A brief note before we start –

I would like to thank Miss Tak (Brix'tul), Jacob Sparks (Kaz'kali), Minstrel (Ra'rhuk), Myrrde (Miû), and Dressesindaggers (Elle) for so graciously letting me borrow their original characters for the purposes of this story. I hope that I have done them justice.

Now sit back, grab a drink, and enjoy the party!


"Your nose is bleedin'."

Bron's attention snapped from the gate to the troll by his side, immediately sending up a hand to his face. Something warm slicked his knuckles, a coppery sting filling his nostrils as he pulled his fist back and examined the blood. He wiped at it again and looked down at his coat, frowning. "Shit, man, I just bought this."

"An' what ya should do right after this party is pitch 'at thing in the trash," Mudmask smirked down at his friend's costume.

"What?" Bronlin splayed his palms defensively, raising his arms in the hopes that the pose would better display his point, "I don't know what you're talking about. It looks fucking cool."

"Nah, mon, it looks like ya be a kid wearin' his father's trenchcoat."

"All this coming from the 'Jamba, Voodoo-King of the West.'" Bron jeered at the troll's stereotypical witch doctor costume and shot him a snide smile of his own, "Whatever, people will get it."

"That ya supposed to be the World Shaman?" The troll cocked his head to one side, "What ya be the Aspect of again? Bacon?"

"The most delicious Aspect of them all," Bron nodded resolutely, turning back to the vine-caked gates. Even through the leaves, one could see the large house that loomed just up the path. Pumpkin lanterns lined the trail, and torches flanked each window of the manor, setting the entire grounds flickering with an eerie glow. Light shined from every room, and even in the distance the silhouettes of the company within bobbed to and fro. It looked crowded.

"You know," Bron continued, placing his hand upon the gate and giving it a push, "even all lit up like this, this place still seems pretty creepy."

"Dunno what ya be expectin' - attending parties out in a place called 'The Plaguelands'," Mudmask followed his friend through the opening and onto the path. Despite his stoic affectation, the troll still flinched slightly as the gate clanged shut.

Bron pretended not to notice, not wanting to feed into his own nerves. He sent another hand up to his nose, and was glad to find that the bleeding had stopped. "Yeah, well, it was this or sitting around 'Undershitty', watching them burn that wickerman while Sylvanas drones on about oppression and the vendors try to push that nasty food on everyone."

"Kinda enjoy the crispy little eyeball things they got at that one place," Mudmask mused, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"That... is disgusting," Bron replied, distractedly looking around. As they continued along the path, approaching the house, he found it odd that none of the party attendees were hanging about outside. This was the western part of the Plaguelands, after all. Here, the Cenarion Circle had managed to dispel most of the blight that had plagued the area. Sure, the trees were still mostly dead, and the persistent, surprise-fogs definitely lent to the overall 'heebie-jeebiness' of the place, but the air was safe. On a night like this, where the White Lady seemed constantly framed by silver-lined clouds, the chilly weather was almost pleasant.

As though to respond to his curiosity, a frigid wind suddenly raked itself across the lawn, instantly generating a plane of goosebumps along the orc's exposed arms. He shivered, looking back to Mudmask. He was wearing little, save for a kilt, an assortment of jewelry made of feathers, bone, and straw, and a rush'ka mask that he fashioned to obscure the blind side of his face. "Aren't you cold?" he asked, rubbing his hands along his forearms.

"Why? I be nippin' out?" He replied with a grin, placing his hands over his chest in a faux-display of modesty.

"It's okay, it makes you look... engaged," Bron chuckled.

Mudmask smirked, "We gonna be inside in a second, B. Try 'an keep the fawnin' over my nipples to a minimum, would ya? If there be ladies in there it'd be nice to not go givin' 'em wrong impressions." They were approaching the front porch. Three stone steps led up to a grand, dark wooden door with a large brass knocker. It was tall, tall enough that even Mudmask could fit through it without needing to duck his head. Strange, considering the house seemed to be of human make. Bron found himself wondering if the present owners of the manor had refashioned some of the construction to be more accommodating of other races, or if the door simply existed for appearances.

"Oh man, I hope there's ladies," Bron grinned, discarding the troll's advisory.

"Hope there's booze," Mudmask continued.

"I hope there's food," Bron tacked on, reaching for the knocker. He knocked three times, waited, and knocked again when no one responded. Another pause, and he looked back to Mudmask questioningly. The troll shrugged and reached for the door knob. Slowly, the two companions opened the door. A chorus of noise flowed out from the house; laughter, yelling, glasses clinking, footsteps clattering up and down stairs. Music wafted in from somewhere far away, and as Bron and Mudmask ventured into the foyer, they found themselves wading through a sea of party goers.

