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Lamp Arpad and the Soggy Nemesis: A Chronicle of Debauchery and Debauchery

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The Fifth Tale of the Increasingly Sexual Arpads

 

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It's just all too much.

I've done so much for this kingdom. I've freed it, made it into a sprawling Empire.

Perhaps locked up in a small room, watching videos all day, I shall find some solace.

 

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I'm sure Superhungary will do fine without me. Look! We're conquering foreign lands that I don't even know about.

Like, Galicia-Volhyia? Sarkel? It's like they just make these up on the spot.

 

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We add another Kingdom to our collection. Why not.

No conquest shall relieve me of my profound sadness.

 

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I am reminded, however, to take care of one little thing.

For the first time, we have the authority to reform the succession laws of our realm.

Our best scholars tell us that we have not yet invented single-heir succession, as it is so mechanically complex and requiring scientific breakthroughs.

In the meantime, High Partition will have to do, ensuring that most of the realm doesn't break apart like a magnetic potato upon my future death.

 

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Upon my future death, I said.

Oh well. It's been a good run. For some reason, I really wish I had lived specifically three more years, but what can you do?

 

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Hi. I'm Csak.

Yeah, yeah, I know. Daddy never gave a shit about me until his first son turned out to be a flaming bastard and his second son died of a bad ankle sprain.

But now I'm Emperor Csak. Not "Csak of Shit" like dad used to call me. EMPEROR Csak. And I'm gonna milk this thing for all its worth.

How, you ask?

 

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By seducing every woman in the entire realm, of course.

What, you thought I'd conquer some new lands, go on a Crusade, or something? That's so 12th century.

In this post-imperial age, what really matters is unbounded hedonism.

Anastasia, you shall be my first.

You must be an orphanage, love, because I want to give you my kids.

 

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Oh.

It turns out that sending her dresses to seduce her while she's preggers with another man's wife isn't very subtle.

 

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Alright, alright. You know what, this was just a test run.

 

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Now that's better. She's comely, she's into whips, and she's just seventeen. We're a match made in heaven.

Is Daddy Omodej a baker, love? Because you got some buns.

 

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What do you mean, that was the worst pick up line you've ever heard, baby? Baby?

Okay, okay. Surely there was something deeply wrong with those women.

 

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Look, stop interrupting with all this "governing" stuff, OK? I have fornication to get on with.

You want to fight each other for larger chunks of "duchies"? I don't know what a douche is but go right ahead.

 

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My third target is a renowned Evil Antagonist of Oxfordshire.

I don't know what Oxfordshire is, but she's sixteen and she's hot, and I'm in.

Hey, honey, you ever get in the sack with the Csak?

 

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Oh wow, that worked. It must have been the Csak pun.

Thanks Dad, I guess.

I really must build more spacious privies pronto.

 

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Oh. Oh my.

Interrupting my ceaseless pursuit of fornication is terrible news that my son is the product of adulterous fornication.

I mean, this makes sense, because, you know, I still dont' remember ever actually getting laid before the privy last night.

 

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Well, this won't do. I may be a widespread fornicator, but how dare my wife cheat on me, those are totally different things!

The Pope, in his demented wisdom, grants us the first official divorce of the Arpads.

I undersatnd that in previous generations, we'd just murder them.

 

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Just one lover shall not satisfy my bulging csaks. Targer number four is, I understand, a Russian lass with some huge health.

Baby, you ain't seen huge boosts till you've seen what's in my pantaloons.

 

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Oh, yes. You know what, this is far better than the privy, though with increased risk of rabies.

This is the life. Women, women, and more women. Being Emperor is great.

 

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Heck, why don't I just get a new Queen too and add more fornicatory possibilities?

Number five is Bourgogne de Talleyrand. Something about that surname is disturbing to me, but I can't figure it out.

Anyway. *ahem*

Bourgogne, dear, are you French?

Because Madamn.

 

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How inconvenient. It appears that my orders to expand the privy and fill it with fluff pillows and soft light candles has not gone unnoticed.

I am being widely denounced as the adulterer King, who divorced his own wife for adultery.

Little do they know that I don't just adult, I multi-adult.

 

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Oh, well, that's a little extreme, don't you think?

