THE NATIONAL ORCHESTRA OF THEUNITED KINGDOM OF GOATS

e COMPENDIUM

FRAGMENT THREE

e Cognitive Conscius

THE PROPAGANDA OFFICE OF THEUNITED KINGDOM OF GOATS

REVISION 2.2

INTRIGUINGREVEALINGCONFIDENTIAL

- 9 -

The cognitive conscious

The overseer was dragged into a large hall and thrown

down some stairs onto the floor. He was badly beaten up. The

room was a round arena-like hall built in the shape of a circle. It

had an outer ring a few a feet wide that was built around the

whole room that must’ve been used as a tribune. The stairs over

which he was thrown let down from that tribune. The overseer

was now lying face-down on the center of the floor, with countless

wounds bleeding and his mouth almost unable to move. He felt

defeat. For a moment he forgot that there was something amiss

and that something bad was due to happen soon. The overseer of

the 5th battalion of the Kramh was lying in a pool of his own blood

and sweat. He was embarrassed. Up from the outer ring one of the

war-guards yelled: “Overseer! Get up on your feet. You will have

company soon.” But he did not see any reason to do so. By now it

was certain, that he hasn’t been brought to the council for the

audience he requested. He was here for something else. Whatever

it was, he did not know.

- 10 -

The other of his two guards was standing next to him,

waiting for him to get up. “Move, you worthless traitor.” he said.

Traitor! He just called him a traitor. The blood in the overseer’s

veins froze. Did this ruthless savage, that calls himself a war-

guard, really just call him a traitor? He, who spent his whole life in

service of the Kramh, he who fought countless wars on the first

lines of battle for them. “You call me a traitor?” he replied with a

cynic smile on his bleeding face. “Who are you anyway? You

nameless slave! You’re doing nothing but pushing an overseer

around and randomly beating him up. What have you achieved?

Tell me. Where are your victories? Wherein lays your honor?”

Enough of them doing as they please, he tried to push himself up

with his hands to show them what he was made of. Still on his

knees he was abruptly halted, though. A swift kick into the side of

his stomach brought him back to the floor. “That’s where you

belong, you filthy little maggot.” commented the war-guard.

“Enough of this!” he heard someone yell from across the

hall. “Thank you war-guards. You’ve had your fun, now it’s time

for the officials to take over. Retire to your posts outside the

tribunal” The overseer did not care to turn his face around to see

who was speaking up. He had already resigned. Whatever they

would throw at him now, he was prepared to meet it. Mumbling

something about death-wishes, treason and some other random

insults, the war-guard moved away.

“Well now, overseer. So we finally get the chance to meet

you.” continued the voice. Now that these war-guards were no

longer in range to aggravate him, he slowly stood up to see who

these so-called “officials” were supposed to be. Right behind him

- 11 -

stood some kind of delegation of about a dozen men and women.

Some of them must’ve been priests. The rest of the party was

more war-guards. Two figures at the center though were clothed

notably more elegant. The two, a woman and a man, walked

straight up to him. The party stood there for a moment without

saying anything, just watching him. The overseer realized now

who those two nobles were. He had already seen them countless

times on frescos and other imagery, as statues, on various

ceremonial occasions throughout the daily life in the empire. They

were part of the high council.

The woman was called Mynashaar. Mynashaar, the tactician.

A strategist of high class she was. As a consultant to the high

warlord she was responsible for many great victories achieved

only through her perfect ability to foresee the enemy’s moves. She

was a young woman, of tall and skinny appearance, with long

black hair wearing an elegant long black dress. Around her waist a

silver belt was tied loosely, onto which a small bag was attached,

in silver as well. Her face was pale and her eyes pitch black. Her

lips were colored black also. She wore no rings, necklaces or any

other sort of jewelry. In her hand she held a staff long at least two

meters. It was a simple wooden staff with no ornamentation at all.

Her face did not show any emotion. If she wouldn’t have moved,

the overseer would have thought her dead. She spoke slowly and

deliberate. Every word she said felt like she already planned it for

days in advance.

Walking beside her was High Warlord Ras Eom, a strong

man wearing full battle plating, shiny and polished just as if it had

just been forged. The overseer had seen him a million times, for he

- 12 -

was the high warlord of the Kramh forces. He was a man who took

great pride in being ready for battle at every occasion and fighting

wars first handed with honor and dedication. A hundred scars on

his face told silent tales of thousands of skirmishes. A cape of

black silk hung around his back and he held his helm under his

right arm. Ras Eom used to travel a lot and inspect his troops on

the frontlines on every occasion. He was most feared among the

overseer’s commanders, as he used to punish anyone harshly that

did not follow his orders strictly. It occurred to the overseer

himself once that he came to inspect the troops at a battle he was

leading. North of E’Sho he was tasked with the total extinction of a

village of locals that refused to help fuel the war efforts of the

Kramh trying to expand the borders to the north. Orders were

strict. The villager’s don’t consider them allies of the Kramh? Then

the Kramh consider them dead. No prisoners. At all. The Kramh

laid siege to the village and assaulted it continuously, four to five

times a day. After one of those assaults a soldiers came back with

a captured man he found out in the woods, claiming that it could

always prove convenient to hold someone captive. Warlord Ras

Eom’s punishment for ignoring his orders was the execution of the

soldier, decapitating him right on the spot. But the soldier’s

superior overseer met his fate as well. He was hung upside down

from a rope, with his throat cut open just a bit to not let him die,

but enough to let him bleed constantly. And every morning Ras

Eom came back to freshly cut the wound back open to make sure

it would still be bleeding. Until that man was nothing more but

skin and bones hanging dead from that rope.

- 13 -

And now both of them were standing before the overseer.

Although it was pretty unusual for the high-council to not show up

collectively, it did not matter for the overseer. He just wished to

clarify what was going on here. The time had come to speak up. He

thought it best to ignore all that which happened and just pretend

to bring forward the plea as he had thought it out countless times

in his head before the war-guards made a wreck of him. So he

stood ready, bowed down, as graceful as his bruised body allowed

him to, and spoke up.

“I bow before the high council. As one of the Kramh I was

born and as one of them I shall die. As such I fight to bring glory

and devo-”

“Cut it, overseer,” the overseer was harshly interrupted by

Ras Eom. “You hold no devotion whatsoever for anyone in this

room or anything the Kramh stand for. I should discipline you

myself right here, right now.”

The overseer panted for air. His heart was beating like war

drums. Rousing Ras Eom’s fury never ends well, for none of the

involved.

Mynashaar though tried to calm him down. “We’re not here

to discuss his loyalty to us or the Kramh or anyone, Warlord. The

time for that shall come. But it certainly is not now.” She turned to

the overseer and said: “Well. Sil Faham, overseer of the 5th

battalion of the Kramh, you had matters to discuss?”

Copyright © 2012

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