The brightly illuminated entry nearly blinded the two as they stepped in from the moonlit porch. Moments ago they had been shivering, but inside the air was almost hot as the crowds of people ushered through the entryway and into the rooms beyond. The ceiling of the foyer was vaulted up, up, up, and above them hung an enormous chandelier made of countless glass fragments. As Bron looked up at it, he could see lights shifting from piece to piece, making the entire surface shimmer like sunlight on water. He wondered how much the owners paid for that sort of enchantment. Below the ornate fixture, the grand staircase was split into a set of two that created a circular chamber in the middle of the room while the stairs curved up to the second floor. It housed a collection of party-goers as they made their way between floors, often stopping to chat with each other in mid-step.

So many people... Orcs, trolls, blood elves, goblins; all wearing paper masks that sported the generic faces of members of the Horde and Alliance alike. Yet as their eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room, it was clear that there were not just Horde races present. There were night elves wearing orc faces, and dwarves with big bushy beards that peeked out from beneath tauren masks. Bron turned to Mudmask to exchange a silent look of confusion, but the troll was already accepting a drink offered to him by a tuxedo-clad goblin with a paper blood elf face. He grabbed the remaining cup off the goblin's tray and handed it to Bron.

"Booze," he grinned, "check."

"I didn't know this was a theme party," Bron remarked, taking the glass and looking around. Aside from the paper masks, most people were fashioned in elegant dresses and well-tailored suits. The realization made Bron feel out of place, yet no one seemed to notice nor be bothered by the newcomers and their choice of dress. True enough, the more his eyes explored the room, the more it seemed like no one cared to pay much attention to them at all, save for another goblin that walked up brandishing a plate with two bacon-wrapped hors d'oeuvres. Mudmask seemed willing enough to accept this offering as well.

"Don' seem like these folk are much for bein' picky," he replied dismissively, ushering one of the canapés into his mouth.

"I guess..." Bron mumbled, reaching out to take from the tray. The masks, as basic as they were, made him feel uneasy. At the same time, it felt silly to be unsettled when it was unlikely that he'd recognize anyone here anyway. Neither he nor Mudmask traveled to the Eastern Kingdoms very often, much less places like Undercity or the Plaguelands. He had a couple of contacts that kept posts outside of Lordaeron, but they were all on duty that night for the burning of the wickerman. None of them would be at a place like this anyways, not with such an open attendance policy towards both factions. It was a strange sort of sight, watching gnomes make small-talk with blood elves and dwarves cavorting with orcs, but it was a party, and on Hallow's End no less. If this was as strange as things got then Bron supposed he could handle it, especially seeing as the drink he had accepted seemed adequately laden with liquor.

"What was next on the list?" Mudmask looked down at his friend, "Food?"

"Pretty sure it was ladies first," Bron allowed himself a smile, tearing his thoughts away from the distractions all around him.

"Evenin' just gettin' started, boy-o," the troll's lopsided smirk melted into a grin and he took another drink, "say we take a look about?"

"Like I said, ladies first," Bron laughed and gestured for his companion to lead the way. Mudmask shook his head, rolling his eyes and turned to the doorway on their left.

With appetizers and drinks in hand, the two picked their way through the busy foyer and into the next room. It was some sort of dining area, with a long table that occupied the center of the room. Plates of food sat piled high in front of every seat- yet no one was paying attention to the personal feasts before them. Instead, most had clustered around one end of the table, a cacophony of whoops and hollers filling the room. The two friends shared a curious look before eking their way closer to find the source of the commotion. The crowd seemed to part for them as they moved, and suddenly the two found themselves witness to a rather heated arm wrestling match between a burly dark-haired orc and a dwarf that Bron would have nearly mistaken for a human because he was so tall.

Everyone was still wearing the silly paper masks, but the rest of formality from the foyer had been stripped away. Ties were loosened, buttons unbuttoned, and the boisterous jeering as members of the Horde and Alliance rooted for their respective champions made Bron feel much more at ease.

"Break his arm!"

"Teach the swine a lesson!"

"Get it! Get it!"

"Show him the might of the Alliance!"

"Victory or death! For the Horde!"

"For the Horde!" Mudmask lifted his cup, joining the chorus of cheers.

The orc and the dwarf had their fists locked together, muscles tensed as one struggled to overpower the other. But slowly, the angle of the dwarf's arm began to shift.

