Howdy, @Mizal. A few of us got together and wrote a Mizal CYS fanfic for you! Sent, Sab, Cricket, Derp, Darkspawn, and myself have all compiled this.
If you can guess who wrote which parts...uhh, bonus points for you I guess!
At the highest point in the spiralling tower of Ysildor, the arched windows of the royal chamber glowed out into the night. On a velvet chair, in a purple-painted room, the famously deadly Elf Queen sat illuminated by her runes. Even her familiar- A dragon, no less- cowered in fear as she toyed with the most powerful magic of all: The Stock Market.
"I will become the Lord of the Stonks." She says, feverishly manipulating the magics of The Stock Market.
Just then, a loud slam signals someone entering the royal chambers. She loses her focus, and the sweet, sweet stonks come crashing down in a pile. The magic disperses. She glares angrily at who dares walk her halls at this time. But seeing the shadow entering, dark robes billowing, and the moans of tormented souls. She knows this to be the dark lord.
"Oh, hi End!" She says, trying to clean up the stonk pile. People never interrupt when things are clean!
"I have terrible news lol." End Master says.
The Elf Queen narrows her eyes slightly, detecting the usual note of sarcasm in the Dark Lord’s voice.
“What’s happened?” The billowing shadow drifts closer, the agonizing hisses of the damned whisper out from beneath his robes. A bony hand lifts, summoning the dark magic he commands to reveal a portal into another realm. The hellish landscape within reveals wailing beings as they cry out for social justice and pyres are built to burn creative works that break their overbearing laws.
“My scrying has uncovered a plot to spy upon the Kingdom. They think they can convert us if they can infiltrate our ranks.”
The Queen leans back in her throne and lets out a chuckle, “That sounds amusing.”
"Does anyone know the way to their headquarters?" the Elf Queen asked.
"Some of us have already been there," chirped something that was definitely not Dark Lord.
"Why the fuck is there a cricket in my bedroom?"
"I found the key," chirped the cricket, from a different direction this time.
The Dark Lord, who had made himself comfortable on the Elf Queen's chair at this point, brought attention back where it belonged.
"The Dog-man, Malk, and some other people are already in there now."
"I went to the village too, but then I saw that one of the most important shrines to both the Goddesses of Fortune and Governmental Regulation was nearby, so I had to make a pilgrimage."
Since she was still unable to pinpoint the cricket's location, the Elf Queen glared at a space in the wall, "And then you had time to hang out in my private chambers?"
"I didn't bring any friends this time."
"Considering the Dark Lord is the reason you aren't in the hell-pit for trespassing right now, maybe you should devote more of your religious fervor to him."
"I'm working on it."
"I still have her sister, out fighting for my cause," the Dark Lord said. "Anyway, last I heard anything, the Dog-man was in their pantry destroying their cabbages, lol."
The Elf Queen and her familiar simultaneously facepalmed. "Masters of espionage."
Then, some loud noises from outside her tower window were heard, and a potato was seen flying through the air.
The potato lands on the ground with a damp thud followed by the groaning of the stone windowsill as large avian feet clamp onto it.
A thunderous cluck fills the air as a woman descends down to the floor and marches quickly toward the throne. The potato on the floor catches her attention briefly and she kicks it backward with a grimace and takes a knee before the esteemed ones.
“My Queen and Dark Lord, I have just finished training the last group of imbeciles you so kindly bestowed on me. That brings our shock troops up to an acceptable number.” She stands up once more and gestures back to the window. “My latest clutch of death chickens have also matured and are currently being broken for handlers. A few days and they should be suitable for your chosen riders.”
The Queen nods and gestures for the woman to continue.
“The troops are most likely going to be a one shot deal. This group has been especially retarded and I threw a few nosey neighbors in the mix. But they should charge effectively in the right direction and eat anyone in their way. I’ve got them all muzzled currently to avoid any wasteful cannibalism.” She stops speaking and smiles slyly as she glances back to the Queen and Dark Lord.
“Or… we could smuggle small groups through the sewer systems and unleash them inside enemy territory in strategic areas. It would allow for more chaos and carnage. It would also be less easy to trace. We would just need to make sure our spies aren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time.” She grins at the esteemed ones gleefully.
“Oh, and my Queen I nearly forgot.” She moves closer to the Queen to whisper, “That dragon you were asking me about? The one with the genes you wanted? I have located it after some time. I have already dispatched agents with the necessary sums to procure it for you-“
The sound of the door creaking open catches everyones attention as they stop to see who else has arrived.