Look, lady whose name I still can't pronounce, you knew the risks when you decided to ride the Emperor's csaks.

Surely I can't be held responsible in any way whatsoever.

 

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The empty void left behind has to be filled somehow. I hear she's still a looker. 62's not that old.

Sister, welcome to my chambers, for you are Number Six.

Get it? Six? Six? Sounds like-

 

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Oh, wow.

I guess I really am charming.

 

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In contrast to my fornicating, marriage seems only to ever bring problems.

No sooner had I welcomed Wife 2, does my trusted friend Rhodanthe report that Wife 2 was seen eloping with a certain Earl John.

Yes, that's right. My French wife, eloping with the British Earl who just executed my earlier lover for adultery.

And yes, that's right, the same Rhodanthe that was my ex-wife that I divorced for adultery.

What's with all the questions? I don't see anything suspicious going on.

 

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The only course of action is clear. Bourgogne the Wife 2, and Earl John the executor of my Lover 1, will both have to be punished.

Rhodanthe, my ex-wife, how very nice of you to let me know all this was happening so that I could take action. You're a good sort.

 

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Sadly, though, this now means you know far too much.

You know, if we knew it'd come to this, we should have just skipped the whole divorce thing. I guess our ancestors were wiser.

 

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Goodbye, old friend.

 

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And now, time for Wife 3. Branimira has the unfortunate habit of writing journals, which leave behind paper trails. She's also, ugh, Serbian.

But she's comely as comely gets, so we'll overlook it.

 

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Ah. All that fornicating, and I'm now suffering from the deadly disease of obesity.

Were the physicians right when they said sadomasochism does not provide enough exercise on its own?

 

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We'll never know, because I'm not going to stop fornicating now.

For the first time in my long life of orgies and three marriages, I decide to try sleeping with my wife.

 

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And now, I don't feel so well.

 

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Still, it wasn't for naught. I have finally acquired a legitimate heir!

I'll call him, oh, I think I heard something that rolls off nicely off the tongue at a party last night, what was it?

Bene Dick. Yes, that's a great name. He'll be Bene Dick Arpad.

I'm sure he'll love it when he grows up.

 

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Now that I have a legitimate son, son, you're my son no longer.

I shall raise Bene Dick to be a great King. He'll get a royal education, preparation for the throne, the way Dad Orban never did for me.

 

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Oh, what say? Now, now, I'm sure this talk of a murder plot is nonsense. I've led such a peaceful life, I have no enemies at all!

 

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Oh.

"Obesity complications", my ass.

Good luck, little Bene Dick. You'll need it.

Grow strong and big in my absence.

 

 

Edited by The Ghost of Veggius van Bronckhorst

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now I see the pics, and have regaled myself with the horrors of obese granny-shagging

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Well, in that case, time for

The Sixth Tale of the Increasingly Sadistic Arpads

 

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Why, hello.

I'm Benedick Arpad, Emperor of Carpathia, King of Hungary, Serbia, Wallachia, Moldavia, and probably a few other places.

This story begins just days after my birth, when Daddy Csak decided to literally get too fat to continue living, and I was but a comely infant.

 

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Keeping the Empire in a regency after a widely derided predecessor wasn't easy, though.

To stave off civil war, we gave away all the lands that we couldn't pronounce, which seemed like a reasonable policy at the time.

 

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This Mom Chill decided that he would take a big, ugly slice of land that we could pronounce, though.

Such insults I had to deal with, while I was also busy trying to figure out how to wear pants.

It taught me that the world is full of dicks, and I had to be the biggest, absolute filthiest dick of them all.

 

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Look, you knew this was going to happen, my dad literally named me a lover of dicks.

 

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I also embraced dick in the figurative sense from a young age.

 

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My only solace in this cold, dark world is Choplicker.

He brings me hope that perhaps, were things different, men would not be so evil, and all the people, we could live in peace.

I know, I know. Just idle fantasies.

 

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And so, after sixteen long years of largely impotent wailing, I came.

Uh, of age. Came of age.

There were some who believed that my charming, physically unobtrusive ways had the making of a wise and friendly Emperor.

