Talos II

Starting after this post, I'm going to make updates every Wednesday and Saturday.  However, starting with this one, I'm going to make them approximately half the length of what they are normally, as that way I won't be posting absolutely every single thing that I write, and perhaps it will make it a bit more digestible.  Opinions on either of these matters?

And there he sat, the most powerful man in the world, able to shape the entire world as he saw fit, influencing the lives of millions with a single epistle, even a word from his lips.  The legends and how they were depicted, in statues, friezes, mosaics, or even on pottery, would show men such as this to be as physically powerful as they truly were, a physique to rival the gods, should they feel bold enough.  Yet here he sat, the most powerful man in the world, old enough to be Talos’s grandfather and frail enough that he could be overtaken by a child.  He sat there, his hunched and withered form bent over a table, almost enveloped by the mountain of scrolls piled about him, many half-open and strewn about.  His hair was white and wiry, well trimmed except for his beard, which grew long and the appearance of a learned philosopher.

As Talos circled about and drew closer, he was able to get a better view, a sight which he had no beheld in some fifteen years, and how it had aged.  His face was still long and his skin still tanned, but it had aged so much in this time.  The skin now clung desperately to his bones, lines crossing it as a draped cloth, his eyebrows bushy and wiry blazes of white.  However, as Talos drew yet closer to the massive table which served as his desk, the Princeps looked up and their eyes met.  His body was growing old and weary, but his eyes were still bright and shown with the same fierce determination as when they had last met, and Talos assumed that he always had.  They were a light blue, stabbing out from his darkened skin.

Talos went down onto his left knee, then both, and finally dropped his head down, eyes gazing at the floor.  He began to mutter out, “Gnaeus Loftus Vexillus Majoris.”  He took a pause, a shallow breath in before continuing, “First citizen of the Senate, father of the State, revered among men, lord of…”

“Pah!” interjected the seated man, causing the man on his knees to sharply raise his head and look up at him.  “You came here because I demanded it, not because you have some problem to drop into my lap, begging for my aid.”  He was gesturing with stylus still in hand, having been writing on a tablet of wax.  “In fact, I summoned you here because I need you to help this old man with something he is unable to do himself.  Come, get off your knees like some peasant and join me at the window.”  He put down his stylus and pushed against the table with both arms in an effort to stand himself, his cushioned chair’s wooden feet scraping ever so briefly against the marble flooring, only next to grab an old gnarled piece of wood he used as a walking stick.  Gnaeus was only able to hobble over still, walking short distance to the balcony, resting both hands on it once there.

Talos followed behind him and came up to his left side, himself resting both hands on the railing, drinking in the gardens below.  A long rectangular pool stretched out before them, lined by a hedge of an Alder shrub on either side, and the walls on the flanks of the garden had numerous tall, narrow Cypresses standing vigil.  The far side had a colonnade covered in a flowering vine, but it was too far off to be able to tell of what.  Songbirds wove together songs of love to one another rand pheasants meandered lazily about, picking at the ground for grubs.