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#GameOf'Trónes - Book the First: Rager at Bielski's

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“Fuck dammit, Bielski!” a gruff voice exclaimed to the king, “We have to pull our men off the front lines, this excursion into the shadow of Mount Fuckboy was just a massive cock measuring match with those fucking Tylandians! You’re not fit to run a fucking kingdom! I’m the true Bielski!” the man slammed his fists down on top of King Bielski’s desk, rattling the dumb useless dad joke gag gifts sitting on top, two of the motion sensitive toys activated, immediately causing one to make obnoxious farting noises, while the other began singing a parodied version of ‘Wild Thing’ by The Troggs. “Fucking answer me Bielski!”

King Bielski sat in a comically large office chair, the kind any normal villainous businessman would sit in. His chair was turned away from the enraged man, facing a large bay window looking out towards the expansive kingdom he had built. He began clapping his hands as though the angry man’s profuse yelling was all in vain. He slowly turned the chair in an insidious manner, all the while still clapping while sporting a grin that could kill.

The man now got his first glimpse of the king since last harvest, and it was plain to see why no one else in his kingdom hadn’t either. Bielski was a tall pale man, crooked jew nose, and he usually had a perpetually unshaven dirtstache, but now he had really let himself go. He now sported a small ponch, he had a patchy beard of dark brown and a mustache only a smalltime drug dealer would have, a wispy pencil stache, his hair had grown out to his shoulders and hadn’t been washed in what appeared to be months, half a bite of a dried up Italian submarine sandwich was entangled and stuck in his unkempt mess of hair, along with what looked like two mustard packets and a baby bird.

“Are you saying you can run my country better than me, José?” Bielski finally spoke.

This caught the man offguard.

“W-well no, m’lord. I just…”

“You just what?!” Bielski interrupted.

“I-uh… Sir, please, I was out of line to address you like th…”

“Guards!” Bielski interrupted once more, “Head off with his.”

“Sire, you mean ‘Off with his head’?” the door guard asked.
Bielski contorted his smug face and nodded.

“Guard!” Bielski called for a second guard to enter the room. “Head off his with as well.”

Without skipping a beat the second guard unsheathed a giant phallus shaped scimitar and beheaded the first guard, a violent spray of blood erupted from the newly formed stump that replaced the man’s melon. José saw this and instinctively shit himself with such force as to blow it out the seat of his trousers, all the while a fine mist of the plasma coated his face, along with everything else in the room. The guards headless corpse walked around with its arms outstretched as though it was reaching out for a hug momentarily before collapsing into a heap of gore on the oak floor.

“Pl-please sir, no!” José pleaded, he raised his hands to protect himself but the guard came down with the sword, amputating all of the fingers on José’s left hand and completely removing his right arm up to the elbow. No more sound came from José’s mouth as he stared slack jawed in shock at the lack of digits which now bequeathed him.

The guard raised the sword once more above his head and let it fall, sinking deep into José’s skull. He turned the blade side to side, as he did a sickening cracking of skull bone was clearly audible. José’s eyes rolled upwards into the sockets and he began seizing. The guard tried pulling the sword out but it was lodged deep in José’s cranium, so he placed his boot on José’s face and pulled back as hard as he could on the handle. Instead of the blade being freed José’s face caved inwards, brain being extruded around the guard’s boot like molding clay.

Bielski had a smile on his face from ear to ear, his faced painted red from the blood. He simply wiped it off with his hands and signaled for the guard to remove the corpses and to get the maids to clean up his office.

“Oh yeah, guard, don’t let anymore dickshits sneak into my confide, or I’ll José your ass too.”
The guard nodded and began to exit.

“Wait, one more thing. Leave the blood and viscera on the walls, I needed a new paint job anyways.”

As the guard left, a new figure entered the room, he was a robed figure with prayer beads and a bald head. Bielski’s spiritual advisor.

“Ah, yeah. Imashamed, it’s great to see you again. How was the pilgrimage through the Shitlord desert?” Bielski greeted the religious man with grandeur in his voice.

“It was…” he let out a sigh, “Great. Let’s talk about you drafting me into your terrible military, causing me to break my code of nonviolence, later. No one in the kingdom has seen you in a long time, m’lord. We need a public figure out there, giving the people hope. It’s chaos in the streets. There’s talk about a revolution. We don’t need this right now, we need to band together our forces and motivate them to drive the Fuckboys back to the mountain, before Mexican Winter arrives. Believe me Bielski, Mexican Winter is coming.”

Bielski looked up from his desk and nodded his head in understanding.

“Fine, I’ll make a public appearance. Show the people I still care, it’s just that after her death I haven’t been in the caring mood.”

“M’lord, your Pacific Islander wife didn’t die, I actually saw her in her chambers as I came in. She actually looked content, does she even realize you’ve been absent from the throne this long, she seemed pretty oblivious?” the monk said.

“Oh shit, that’s right she didn’t die, I got her confused with Lori from The Walking Dead while I was really high one night. That was a great episode, remember when Coral had to…”

“Sir, I haven’t seen that episode yet…” the monk interrupted.

“Bro, that’s only like season three. Seriously? If you haven’t been keeping up with this shit from that long ago, you deserve spoilers.”

As the two kept on arguing over plot detail of a feverishly bullshit television series a large flaming boulder, coated in tar and animal feces exploded through the brick wall of Bielski Castle, making a paste of the monk and throwing Bielski out of his bay window and thirteen stories downward. The bad news was he landed in a moat that surrounded the castle, the other bad news was it was crocodile infested. The good news being Bielski never paid anyone to maintain the moat or keep the crocodiles alive.

The OTHER bad news being the three ton desk made of pure marble descended from the office into the moat behind him after he had hit the water.
Right outside the kingdom a siege tower came into view, along with an army, hauling catapults, which were ceaselessly firing these flaming, shit coated, boulders into the city. Atop the tower stood the worst general the continent had ever been victim to behold…

Teddy.

“Hehe, I knew that fuckboiii liked getting penetrated deep by me, hey squire, wanna free lightshow, bro? Maybe let me crash on your couch for like a week?" Teddy said in a lisp, as he lowered his binoculars, with a smirk on his face you’d want to punch off if you ever saw it. It seemed to be permanently stuck to his cock sucking face.