As if this room wasn't already crowded enough, the door was then flung open by a familiar birdman, numerous scorched and petrified bones, hanging from strings on his clothes and armor. His feathers were painted with oak leaf patterns and his body was covered by a ragged cloak. In one hand he held a bronze bowl full of steaming black liquid, and in the other, his poleaxe, oily with gore.
"My liege! It was a glorious campaign! Exactly as foretold in the scapulas!"
"STOP! DON'T come in this room!" The Elf Queen blurted out just in the nick of time, saving her plush byssus carpet from the warlock's filthy boots, "What do you have to say? I told you guys it wasn't a campaign, you were supposed to SPY on them!"
"And spy we did! The Canid One has found the source of all their cabbages and destroyed them!" He said, "Every man, woman, and child! And I have cursed their seed, so that all future cabbages shall be born putrid and malformed- They shall live in torment from these undead greens, and be forced to eat their corned beef with nothing. Their discharge will become as watery gravel, and there will be suffering in their kingdom forevermore!"
"I wish you didn't practice magic like this... It's so unsanitary."
"14 years in the Library of Forbidden Knowledge is finally paying off, and this is my congratulation," The birdman shook his head dejectedly, "But that's not what I came to tell you! Come, look into this bowl of lifeblood- What does the reflection show you?"
A common soldier bustles into the room not speaking a word. Taking the mail from the out box and leaving letters in the in box. He empties the waste basket on his way out and wipes the gore from the bird man's bloody pole axe, before continuing down the hall muttering about "basic weapon maintenance" and "Carbon buildup on firing pins."
The Elf Queen wrinkles her nose, and gazes upon yet another intruder as he leaves.
The Elf Queen brings a hand to rub at her forehead. Too much is happening in such short notice. Pushing aside the bowl that had been presented for the moment, she comes to the realization that someone must deal with minor annoyances so she can focus on the bigger issues. After a quick glance into her dark lexicon, she brings her hands up and begins tracing the complicated patterns of the summoning spell.
“Awaken from the eternal siesta creature, and help me put my affairs in order!”
As if on queue, the portal opens way for a malformed, disgusting creature of darkness that writhes and moans as soon as exposed to the light of this world. A flash of worry crosses the Queen’s face. This isn’t exactly what the spell promised to summon. Still, there are no creatures, dead or alive, from this plane or the next that don’t bow to her eventually. This one will be no different.
“Listen to me, creature! Obey me and I will allow you to return to your disgusting plane of existence. Defy me, and I will scatter the very fabric of your being so far apart it will take centuries to account for even half of you!”
Everyone looks on expectantly. The shambling horror turns to face her and looks as if in thought. The darkness enveloping it seems to part to reveal a gaping maw which opens to utter a single word.
At these apparent words of challenge, everyone tenses up in preparation for a possible confrontation. Everyone except for the Elven woman who had summoned this monstrosity to begin with.
“Nah?” the Queen repeated with rage in her visage. “What do you mean, ‘nah’?”
Instead of using words, the writhing abomination answers by floating down to the floor in a cascade of darkness and disgusting appendages, promptly curling up and apparently falling asleep. The disturbing noises that approximate snoring soon follow. Those present look on in confusion.
“A lazy extra-planar monster?” the Queen seems to ask herself in disbelief. “Begone, you worthless maggot!”
Her hands come up to cast a ray of negative energy at the slumbering being. The creature barely seems to notice, acting more annoyed at the interruption of its nap than at any pain or discomfort the attack brings. Still, it seems to allow it to do its job, letting go of this plane to permit the Queen to cast it back to its home.
A few moments later, the creature, now apparently asleep again, is swallowed up by an emerging portal which gives a quick glimpse at the place it came from. Much of it is indescribable, but a strange symbol, a letter “N” with a mysterious squiggly line above it is visible on various places. A second later, the creature is gone and the Queen brings both hands to her face. That was both taxing and completely useless.
The birdman waddles over to the Elf Queen, gently putting the bowl up to her face again. With an exasperated sigh, she peers into the bowl. The blood ripples, and eventually the sees the image of a man with a helmet and gas mask. Familiar goggles looking back at her.
"Hi Tim." And the reflection fades.
There is an awkward pause as the birdman shakes the bowl.
"Come on, I said Forbidden Knowledge." The bowl finally cooperates, and shows the image of a short, pale, hairy creature. It seems to be scratching its ass and running about the periphery of a large field.
The birdman shakes in anger. "CONFOUND HIM!"
He shakes the bowl again, this time dropping it, as the gore and blood spill all over the new carpet.
The Elf Queen is about to erupt in anger, when the door slams open yet again. This time, a retarded dog man thing, a capybara in fine silks and a fancy sword at his hip, and a potato slowly rolls into the room.
