Plaiddragon's Plots
Princess of the Bow
Prologue
Penny: This story is sort of a choose-your-own-adventure story. It starts out with a Prologue and Chapter 1, and then there are two paths to follow for Chapter 2, and so on... The story is not completely written by me, and you are free to send in new contributions. More information will be at the bottom of each chapter with the links to the continuations.
The bright music filled the room, the rhythmic beat of the drums pounding like a heartbeat, invigorating the listeners with its vibrant sound. The bright, brassy instruments called and fanfared, creating a swirling rhythm of joy and hidden intricacy. The music was filled with life, life it gave to the room around it and the dancers within it.
On either side of a slightly raised portion of floor the musicians played, lost in the intensity of their music. Cradled by the music, and swept up in it, the dancers - all female- swirled and jumped. The rest of the room was filled with merrymakers, feasting, joking and gossiping. Their clothes were of silk, satin, and even the occasional softly gleaming velvet. On their backs or draped over their chairs were cloaks of rank, richly embroidered with their badges and symbols of rank. Not a single cloak was unadorned, and a few were so fully covered one could not tell the original color of the cloak. The dancers leapt and swirled in loose pants and tight shirts of soft, silky materials, veils and shawls flashing in time to the rhythm.
Finally, the music faded and the dancers stopped, bowing. The few actually paying attention clapped or whistled, and even fewer rewarded them with a thrown coins. Others clapped politely, while some made no pretense of noticing the performance or its end. The dancers bowed again and stepped back through a curtain, which no doubt hid a door to a performers' room.
The music continued to be silent, and the next act did not step forward. Those who had been watching soon began to call for the next act, yelling for the musicians to start up. Others wondered idly what was going on, but most continued their petty conversations, perhaps with a word about the poorness of entertainers these days.
Soon however, even those who had not been making any pretense at paying attention were looking at the stage, wondering what was going on. When every last one of those pretentious nobles was watching, I signaled my musicians. My power instruments- the brass and drums to the right of the stage- stayed silent. It was to those on the left of the stage- crystal flutes and strings- that I gave the sign to begin...
The melody began, a single flute's clear notes slicing through the silence. It was a melody to tug at the heartstrings, to yank even on the hard hearts of that audience. As its poignancy grew, others joined in, slowly swelling the melody, and adding harmony. Finally, it grew to a point of almost unbearable bittersweet strength. I held it there for a few seconds, and then with gestured to the right of the stage. A single trumpet sung out a quiet fanfare and held the final note, which became part of a final chord. The chord died away slowly, by infinitesimal increments..
After a moment of silence I signaled again and the next "act" stepped out from behind the curtains. She wore what the dancers of a moment ago had been wearing- or more accurately, what their sensual costumes had been parodying- for she was a Princess of the Bow, and truer royalty than any who sat gawking at her.
Her boots rose almost knee-high, of supple leather decorated in knots of rank in blue, green, and purple. The tops folded over and hung fringed, with soft bells that jingled sweetly as she walked. Above the boots her pants, slightly loose, belled out, drawn in at the waist. They were of purple velvet, and decorated in knot-work of braided gold cord. Her shirtcoat hung as low as her knees, fringed and belled. The sleeves followed tradition, tight until the mid-forearm, and then belled out, to reveal a golden-colored satin lining. The shirtcoat itself was of blue-green silk, with a v-neck, and a flattering fit that flared at the hips. Just below the breasts it opened up, an upside-down v which revealed her golden satin undershirt. Her hair- such a deep reddish-brown as to seem black- was elaborately braided and coifed, decorated with ribbons. Hanging from her shoulders was a shawl of rank, with her house knot in the center, bordered by elaborate knots of rank.
It was none of this that startled the people in the room. These were normal things to see on a royal member of the race they called the People of the Bow, much as those people called them People of the Sword, or igkaskiute, in their tongue. What surprised them was that she wore no belt burdened by a dagger blade, or quiver full of deadly arrows. Nor did she wear a shoulder mounted quiver or hang a bow on her shoulder. Her apparent lack of weapons was astonishing to them, who had never seen one her people weaponless. And her face was clear, unadorned by paint.
The People of the Bow only wear face paint for war or certain rituals, but as these were the only times that they encountered igkaskiute, the People of the Sword had come to think of them as living in their face paint, which, to my eye, was far prettier than the face paint their noble women tried to enhance their complexions with. True, this Princess was here for a ritual, but it wasn't the sort that needed face paint. And I was the one to orchestrate it!
The surprise of seeing a Princess of the Bow on their entertaining stage began to wear off all too quickly, like anything does on these perpetually jaded people. Soft conversations had started up, and soon they would become loud ones. Now, before they lost sight of her, I signaled to the Princess, and to my musicians. A soft melody, drums telling of trotting horses, began. It was accompanied by her beautiful voice.
She did not sing. She spoke, to the crowd assembled, who had gone silent with wonder again, their noble blasé fading away.
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