Jostled Rationalism

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Jostled
Rationalism

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I've had the idea up there in my head for a couple of weeks now, crafting it as I went, reading up on stuff and just generally brain storming. Got a lot on my mind recently, though I'm going to take a stab at this anyways. I've done the title tonight, which took about twenty minutes on its own. (Ie, it's summarized the entire general story)

Setting: Early in the 17th Century within the island nation Japan, a great man strides across oak covered floors, his body weaning slightly to the left, his figure large and growing rotten with time. His face is of a red hue, his breath another piece to the mysterious man. Fine drink rests upon his lips, lingering until his gloved hand draws a towel to wipe the survivors free from his face. Grand and lavish golden doors open to what few ever see in their life, his face though appearing to be covered with the thickest of iron veils. Cast askew, gold seems like nothing but a rock to these men, their own minds caught up in their tight faces and stiff body movements, like they two are meaningless rocks.. The large man takes a few steps and then a few paces across the floor, the apprehension in the room could be cut with a knife and used to feed half of the world it seemed. Abundant it was, never the less. A few figures bowed and then the larger man followed with them, lowering his head and torso; but one did not. One figure would remain a cold slab of granite until all else had finished. Because he was the last, because he was the figure who was golden, yet not made of the substance. The older figure no longer weaned, and his breaths became drawn in. All was harmonious as the Emperor bowed slightly.












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