THE NATIONAL ORCHESTRA OF THEUNITED KINGDOM OF GOATS

e COMPENDIUM

FRAGMENT TWO

e Corido

THE PROPAGANDA OFFICE OF THEUNITED KINGDOM OF GOATS

REVISION 2.2

INTRIGUINGREVEALINGCONFIDENTIAL

- 5 -

The corridor

The overseer slowly started to wake up. Through a vision

still blurry he caught a glimpse of where he was. “This must be the

corridor” he thought to himself. The two war-guards were still

dragging him along. Somehow they managed to get out of that

massive riot down at the camp without any scratch, though their

axes were bloodstained. A sudden and incredibly painful sting

ripped the overseer out of his dream-state and pulled him back

into the world of the living. It was his nasty wound. He tried to

find out if it was still bleeding but it was too dark. One of the war-

guards realized that he was back and looked at him, smiling

wickedly.

"It's good to have you back overseer. We already thought we

would have to make you another one of those in order to wake

you up. You mortals should be proud to even have blood flowing

through you". He laughed out loud and bold, unwilling to hide the

sarcasm in his voice.

- 6 -

The overseer however tried to make his feet follow his will

again, but he had a hard time in doing so. He felt uncomfortable

and ashamed. He, the overseer of the fifth battalion, one who had

seen countless wars and battles. It was a sorry state he found

himself in.

The pain in his shoulder did not go away, but none of the

war-guards seemed to have any intention in giving him some kind

of rest or time to recover. They had orders. And apparently their

orders were strict. He had to be delivered to the high council. The

overseer did the best he could to make his appearance look less

pitiful. It was the high council he was being presented at after all.

As his senses slowly crept back into his head he started to feel a

little unwell, to say the least. Why on Phoebal was he treated like a

prisoner? The hands of the war-guards formed shackles as tight as

chains. It did not at all look like they were escorting him. There

was nothing for him to do as to wait an see. Besides, he did not

have any particular desire to wander around alone in this

frightening place either.

This must be the corridor. The corridor, as it was called by

most commoners. It was some kind of hallway at the very center

of the fortress of the Kramh. Rumors had it that it was the only

way to get to the throne room of the high council. But no one

knew for sure. Few people ever entered here. And most of them

were of a high position inside the Kramh. And high ranked officers

serve the population with information in very rare cases. And it

would've been hard to tell anyone anything about his place

anyway, as it was so dark that even if the whole place burned, the

fire itself would've been choked by this strangulating darkness.

- 7 -

One of the few things the overseer managed to see was that the

floor was made of dark-bluish stone tiles with countless carvings

on them. Carvings in a language that he did not speak. They were

finely arranged and almost perfectly cut. The overseer had never

seen anything like it. To the left and right of the hallway there

were pillars reaching up a few meters high. Only a few candles

were attached to them every now and then, giving some light. The

further the overseer looked up, the darker it got. Still he seemed

to catch some slight movements in the dark up there on the

ceiling. But then again, it could be his weary mind playing tricks

on him. Only the torch one of the war-guards held shed some light

to make out that they were not floating inside the ain soph

already. Every now and then there were small groups of three or

four Kramh standing around a pillar concentrated on performing

some kind of ritual. There was always one scribbling some words

or drawings on a pillar while the other two or three stood around

him chanting. Every group seemed to sing the same phrase over

and over again. Something like “The sleepless are dreaming with

him.” The words did not make any sense to the overseer. He did

not dare to palpably look at them, the gods only know what they

were up to. He kept his gaze pinned to the floor and kept on

walking with his companions.

The further they came, the more the strength of the war-

guards seemed to increase, almost impending the blood to flow

through his veins. The overseer felt a strong aura radiating from

them. An aura that was choking his thoughts. This place was

horrid. With every step he took things kept getting stranger. He

heard voices. Whispers. His head started to spin and his vision

- 8 -

became blurry again. The war-guards were unimpressed by all of

this. Was he the only one feeling it? Was it his wound that was

playing games with his wit? As the whispers started to get louder

and louder he started to lose his reason and felt like the walls of

the hallway were whispering at him, talking to him. Was he still

dreaming and floating unconscious somewhere?

“What is this place? Get me out of here! Do you hear them?

The walls! They are whispering to me! The are talking to me!

What is this?” he screamed in anguish almost beyond reason.

“The walls aren't talking to you, overseer. You are talking to

them. They are merely answering you. And besides, we are almost

near the gate. And you can surely imagine that the opening of the

gate is nothing a mortal should ever witness.”

And as soon as he finished the sentence the other war-guard

pulled out his axe and hit him straight in the face with its shaft

knocking him unconscious once more. He fell to floor to be

dragged around again.

“How unpleasant. I hope he doesn't get used to passing out

twice a day.” one war-guard said to the other, and both burst out

in laughter. The overseer however faded from consciousness

again, but anything was better than hearing walls speak to you, he

thought to himself as he drifted away.

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Written and published by

The National Orchestra of the United Kingdom of Goats

(www.ukog.net)

Eternal bliss be yours.