She just wanted some peace and quiet while she cleans her throne room! Her familiar hides yet again, the Elf Queen shaking in anger.
"Thickly hips." Someone chirps devilishly, and the entire room goes on at length about this.
The Elf Queens eye twitches as she throws her hands to her ears and sprints down the hall, but they all follow her. Going on at length about hips, noobs, the gays, and other retarded things.
She bursts through a large set of doors, slamming them shut behind her, only to see a woman in an insanely cool and colorful hat. A man with round glasses firmly shaking his finger at everyone on the other side of the door correcting their grammar, and what could only be Ford seeping through the walls.
"It's ya boi, Ford." He says, finally slipping through the cracks and beginning to take a human shape. "Totes magotes bitch lasagna 420 pussy pussy ass."
On the table near them is a birthday cake, which The Elf finally sees as everyone else finally manage to get the door open. It seems trying the handle should have been the first thing they did.
"Surprise!" The Mad Hatter says, "Happy Birthday!"
"Aw, you guys remembered my birthday?"
"Of course!" The Professor says.
There is an awkward pause from the crowd behind her.
"Uhh, yep." Comes a bork.
"Sure, yeah...certainly." A chirp.
"It uhh...would have been haram to forget."
The Elf Queen temporarily forgets her anger as she is flooded by birthday wishes.
"Now who wants some cake?" The Mad Hatter says.
The Elf Queen is instantly lost in a flood of sweaty, dirty, people as they all flood over to the cake.
Lmao this story is such a clusterfuck now that it's all in one place
We also drew straws for who would get you a skunk for your birthday!...
Unrelated but I'm going to go marinate in tomato juice for the next 2-4,000 days.
This is super adorable lol, I love it
This was very nice of you all to make, and a lot of fun to read, well done :)
Happy belated birthday, Mizal!
I'm glad you like it!
Happy Belated Birthday! Sorry it's late, but here is my pitiful attempt at a comic. I can't draw, so don't expect anything too great.
And we all knew how these poor bastards got hold of a cake... here's what really happened that day.
Mizal, happy birthday!!
(I did shamelessly steal Mystic's pretty design. ;~))
Oh my god.
Well goodbye everyone. I can't go through this again.
It's certainly the most glamorous you've ever been. You look like you're on the red carpet for the Oscars or something.
Wow, your version is so much more brilliant!
A grand forum for a grand person! Though a little late to add to the forum, but...Happy Birthday mizal!!!
Yeah, I don't know a 'Mizal'.
A mizal on the other hand..
Extend this dick.
Fuck the extension. That ain't the real CYS.
Let it go on record that I said that.
Oh, and happy birthday. Getting that from your favorite site member in TharaApples makes you happy, right? I know it does. You don’t have to be coy about it.
I still only have a vague idea of the bullshit that made Mizal quit yesterday. I have no idea which of the bullshit situations she talks about come from which one of her jobs, but this is how I've chosen to fill in the blanks. Which, naturally, I had to do, because only I, her chronicler, can (accurately) tell you this tale. Let me tell you of the day that Mizal escaped her second job!
The sounds came early that morning. The awful, godforsaken sounds. The sounds of rusted axels squealing for mercy, and ragged, phlegmy breathing. Starting in the distance, and rapidly growing louder as the thing lurched forward at alarming speeds on its twisting wheels and sickly arms. The sound - Again and again! - of a wet, dinnerplate-sized palm slapping openly against the reinforced door of the subterranean kitchen. The Wheelchair Goblin always made itself a ubiquitous presence as soon as the shift started. Always heard, always smelled, but at least (praise be) rarely seen by many of the hopeless denizens of this kitchen. That horror belonged to the cafeteria thralls, who served the antediluvian creatures that man dare not name.
By fearful, terrible mismanagement, they were mostly killed. Beaten to death by the Bossthing, some abhorrent amalgamation of flesh that was no larger than a breadbox when it first emerged from under the floor, and grew to its heinous size by slowly eating all of the incompetent aides. Now it was a creature of toadlike bearing and bulging jaundiced eyes, who wielded a whip in one hand and a longcleaver in the other. One for the disobedient slaves, and the other for rebels.
Covered in blood and scars was our liege- who had been dragged to this abyss by nameless devils for signing a contract of lies, written by the demons who owned this awful place- They offered her the payment and power of 70 hour weeks working in this kitchen alone, but she was forced to do all manner of other tasks as the staff were one by one consumed by the Boss Goblin. It seemed as though no promises were fulfilled- There was no way, in Hell or otherwise, that this operation was legal. But there was no law down here- Only the whip, and the steam of the stewpots, filled with the bodies of those servants who had collapsed with exhaustion.
