He sat back down in his chair and closely watched the horrific and colourful images that danced on the wall. "How can a truth be hidden for a thousand years?" he wondered. "For a thousand years no one has even imagined that the very fabric of life itself, had nearly become death for every living thing beneath the sun." He looked at the fiery scourge projected onto the wall, then lowered his head and pondered heavily. How could he tell his people in Phoride, the truth about the past. That the knowledge about it was subdued by fanatic religious rulers, in their attempt to subjugate total control over them. Fear for the Divine Punishment made them surrender their faith and submit to the worship of a handful of man, as their gods. Brook had long been a powerful man. He was one from the Great Line of Knowledge, yet he wasn't like most of those other men. In his heart he heard the multitudes of voices that screamed and cried out their pleas to him, to reveal the truth and thus lift the burdens from their backs and let them live in peace. His soul embraced everything that he knew was right and to himself, he nodded an agreement. The time had come to be strong again and to no longer sit idly by and watch evil, as it has its own way in his land. He moved back in his chair when he heard the sounds of the Monastic Guard, marching in the city square and the painful screams of men and women, that echoed between the buildings and out towards the hills. Brook knew that these people were being blasted by with the lightning-like bolts from the Guard's electrophoric weapons. His strong and gentle hands slowly rose to his face as he sank down into his chair. He set his elbows on his knees and he cleaved to the thoughts within his mind, trying to force himself to remain in the deepest meditation. He felt the hours pass, until dreams soon began to visit him, making him lose himself and his worries to the mask of the night. With the coming of his last conscious breath before sleep, he recalled some of the words that his father said to him, upon his deathbed. "Brook, my son ... do not let the land become troubled. Don't be afraid to fight because the horrifying torments of war can become a tool that may prevent future afflictions." Brook was asleep and everything in the room was left unveiled for any eye to see. Although the pictures on the wall had ceased, everything was left in open view. Each thing presented a danger to Brook's rule and power. The cool breezed night soared into dawn's amber glory. The sun slowly began to illuminate the room and a robed figure carefully crept in, much in the manner of a thief, yet it didn't take a thing. It had moved softly and with purpose towards the white wall, where it drew the drapes shut. Then it moved towards the cabinet where it closed its doors with a faint click, and again left the room in much the same manner as it had entered.