Little did they know that within my loins hid truly treacherous snakes. And it is now time for them to come out of the closet.

 

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I mean, all my Dukes are trying to kill me anyway, so surely I need to dick them all over before it happens, right?

 

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Come now, Duke Konrad. I wasn't torturing you for secrets. You don't think I'll stop, do you?

It's amazing how much power a little cutting and bleeding will give you.

This is how I rule, and they'll have to get used to it.

 

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Counts are no exception to my gentle dicking.

At one point, I think literally every vassal in the entire realm had personally been tortured by their Emperor.

It's almost like democracy!

 

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Choplicker, no!

He had accompanied me everywhere, to my first gay rave party, to my first council meeting, to my first torture session.

And now he was gone.

There is no respite from cruelty in this world. And if cruelty's the name of the game, then I am going to excel like a hard shaft.

 

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Meanwhile, life goes on, and so does the work of torture.

 

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I also branch out into assassinations.

At last count, we had about eight peasant uprisings during my reign, and each and every one of them were quelled by murdering the leader.

After a while, they got used to it. Oh, they'd rise up with their pitchforks and roam the land, trying to tell themselves it mattered. But they knew it was only a matter of time before their next leader would be found with their head chopped up and fed to pigs.

 

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The nobility were, meanwhile, largely kept in line with blackmail.

Look, if you don't want me to rule with intimidation and threats, maybe you shouldn't ever be found naked. Ever.

 

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My wife reports that she is with child, but I cannot believe that it is mine.

Um, you know that I'm, you know, that way, right? Have we ever even slept together?

 

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She assures me that the child is mine.

We'll see, lady. We'll see.

 

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My son and heir, Borisz, is born with a tuft of uncontrollable blonde hair.

He really doesn't look like an Arpad.

 

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Well, never mind. If wife wants to raise our kid then that's good with me. I'm too busy fornicating to care.

Look, the Arpads already mastered heterosexual promiscuity. It only makes sense that I'd add to the family achievements.

 

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People start to whisper about how Bene Dick puts his shaft in the wrong chutes.

I have them murdered.

 

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People start to speak openly about my wrongful shafting.

I have them all murdered.

 

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The Popelawyers visit to inform me that my marriage with Naggy Zenobia is actually dangerously close to incest, and we must divorce at once.

Fine with me, she already got me a son.

Wait, what did you say? I have three sons?

I really don't remember that.

 

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You see? I knew it.

Borisz, my first son, is a god damned bastard.

 

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Oh, I didn't know that. Largely because I didn't know I had three sons.

Zoltan, my second son, is also a god damned bastard.

 

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That leaves us with Istczszvan, our neglected third son, as the sole heir.

We'll just try to make sure we never check his birth records.

 

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Life goes on, so, so slowly. Years pass into decades, and the realm is quiet.

I guess at this point everyone is so afraid of me that there are no mutinies, no plots.

Yet this peace only depresses me further.

I have worked my entire life to be the biggest dickface. And for what? Who shall enjoy the fruits of my labours?

 

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Istczszvan "The Deer Is A False Flag" Arpad, the conspiracy theorist?

 

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My Eldest Boris, now bastarding it up god knows where, and then getting himself neutered?

 

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Or my second son Zoltan the Bastard, who went off to join a holy order?

That's got to be the worst of the lot.

 

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Oh.

I mean, just look. My own children. The son of bene dick has no dick, and the other son gets himself killed by some Kara-Khitai.

What is even the point?

 

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Well, I've decided.

First, I arrange for my hapless heir Ishtivan to be married. To make up for his own idiocies, I ensure that I find the smartest woman in the realm.

I can only hope that his future will be brighter than mine.

 

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All is ready. I am ready.

It has been such a long struggle. So many tortures. So many murders.

I deserve neither long life nor heavenly grace.

 

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Is that you, son?

Oh, that's no good. You're going to have even more nightmares to build conspiracy theories around.

Well, gotta go.

 

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Fifty-eight long years on the throne, and it all ends here.

With a tombstone that calls me a "renown sodomite".

Maybe there is some kindness in the world after all.

 

 

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all of the realm knew that emperor bender has been dead inside ever since the day shaftlicker died. it is for the best

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