The Bossthing held hate in its small heart for Mizal in particular, for he hated all thralls whose eyes were not dead. But Mizal was resolute. She had been forced to look upon the Wheelchair Goblin in its full globulous form, and assist the creatures outside the kitchen above and beyond her calling- And she had become unbreakable. For she knew now that, other than that ancient and perverted necromancer who had been locked in his phylactery some time ago for groping too many thralls when the overseers were trying to make them work, there was no threat to her. And so it was that Mizal had nothing left to fear. Nothing but the Bossthing's knife and waiting jaws.
And yet, she couldn't help but flinch when that hand rattled the steel door again like a gong.
"FOOD! YOU CHURLS! WE DEMANDS FOODS NOW!" a garbled screech came from the other side of the door. There was an incessant shaking of the handle as the Wheelchair Goblin attempted to pick the lock with its tongue.
"Breakfast is almost ready!" The Boss Goblin said, reassuringly, "ISN'T IT!?"
The scullery slaves flinched as the Bossthing spun around, all but Mizal and this one black guy who they say had been working this shift since time began, who was found there when this kitchen was first dug into the side of the caves, and who refused to take shit from anybody. His skin was impenetrable, and his flesh was unpalatable to the Bossthing. This left only her to make an example of.
"TO YOUR STATIONS NOW, SWINE!" The Bossthing cracked his whip in the air, and the frightened thralls, once proud folk of the overworld, scuttled low like scared apes to their nooks and alcoves full of rusty and primitive tools, "BEGIN YOUR WORK AT THE POWER CRANKS, FOR TODAY, WE MICROWAVE HOSPITAL FOOD PANCAKES!"
Mizal did nothing to hide her disgust, and for this, she was lashed at, though she managed to narrowly lean back from his whip.
"... With PEANUT BUTTER!" The Bossthing added, dangerously.
The mention of the condiment caused a coo of perverse glee to gurgle out from behind the door- Mizal flinched- It was hard to forget the indescribable visage of that abhorrent thing. And it was harder not to imagine it now- It sounded like the slime it excreted was much similar to the dish, all that saliva in its throat the same awful consistency of waterlogged peanut butter.
The Thralls trembled at the mention of peanut butter, for they knew what it meant- and many slaves, trying to stay in the shadows and out of the Bossthing's notice, were already emptying burlap sacks of the unshelled legumes into The Machine.
Built from great timbers of petrified, subterranean trees, carved with leering demonic faces, the Wheel of Pain was a grindmill designed to simultaneously build one's body and break one's mind. But Mizal had long pushed the Wheel before- Mizal had long been the only pusher at the wheel, on long nights and undue hours. She spent days pushing the wheel- But she was not like the thralls. Her arms now rippled with muscle and her eyes still knew the lustre of sunlight. And so it was that Mizal had nothing left to fear... Nothing again, but the Bossthing's knife and waiting jaws. It enraged the Bossthing, lighting the embers of his small soul. He could devour her, but he could not devour her courage... And yet, he laughed sadistically at the task ahead of his enemy.
"YOU, ELF, WHO STILL DARES TO WALK UPRIGHT! GO TO YOUR STATION!"
And Mizal did, for above all, she knew there had to be at least 60 bucks at the end of all this for her great labors.
"What if you were to grind here forever?" The Bossthing said, as its sinewy hand crushed shut the clasp of Mizal's chained arm to the handle of the Wheel.
"I would not," Mizal said, simply, "I would die eventually."
"There is no death here- All thralls are eventually pulled back to the world of the living by our dark lord Asmodeus. Your ghost will push the wheel in perpetuity! Until even the hands of your immortal soul bleed with sores!"
"Endmaster lols at your Asmodeus. Lols from his mountain!"
The Bossthing growled in rage, and raised his whip in the air, but Mizal instinctively twisted around to get out of its way. With a shift of her ripped delts, she unintentionally broke her chains. The thralls watched in awe and wonderment as glimmering steel fly through the air in brittle fragments. The tiny bells of freedom- a distant thought long forgotten here- now clinked and jingled against the hot stone floor. Mizal had at long last answered the riddle of steel. She no longer feared the Bossthing's cleaver- And could she fear his waiting jaws?
So it was that Mizal, truly, had nothing left to fear. And the Bossthing now had everything to fear for.