"Crush him! Crush him! Crush him!" the Horde-sided individuals began to chant. Now the dwarf's shoulder began to twitch, he was buckling. "Crush him! Crush him!" Mudmask and Bron joined in, reveling in the unexpected excitement.

The dwarf's fist was perilously close to the surface of the table now, sweat dripping from his brow as he strained to recover the ground he had lost. But it was no use, the orc had too much of the advantage now, and with one final surge, a mighty thump echoed through the room as the orc slammed the dwarf's hand into the table. The crowd exploded with victorious howls and disappointed booing. Mudmask raised his arms up with elation, turning back to Bron with a huge grin on his face. They shared a high five, and once again tipped back their glasses, finishing the contents.

No sooner had the two combatants departed their seats a goblin crawled up onto the table, calling for the crowd's attention as he asked who wanted to be in on the next round. "Ya gonna go for it?" Bron felt a nudge against his elbow, and he looked over to find a tall female orc adorned in a grimacing goblin mask. Gold eyes peered at him through the holes in the mask, Bron would have liked to say it seemed like she was smiling at him but he couldn't be sure. "You should try it, I bet you could win."

"Maybe after a few more of these," Bron offered a friendly smile of his own and pointed to his cup. As he raised it he was surprised to feel the sensation of liquid sloshing around within the glass. Looking at it, sure enough some of the booze was still hanging about at the bottom, so he raised it to his mouth and finished it. The fluid burned but the taste was lightly sweet, almost like honey.

"Later, then," her voice sounded disappointed, but there was something definitive about it. Bron wondered if perhaps he should have stepped up to the challenge, but his attention was torn away from the matter when he looked up and realized Mudmask had vanished. The orc turned around sharply, eyes scanning the crowd. How had he gotten out of sight so quickly?

Towards the back of the room there was another door; bright light filtering through the gaps in the edges. He watched it swing open as a cluster of guests stumbled from it and into the dining hall, and beyond he could see Mudmask's white-haired head looming above the other occupants of the room. Bron let out a huff of relieved air; he was lucky the guy was so tall, it always made him easy to find. He turned back to the woman, meaning to excuse himself, but she had already returned her attention to the new contestants of the arm wrestling spectacle.

Getting out of the crowd seemed a lot more of an ordeal than getting into it. Bron had to shove past several enthusiastic spectators in order to reach the door, and even then he nearly ran over a goblin as it darted by with another serving tray. When he pushed through the door he found himself in a kitchen, eyes immediately falling on a grandiose buffet set up in the center of the room.

It was an impressive sight - trays of meats lined the edges of the table, some presented in thin slices, some glazed, some cut into small cubes, some still steaming with heat. There were cured fans of bacon, little sausages skewered with sticks, massive kebabs stacked with varying samplings of everything on display. As incredible as it was, it was the centerpiece of the smorgasbord that demanded all the attention - a massive hulk of a roasted boar was laid out in the center of it all, brandishing a shining red apple in its jaws. Truthfully, the warm, salty, smoky aroma that filled the air could have come from any number of the offerings on the table, but to Bron it came from nothing but the magnificent boar at the center. He took in the sights and smells, wondering where he should start, until he heard voices call out from the other side of the kitchen.

"It's Brab!"

"Hush, don' go callin' him that to his face!"

Bron's attention was torn away from the buffet. At first, his eyes found Mudmask, looking at him with a passive look of amusement as he beckoned the orc to come over. The new voices belonged to two younger trolls. Unlike the other patrons, they also seemed to have missed the memo about the paper masks, and as Bron got closer he realized that he vaguely recognized them.

"I thought that was 'is name?" Said the larger of the two trolls. His arms, legs, and head were sticking out from a mess of cardboard boxes, all taped together and plastered with little plastic gems.

"Nah! S'Bran... somethin'," argued the other. He was purple-skinned, with a lop of green dreadlocks pinned atop his head. Unlike his companion, he didn't seem to be wearing a costume at all, unless one counted the peculiarly out of place moustache that sat under his nose.

"But that be what Muds been sayin' his name is. Confirmed it. I asked." The dark blue troll nodded his head resolutely.

"Bronnn!" Mudmask announced loudly in greeting, grinning with a full cup in hand, "Surely ya remember Kaz'kali and Brix'tul?"

"Yeah! I remember," Bron looked back and forth between the two of them, brow furrowing slightly, "What are you guys doing all the way out here?"

"Well, s'a party, en't it?" Brix'tul shrugged indifferently, "Better 'en sitting 'round Undercity."

Kaz'kali nodded exuberantly in agreement, "Too many deaders for Brix's likin'."

"Aye, but then where's ya costume, mon?" Mudmask chided the shorter troll.

