Heat and Balance (Squishypink x DarkestFate)

Cammilla Eichenwalde, heir to the duchy of New Braunfels and proud scion of the house of Eichenwalde, beloved of the court of Queen Hestia and annointed by the High Luminary herself, could simply not believe this shit. The seventeen year old heiress puffed out her chest, her frilled white cravat exploding from the front of a tight-fitted, sapphire blue waistcoat trimmed in bright golden yellow filligree. Her short raven hair, slick with perfumed oils, hugged tightly to her scalp in a humorless comb over and framed a sharp, powdered face and eyes the color of ancient stone. The ivory-skinned young noble made no attempt to mask her displeasure as the High Luminary in her golden robes acceded to the words of some...heathen druid, bedecked in rags and feathers.

The idea of such a heretic profaning the holy Sanctuary was beyond humor, but still the filthy muck-splattered old elf stood in his cape of half-eaten squirrel pelts among the pristine collonade in the grand hall of the Sanctuary itself, telling her she had to become a deviant on account of some silly superstition.

"Be calm, my child," the High Luminary spoke, her holy voice still strong and commanding despite her advanced years. Beneath the golden crown of the faith, her snowy white locks fell about her shoulders like hills of rolling snow. "While it is the Faith's position that such...alternative beliefs hold no sway in the Light's domain, there is some truth to the Archdruid's words. Balance exists, and must be renewed periodically. There is a precedent for this union in the holy scripture as well, even if in this case it is quite an...unorthodox pairing."

Deviant. Vile. Profane! Those words described the suggestion far better than anything the High Luminary was willing to say in front of her "guest". This old druid in his leaves and rags had come into this holy place and put forth this...creature as her proposed mate? Some knife-eared forest waif, probably just a deviant shank harlot from a ditch somewhere.

"You couldn't even find a proper woman for this farce," Cammilla finally spat, no attempt to disguise her disgust as she looked critically at the girl across from her. "She might as well be a boy."

"I tried the whole male thing; it didn't really work out for me," chimed Feathermoon Lights (or at least that was the English version of her name; the Elvish involved far more lilting syllabus and at least three apostrophes). Feathermoon grinned and wiggled a few fingers at the fair-skinned woman standing only a short distance from her. The elf was utterly fascinated by the other girl. How did you manage to get skin that pale? The human had to avoid the sun like the plague, which struck Feathermoon as essentially impossible. Her own skin had a healthy tan to it, one that had been embedded in her skin for so long that the elf couldn't say if it were natural or simply a product of her environment. Not all elves had it, of course. Some could seem to absorb light, including a few from Feathermoon's family. But her skin definitely had the sort of brownish hue. worked for her: hid the dirt better.

For this little ceremony there had been an insistence upon a bath in a certain sacred stream. That had been when Feathermoon had first really gotten a look at her skin and hair and all that good stuff. Turns out that the wild mane of hair wasn't naturally green afterall; it was almost white. The tips and bits of the roots still had some green in them leftover from the forest, and despite Feathermoon's best efforts she still had detritus clinging to her. She was wearing her best clothes: a set of robes woven from various webbings of various insects. Quite durable. Super pretty.

"Don't worry though," Feathermoon continued, "you totally don't need one of those boy things to have fun. Fingers'll work. Or you could, like, find a mushroom just the right shape and--" Feathermoon had started to sketch in the air with her hands, pausing only when she realized that the Elder Speaker was looking at her in that way that older elves often did. It wasn't Feathermoon's fault that she only had... okay, so technically speaking Feathermoon didn't have a clue how old she was. Neither did pretty well anyone else. That happened with elves born on the edge of the Wood, what with the slow aging and all. Feathermoon could be anywhere from fourteen to one hundred, though she thought she was more in the middle of that, give or take a decade. Her lithe build and youthful face didn't help.

But yeah, the pairing. They'd done the signs already and deduced that the two of them would make awesome magic together, so Feathermoon didn't see what the problem was. true, Cammilla didn't have the ears, buuuut she did seem to have some impressive breasts from what the young elf could see, so Feathermoon considered that balanced out. Maybe the noble was upset because she hadn't seen the elf's butt? That was, in Feathermoon's opinion, one of her best features. Besides her hair.

"You two shall be bonded together in such a manner that no mortal can render it asunder," continued the Speaker (who the humans called Archdruid for reasons beyond Feathermoon; there was, like, two arches in all of the Wood; there were several more trees). "Your bond will, as I was saying, strengthen the inherent fabric of the world around us, particularly our own homelands," he gestured for Feathermoon to step a few steps closer. "The two must bond themselves together to fully control and support the inner fabric of existence itself," which could be hyperbole, from what Feathermoon remembered of the Speaker. "If your candidate is too reluctant, the world itself may be at stake," with that, the Speaker looked to the noble-girl, the response obvious. Take the long-haired elfish girl for a mate or potentially doom at least the countries if not the world to darkness and chaos.