With a primordial hiss, he raised not his whip-hand, but his cleaver, hoping to put this elf down before she could threaten him, but Mizal was radiant and contagious in her courage, and the sight of broken chains drew many tears from the wide-eyed thralls. Though language had been forgotten by many who had pushed the wheel for too long, Mizal's thesis could be felt. And inspired by this, a sun-starved thrall dove from one of the high alcoves with a chimp-like screech to bite the Bossthing's raised wrist.
"ARGH! INGRATE! YOU'VE GONE MAD! DO YOU NOT REALIZE THAT YOU LIVE BY MY BENEVOLENCE ALONE!?"
The Bossthing clawed ferociously at the thrall, who bled profusely, but his whip-scarred body was no stranger to pain. His arms and legs wrapped around the Bossthing's whole arm, his jagged nails gripped and bruised its warty skin, and his worn teeth continued to dig into the Bossthing's wrist. Incohate barks erupted from the thrall crowd, as, ever-slowly, their humanoid forms grew courage to stand on two legs and hold their stone knives and meat tenderisers high.
In pain and haste, the Boss Goblin dropped its cleaver, perhaps to reach for it with the other hand, but this foolishness was punished. Mizal immediately grabbed it and split his other hand down the middle, then raised it and caught his hand again. Slicing the massive deformed thing's arm between the ulna and radius- The two strips of boney flesh still jerking around on panicked muscles and covering her in gouts of blood. It seemed now that the Bossthing now had three arms flailing in pain, all uselessly, as Mizal tossed the cleaver aside and reached for the screeching monster's face.
"WHERE IS MINE PEANUT BUTTER!?! IT DOESN'T SOUND LIKE YOU'RE WORKING IN THERE!" Screamed the creature on the other side of the door, "YOU BETTER NOT USE THIS AS AN EXCUSE TO SKIMP ON THE NORMAL BUTTER EITHER! WE ONLY EATS MINE PANCAKED PEANUT BUTTER WHEN IT'S ALSO BUTTERED!"
"There is no peanut butter!" Mizal shouted, the fluid of crushed eyeballs welling up around her clenched thumbs "And there never will be again!"
Both goblins screamed, earsplitting enough to make the thralls flinch, but not enough to stand down. They screamed back, the one that had been on the Bossthing's arm now stamping his feet and holding the cleaver over his head with both hands, like a talisman.
The useless optic nerves clung to loose bleeding bags where eyes had been, and the enraged Bossthing tried his best to fight back. But he was blinded, in pain that was hitherto unimaginable to him, and too delirious with blood loss to form words. With a grunt of effort, Mizal swept his leg with one arm and broke him over her knee, then tossed him like a sack of potatoes before the increasingly dented door. She slowly peeled the steel door from its hinges, and then, with the horrific mound of obesity there laid bare to all unshielded eyes, she tossed the Boss Goblin upon it.
"Here is your meal, you despicable cretin! And the last one I will ever make for you!"
The Wheelchair Goblin hadn't realized what was going on until it was too late. It had already reflexively swallowed half of the Bossthing before Mizal started talking, and though she now realized her grave error in swallowing the master of her rebellious slaves, the rest was now being slowly but surely pulled down by her esophagus with the vacuumous inevitability of a stretched mozarella stick that you don't bite through all the way and you end up swallowing one end while the other end's still in your hand, but you took way too big of a bite to pull it out so you have to try and hurriedly eat the rest before you choke to death.
Wheelchair Goblin was in no danger of choking to death, of course. Years of swallowing not-quite-dead things had given its viscid digestive tract the strength of several mortal men. But it was all too keenly aware of the irony in its present state- The giant goblin's mouth, its one reliable weapon in place of its gigantic but atrophied limbs, was now taken up by one meal- While armed and angry thralls were gathering round with repurposed kitchen utensiles. It raised its one massive blubbery hand to protect itself- And four overlong fingers fell to the floor like obese eels as the biter thrall's new cleaver made its way through them, down into its brain.
The path to the surface of earth was long and winding, but Mizal was able to crawl through increasingly small caverns to the surface. Her hips got stuck at the entrance, as they did when she first came here, but she flexed her hiptoids and shattered the mouth of the cave, closing this place off forever. No one knows what became of the thralls and the eldritch wards they were charged with, but it is of no concern for us. Because the important part is that Mizal is back with us again, and victorious-- This is the extent of Mizal's present to herself this year. A monument to bullshit untolerated, and a warning to all future bullshit not to approach evermore.
Happy Belated Birthday, Mizal! Sorry I haven't been around, but I've been getting ready to move out of my cruddy apartment. Hope you've been well and had a Super Birthday!
Is this why tolkien elves are thousands of years old?