"What are these nuts up to now?" Lancelot whispered.
"With that thing and the energy-emanating body of William Oaths what do you think? Look." Vanilla responded.
The man at the podium above the pharaonic sarcophagus cleared his throat, and his crimson followers straightened their backs, like recruits listening to a drill Sargeant, except that it looked like they genuinely liked and followed the bald man of greybeards.
The son of the grave-keeper kept listening with his anger-repressed face, the fire of the torches around reflecting light on his light-brown hair.
"Brothers, Sisters... For years we've been in our search to find the sacred chamber, with no success despite our numerous and valiant efforts through whole decades. We even departed from the main brotherhood and followed our own path to revelation. Their obsolete mindset is what held us for so long from finding what has always been exposed to our eyes."
