The Place of Gathering

I was having difficulty with this section of my chapter, because I felt like I was moving too slowly and that I was describing things excessively. Any criticism is appreciated!

The Place of Gathering

Sitting on an ancient, leather chair, an old, well-preserved man, was stroked his beard contemplatively. Staring at a piece of paper that he was gripping with strength peculiar to a man of his age, his piercing, ice blue eyes scanned the paper continuously. A wild, frightened look increasing the intensity of his gaze, he began to wordlessly mouth the words, memorizing them. Proceeding in this manner, his eyes and expression began to lose their feverish light. Gradually, they reduced into seemingly emotionless, but equally luminous orbs.

Resting his head on the back of his chair, his golden hair streaming behind him, he chuckled weakly, mirthlessly, disbelievingly. After a pause, he spoke in a hoarse, but strong voice, speaking to himself, “I have failed, the Council has failed, and they expect me to make the decision to rest the literal weight of the world, on the actions of seven children, who will in all likelihood, fail.” Muttering in an exhausted tone, he whispered, astounded, “Children.” Slowly moving forward, he transferred the paper onto the solid, ornately carved desk situated before him.

Surveying the large, intricately decorated room, his eyes rested on a large gilded mirror. Watching the swiftly moving figures contained in its reflective surface, tears unexpectedly started to course down his sharply contoured cheeks, and down his prominent nose. Dragging his gaze from the mirror and its now happily frolicking inhabitants, he rested his head on his hands, in a posture of defeat, allowing himself to be consumed by uttermost despair. For that was all he could do at this moment, despair, and he despised himself because of it.

Inhaling and exhaling in an apparent attempt to silence his raging thoughts and emotions, he reached over the surface of his desk, and brought his long, elegant fingers down upon a silver sphere. Instantaneously, his study transformed into a regular, contemporary conference room, with the exception of ancient weapons decorating the walls.

Rising gracefully from his chair, he walked confidently, his carriage proud and distinguished, between the two tables. As he walked, his Renaissance inspired clothing was skillfully removed and replaced with a black robe by invisible machines. So fast were the machines that the action seemed identical to the special effects employed in movies: effortless, unexpected, and completely invisible. As his old clothes vanished, so did his expression of defeat. Displaying one’s emotions for the world to observe, was evidencing of weakness, and Leonardo was not weak.

Reaching the boundary of the room, he paused in front of the enormous, metal doors. Firmly pressed his hand on the cool, metal surface, he stated in Latin, loudly and distinctly, “I, Leonardo Da Vinci, thirteenth member of the Black League, and president of this revered confederation, most urgently beseech all members to assemble at this traditional meeting-place, from every corner of this world in which each resides, to confer and discourse upon matters of most extreme importance.” Removing his now quivering hand from the reassuringly immovable door, his chest heaving with restrained emotions; he gazed towards the heavens and shouted imploringly, desperately, “So help me, God!” Looking downwards, he added, every feature in his face contorted in weariness, “Us, so help us, God.” Limping back towards his desk, for once his age showing in his movements, he whispered, head bent, “All of us.”

Settling himself carefully into his chair, he straightened his back resolutely, and staring towards a now shimmering seat, he fixed a look of defiance and determination on his weary features. With a barely audible crack, a black-haired woman appeared, dressed in a suit of hardened leather, covered with polished, silver mail. Turning her head imperiously towards Leonardo, she questioned, black eyes shining unwaveringly, each syllable carefully pronounced in her heavily French accented voice, “I shall refrain from questioning you for details, Leonardo, as to why this meeting has been convened, but I request this much, will there be terrible consequences if we fail once more?”

Maintaining his look of composure, Leonardo stated, eyes fixed on the distant, luminous moon, visible through the thick glass windows, “Too terrible to even begin to comprehend, Joan, if we fail.”

Paling momentarily, Joan blinked twice and said, “Very well, we must not fail then, it is as simple as that, but so much more difficult in the doing than the saying.”

After this ominous statement, both sat in silence as all of the chairs began to glow and the remaining eleven members appeared simultaneously.