - his teeth gleaming white as two scantily-clad female Goblins were passionately draped across his shoulders. Across the bottom were words that read, "Guaranteed to ward off Howling Wolf Monsters". In smaller print were the words, 'tested and approved by the FB&Bco. Bottler not responsible for side effects from drinking monster mash.

In the background of the poster, a wolf-looking creature was running in fear, looking over it's shoulder as if it were about to be killed. A great image for such a powerful beverage.

"Not bad, Short Stack," he said. "I kinda like dat. Make tha hat a bit biggah, though. And the smile, too. Smiles sell, sistah." He turned to Fozzle. "How long till ya got it in production?"

"Weez workin on it now, Boss," Fozzle said. "Give us a day, and we'll pump it faster than golden eggs from a goose!"

"Good," Fidjit said. "Now bring back dose two idiots from Fuselight. We'll have em hand out samples in the taverns. Like we did my Finest in Lakeshire. Dat worked perfectly, if I recall."

"Till dose nosy Gawds poked dere nose in tings,' one the sappers said. "Ain;t no gawds dis time, do," another sapper said. "Only monstahs. And dats our kinda ting."

"Ya know, boss," Fozzle said. "Dis could be biggah den the Funk evah was. And when we get dat Mnstah workin for us?" He snapped his fingers. "Gold like mana, Boss. A great idea!"

[Jessaamine]

[[ This post approved by thread author. ]]

[Fidjit]

(( 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.

[Fidjit]

An air of thick, foggy fear hung over Silvermoon City, as Noz & Brack assembled their sales booth for the fabulous new drink from the Fuselight Beverage & Bottling company: Monster Mash. Sales flyers hung from every surface that could handle them, though all within current guidelines and regulations handed down by the Magistrars. It was never good business to piss off the law before making sales, though once a steady profit was flowing, then those boundaries could be tested. It was a rule.

The Walk of Elders provided the perfect funnel to their portable shop, being the major causeway leading toward the Shepard's Gate, and just outside the ever-popular Wayfarer's Rest Tavern. Which didn't, interestingly enough, sell alcohol; at least over the counter.

"Where's all the Elves?" Brack said as he stacked crates around the edges of the booth. He covered those with straw, designing the display to give an air of luxury, as if the drink came from a fine vineyard. By nesting the bottles in straw, the Goblins felt they could command higher prices once the costumers consumed their free samples.

"It's early," Noz replied, placing three bottles on the counter, along with a stack of paper tasting cups. "They'll be here, don't worry."

The crates acted as funnel, leading customers to the counter to taste the drink. It also bunched them up around the counter, providing ample opportunity to grab a nearby bottle for purchase.

Once open, it didn't take long for curious citizens to wander up to the booth and try the new beverage (just as Noz had predicted). The first customer was a brightly dressed tailor, who claimed to be the greatest fashion designer in all of Silvermoon.

"Andirion will try your drink," the man said, tossing his white-gold mane of hair away from his eyes. While the Goblins thought he was more appropriately dressed for the Darkmoon Faire, they would never dare say such a thing to the customer's face. Only behind his back once he left.

He lifted one of the bottles from the counter and inspected the label, as Noz popped the top on a tasting bottle and prepared to serve.

"By all means, pal," Noz said, pouring a small amount into a swallow-sized, paper cup. He handed it to the haughty Elf. "Tell us what ya think." The designer took the cup and smirked. He swirled the liquid around in the cup, sniffed it, then drank - allowing the Mash to sit in his mouth before swallowing.

"Andirion approves," he said, dropping the cup into the barrel being used as a trash bin. "But just barely. It lingers on the tongue a bit too long, but the taste is rather..." he cocked his head and looked toward the sky. He smacked his lips. "Unique." He nodded.

"Andrion likes unique," he said, crossing his arms across the bright purple robe he was wearing. "I will purchase your beverage. How much?"

"Have I got a deal for you," Brack said, trying to avoid rubbing his hands together as he stepped from behind the counter. "If ya buy one full case, we'll toss in anudah bottle for free." He pointed his finger at Andirion. "For today only, see? Limited time offah."

The designer frowned. "Andirion demands to know the cost," he said. "How much?" While the sign clearly stated the price at fifteen silver per bottle, and one gold fifty silver per case, it was a well established understanding that one NEVER paid listed price to a Goblin.

"For you?" Brack said, this time looking at Noz. "What can we do for our new friend, Noz?"

This was their cue to pretend to make a deal, when in fact, the price had already been set based upon the arrogance of the Elf. Noz reached below the counter and lifted an apparent invoice, scanning the numbers and frowning.

"I ain't got much room, Brack," Noz said, shrugging. "Fidjit's price is pretty tight, see?" He smirked, shook his head. "How does thirteen silvah a bottle sound to yaz? Dats almost cost."

"Andirion prefers ten silver per bottle," the Elf stated. "But will pay one gold twenty for a case." Brack clutched his chest. His mouth fell open, and his eyes rolled back in his head.