"Ey! I'm wearin' a costume!" Brix'tul pointed doggedly to his face, "I got a moustache! Y'know, cuz I'm a… moustache… guy."

"Uh…huh," the smile left on Mudmask's face was not the most convinced.

"Guess what I am!" Kaz'kali interjected loudly, an excited grin on his face. Mudmask and Bron stood, mouths hesitantly open as they shot each other questioning glances. Before they could hazard to make their guesses, the younger troll pulled one of his arms into the recess of the box. There were several muffled thumps as his elbow hit the interior during his rifling about, knocking a few of the plastic gems free of their bonds and sending them to the floor. Eventually his arm emerged from the hole; fist clenched as he struck a pose and held out his arm. Playing along, Bron lifted his open palm to receive the offering: two screws, an unwrapped piece of candy, and a crumpled bit of paper.

"Uhhh…" Bron stared at the 'loot' on his palm and looked back to the grinning troll, Next to him, Brix'tul silently waved his hands to get the orc's attention – he was mouthing a word that Bron couldn't quite make out.

"…Bling...tron?" Mudmask pulled the word from the shorter troll's gesticulating.

Kaz'kali's face lit up, "Five-thousan'!" he confirmed, turning to his friend to land a punch on his shoulder, "See, mon! I tol' ya people'd get it!" Brix'tul rolled his eyes. Kaz was positively beaming with pride, and suddenly he pulled his arm back into the hole. "An' that's not all!" This time, when his hand reappeared it was brandishing a flask.

"Bringin' the party and spikin' the punch, that's what I like seein'," Mudmask smirked in approval. When Kaz'kali held out the flask in offering, Mudmask held up his cup to receive it. It was to Bron's surprise that he was already realizing just how foggy his head felt; he had a notion that the drinks at this party did not necessarily require extra help.

It was an odd coincidence, finding two familiar faces so far away from home. Bron wanted to feel glad for it, but so far their unexpected rendezvous only made him feel more out of place. It wasn't often that Bron was witness to his friend hanging about in the presence of other trolls, in fact most of the time Bron tended to forget that Mudmask was a troll at all. But in front of Kaz'kali and Brix'tul, he seemed to become… more troll-like, somehow. Bron could hear it in the way his accent deepened, and there was an air about all of them that made Bron feel as though there was some sort of inside joke between them that he was not privy to. A growl within his stomach served to distract him from these thoughts, and he looked longingly over his shoulder at the display, still vastly untouched from the look of it. Somehow it seemed as though the enticing aromas from the buffet had only accentuated themselves since he'd wandered into the kitchen.

"Ya didn' see Elle while ya were walkin' through, did ya?" Brix'tul spoke up again, looking at Mudmask.

"Nah, haven't seen 'er," the older troll took a draw from his cup, shooting a curious look to the contents, "but we just gettin' here, so that en't saying much."

"Thought I heard her sayin' somthin' about goin' to chat up some cute bloke…" Kaz'kali replied with a teasing smirk.

"She didn'!" Brix'tul snapped, shooting an insecure look over his shoulder, eyes scanning through the intermittent clusters of people.

"Ey, yeah, big tall fella, piercin' blue eyes," Kaz persisted.

"Whatever," Brix'tul crossed his arms, trying to appear indifferent. "Should prolly go look for her, anyhow."

"O'course, o'course, we'll find her, Brixy. A'fore some strappin' elfie get to pickin' her up…" Kaz gave his companion a reassuring pat on the shoulder before once again addressing Mudmask. "Muds, mon, feel like helpin?"

Mudmask's focus had seemingly been fixed on depleting the contents of his cup, but he snapped back to attention at the sound of his name. "Aye, sure, we can do a look 'round," he gave a lopsided smile. "Bron, ya game?

Bron shot a pleading glance to the food in the center of the room. "Iiiiii… think I'm going to hang back a bit. Get some grub, ya know?" The resulting expression on the troll's face was frustratingly unreadable. At first Bron thought he almost looked disappointed, which only made him feel more resentful of the situation. "I'll catch up," he added, attempting to sound reassuring.

"We'll take good care o'yer pal in the mean time," Kaz'kali smiled.

"Right, sure," Bron said, unable to help the consternated furrowing of his brow, "You guys have fun."

Mudmask was squinting at him, Bron could feel himself being stared at and he pretended not to notice. He continued to pretend not to notice as Mudmask and the two other trolls held a brief and hushed exchange that ended with Mudmask waving his hand dismissively in Bron's direction. Whatever, he had a growling stomach to sate. He gave them a parting wave and headed to the buffet. When he turned back again, they were gone.