"That's robbery!" he exclaimed, appearing to stagger while Noz vehemently shook his head. "Fidjit'll throw a fit at dat price, pal!" He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, and noted four more Elves had made their way to the booth and were listening. Noz rubbed his stubble-covered chin.

"Twelve silvah a bottle," Noz said as Brack sought to recover his sense. "And not a coppah more." He saw Andirion smile and matched it with his own. The Elf nodded, and Noz's eyes lit up.

"Andrion feels nine silver per bottle sounds even better," the Elf said, and nodded, earning words of approval from the small, growing gathering of Elves who were drawn to the exchange.

"WHAT?!!!" Brack said, throwing his hands into the air. "You said ten a moment ago. Dat ain't how the games played, see? I come down and you come up." He smiled. "It's called negotiatin', kid. How the world works."

Andririon turned to the other Elves, then looked once more at Brack. "Andrion now feels eight per bottle is an appropriate price for this..." He pursed his lips, and held the bottle toward Brack. "Monster Mash, as you call it."

"Okay, okay, okay!" Brack exclaimed. "Ten it is, pal. I can't go any lowah than that. Honest!" Noz lifted the invoice, offering it to Andirion should he choose to read it.

"See for yourself, bub," Noz said. "It's all right there, plain as the purple on your robe." Andrion scowled.

"Andrion's design is Plumple," he stated. He sat the bottle back onto the counter, then waved his hand in a dismissive manner. "Purple is so boring. Plums are tasty and exciting, as are Andrion's designs." Brack and Noz nodded simultaneously.

"Whatevah you say, pal," Brack said. "I like plums." He offered his hand to shake. "So we set at ten a bottle?" The Elf looked at the Goblin's hand. He frowned, then scowled, and finally smirked - nodding as he took the Goblin's hand.

"Andirion accepts your generous offer," he said. Noz sighed in relief, and reached for his sales pad to write up the order. "You will deliver two cases to Keelan Sheets in the Bazaar. That is where Andrion creates fashion." He then lifted his coin purse from a pocket hidden within his robe, and counted out the correct number of coins.

"Ah, deliver?" Brack said, giving Noz a curious look. "We ain't delivery boys, pal. We sell it, you cart it off. Dats tha way it works." Andirion sighed, and added ten more silver coins to the pile.

"Andirion wishes it delivered within the hour," he said, as Noz snatched away the coins. "That should cover the cost."

"Delivered it is," Brack said. "Soon as we handle tha next customahs. A pleasure doing bidness wits ya!"

The rest of the day went quickly, as sales of the Monster Mash exploded. Once the fashionable Elf had bought two cases, the others snatched up their own cases - not wanting to be left out of a new thing appearing in Silvermoon. Many talked about hosting parties that very evening, being first to show off the new drink to their friends.

None wanted to be left out, especially high society. While the drink had a peculiar taste, it was still good. Unique was the word most used, having picked it up originally from Andirion. And with the fears of a strange wolf monster haunting the forests around the Undercity, as well as the plague that infected those who used magic, anything that helped alleviate the horror was welcomed.

Especially a drink that claimed to scare off said wolf monster. It wouldn't be until three days (and several parties) later that 'interesting' anomalies began occurring to those who drank the fabulous, all-the-rage drink called Monster Mash.

[Fidjit]

Andirion was furious, his plumple-coloured robe quivering with rage, as he stared at a tall, sprig of Peacebloom wiggling in the middle of his design studio. It was his assistant. Formerly beautiful and talented, she was now a common herb. A boring one at that.

Three days she had been like that. Ever since the last fashion show he'd hosted, when she had served a round of the last case of Monster Mash. Yea, what a name. Instead of keeping that howling at bay, it turned his clients INTO monsters. Or in this case, a houseplant - one he felt inclined to water.

Elves all over Silvermoon had encountered some sort of anomaly, though few had attributed it to the drink. Andirion knew better, as nothing like this had occurred until that pair of scalawags arrived with their magical tonic. Amazing what fear could do, as well as a unique taste. The worst incident he'd caught wind of, was a pack of Fel Hounds mysteriously appearing inside of Silvermoon, chasing one of his clients up a tree - all the while ignoring everyone else.

Fortunately, the Blood Knights dispatched them quickly, though not without rumours and fears of another Burning Crusade spreading around the city.

"Andirion will shear the ears from those Goblins!" he said, lifting his largest pair of scissors from the cutting table and storming toward the shop's door. "If Andrion looses clients from that drink, I will turn their skins into gowns!" Before leaving, he turned to the shop's owner, Keelan.

"Be sure and water Devonna," Andirion said. "Andirion doesn't want her wilting!"

==========================

Noz and Brack were long gone, of course. They sold out of their fabulous drink by day two of setting up in Silvermoon. Once that pompous and prissy fashion designer had bought his two cases, the product flew from the shelves like free gold tossed onto a Booty Bay pier.

"Can ya believe that Tauren?" Noz said, from his seat in the bow of the Stranglethorn blimp. Below, the trees of the Silverpine looked like blades of bristling grass. "She paid full price." He shook his head. "What a mark." Brack chuckled.

"Dey ain't tha brightest," Brack said, re-working the figures written within a leather ledger, all so their profits looked slim. "Must be all dat grass they eat."

Creative accounting was what he did best, insuring the pair of salesmen made top coin on their ventures. The Company officially frowned upon such accounting, though it was completely expected. It was why commissions were only 25% and not 40. Brack's accounting had them earning 60.

Noz leaned over to see what Brack was writing. "I wondah if you can milk one?" he said, moving his head this way and that as Brack wrote. "Bet dat would sell for a coin er two. Tauren Milk. Does a Goby good!" He giggled. Brack stopped writing and looked at Noz.

"Dat ain't bad, Noz," he said, scrunching his eyes as he considered the possibilities. "I bet Humans would buy it, too. You know how they're always workin out, tryin ta get biggah and biggah, right?" Noz's head bobbed rapidly in agreement.

"Right, pal!" Noz said. "A health drink. Dey do love that garbage." He cocked his head. "Think we can make it addictive, too?" Brack waved a dismissive hand, retuning to his figures.

"Of course," Brack said, jotting down a note to talk to Fozzle about their new idea. "Fozzle can make anything addictive. We'll have to make sure Fidjit knows this is our thing, ya know? Dat way, we get tha most profits outta dis."

Noz smiled, looking down at the passing scenery. "Make it flavah'd, too," he said. "Like moonberry milk. That'd be great!"

The landscape changed, and the blimp flew it's way toward the outpost nestled within the jungles of Stranglethorn Vale.

[Fidjit]

The jungles of Stranglethorn Vale were stifling with humidity well before mid-day, yet the chirping of birds, and the clattering of insects ignored it completely. This was their home, and they loved the moist heat that kept most foolish souls away from their realm. Tiger roars echoed under the dense canopy, as did the occasional screech of a raptor tearing into a meal.

Ja'breeve loved it. The jungle was his home, and the home of his comrades running the Crimson Lotus. They were made for this sort of lifestyle, and was the reason they worked their loa in the village of Bambala - the headquarters of their mysterious organization.

Fidjit's orders were to make totems. Yet, he never gave instructions as to what they would be used for. Which was perfect for the Lotus. Ja'breeve had decided early within the meeting, that the totems would be used for capturing the monster (Old God, they had learned), and turning it toward their purposes. It was what Fidjit had wanted, though only seeing it through profit.

The Lotus saw it through power AND profit, and they would use the loa to get it done.

"Da ritual be ready, Ja'Bree," Ja'leel, the blue-haired Witch Doctor said, his slow speech oozing out the syllables like honey dripping from a spoon. "We be gatherin da spidahs and da pigs for da sacrifice, mon. Den we be summonin' da snaaake." He nodded, causing his dreadlocks to dance, clinking with the ringing of tiny bells fastened on their ends.

"Dat be good, brudah," Ja'breeve said, looking toward the climbing sun. The ritual was designed to complete at full noon, when the sun was highest in the jungle - directly overhead. "It be time."

Three totems would be completed, each for a different purpose. The first was the lure, for which the pig would be offered. The second was the snare, which the spider's web represented. The third, and most powerful, was the snake - a charm to bring Accalia to their side.

The Lotus knew that the Goblins were idiots at best, and had no clue as to what was being summoned into the world. The Trolls did, and they knew it's name. Old Gods were of their world. Handling them and dealing with them were their expertise, and they would make certain that Accalia would become their servant.

And if the Goblins didn't like it, they could be Accalia's dinner.

Dozens of Trolls gathered around Ja'leel, forming a circle around him and the large, metal bowl sitting atop a flat rock. In the bowl, a large pig writhed - bound by it's feet and wriggling in it's attempts to escape. Drums came to life, beating rhythmic lines that matched the jungle's breath. The Trolls moved to the beat, chanting quietly to the loa - urging it to accept the offering of the jungle pig.

Ja'leel chanted, holding aloft beads, bones and a wooden stake that would form the foundation of the totem. He danced, shaking his magics toward the rising sun. Their voices grew, the drums pounded louder and all within the nearby jungle went still. The winds held their breath, dancing instead to the beat of the Trolls.

The Witch Doctor whirled around the bowl, sprinkling powder from his hands onto the pig as he chanted. Up and down went the tones, sometimes loud, others whispered. His comrades matched, swaying to the beat as Ja'leel worked his magics.

Suddenly, he stopped - grasping the stake with both hands and raising it up high. He called for the loa, he cried for it's blessing, he demanded it accept the offer. Then, he slammed the stake into the pig's head - spearing it through the eye and into it's brain. The drums pounded a final thud as the stake hit, and the Trolls went quiet.

Everything went quiet.

Red light flared from the bowl, sending roiling smoke into the sky with a poof!. Ja'leel stepped away, watching with grim satisfaction as sparkles swirled around the pig, devouring it like termites decimating a rotting piece of wood. Out of sustenance, the colours climbed the wooden stake, merging with it to become one. The loa had accepted the offer, and the Lotus had their first totem.

By noon, they would have all three.