Really it was lose/lose or win/win as far as Feathermoon was concerned.

"Disgusting!" Cammilla huffed, turning on her heel and thrusting her nose into the air as if assaulted by some awful stench. "She simply will not do. She is filthy, and vile, and rude, and common. Just another deviant shank from the forest, no wonder they're shunned in the cities! Why, if all her kind behave like such--"

"Enough." There was no need for the High Luminary to raise her voice; the strength of her commanding presence was more than enough to silence the young noble. One single word, and Cammilla's stubbornness crumbled, such was her devotion to the faith.

"But...Your Holiness..."

The High Luminary stepped towards Cammilla with the slow, purposeful inevitability of a glacier. In hushed tones she whispered, "You will do as is required of you by the faith. Whatever deviance this entails can be forgiven, so long as your purpose is served, my child. Remember the trials of Blessed Rei in the First Book of the Ecclesiarch."

There was no need to be specific, the story sprung to Cammilla's mind immediately and she relived Rei's debasement just as she'd imagined it with every reading, beginning to end, sacrificing her dignity for the glory of the faith. "...and there was Light and all its radiance touched was clean, for the Light cleanses the sinner and saint alike so long as it is kindled," came the final verse from Cammilla's trembling lips, the ending to a long and arduous tale of a young martyr's debasement for the good of the many.

"Become as Blessed Rei in our hour of need," said the High Luminary, her aged features fraught with concern. "The kindling of the Light is the mantle that is placed upon your shoulders, child, and you must play the role of the saintly sinner in this quest. There will be no more discussion, go with the Light." She touched Cammilla's shoulder gently as she strode past her, to the doors of the Sanctuary and out into the morning glow. Cammilla raised her eyes to the many stained glass portals lining the immense chamber, finally settling on sweet Rei in her pure nakedness, eyes dragged to the floor with the weight of her sins.

"Fine!" she shouted, stamping her heeled boot on the marble floor for emphasis, the single syllable fluttering through the rafters in a discordant chorus of echoes. "Where do we need to do these...these things?"

Feathermoon fought back giggles as her soon to be permanently bonded partner protested like some child that had just found her first pile of dung. It was all just so amusing, really. "You're cute," she nearly cooed, pointing a finger at the other girl and circling it in a semi-taunting manner. The Speaker gave Feathermoon a harsh look that she knew would likely turn to words or blows soon enough. She silenced herself, even putting her hands behind her back. Plus, the woman leader with the hair kinda like Feathermoon's seemed to be talking and reprimanding Cammy herself. At least Feathermoon got the whole idea of purpose. That fit in with what she knew about how the world worked: everyone to their purpose and everyone working to fulfill the innate balance which would keep the world intact.

Plus light, which was also something good. Sometimes Feathermoon heard it more said as a sort of Life as opposed to light, but the way the two said, it sort of worked together. she grew a little bored after that, staring at what she thought was a bug crawling up a wall while Cammy and the other person talked and all.

A stomp startled Feathermoon, and she yelped slightly, looking around to see if they were under attack.

"We shall perform the ceremonies of cleansing and preparation among the hollowed places of your people," intoned the Speaker, nodding slightly to the Luminary. "Once both of you are ritually cleansed fully, if you are not already, I shall lead you to the Grove of Life. There you shall finalize your bind with a joining of two flesh. after that," the Speaker motioned in a sort of questioning manner.

"Oh, the Grove of Life! You'll love that. It's really pretty and there's some soft moss and-- being quiet again," Feathermoon sighed, before stepping forward, figuring that the human lady would probably have some sort of final ritual thing to do to her. They'd mentioned that there might be oils or, horror of horrors, another bath or who knows what. The Grove part sounded a lot more bearable to Feathermoon.

A young priestess of the Faith stepped forward, covered head to toe in her habit and slowly swinging a censer before her. The pungent aroma of burning herbs preceded her like a holy miasma. The cleansing was simple, at least, and Cammilla gave thanks that it was a sister of the Faith performing the prayers and blessings rather than another of these filthy shanks. Perfumed smoke wafted across the noble's person as the priestess waved the censer about, and within a few moments she had already moved on to the elf. Perhaps the incense would remove some of her inhuman stink before Cammilla was forced to lay beside her.

"It is done," the sister said, bowing and backing away with great ceremony.

"Very well," Camilla huffed. "Now show me to this...Grove of yours so that we can finish this farcical nonsense.". She clapped her hands twice, and a tall, armored figure rounded a nearby column where it had waited out of sight. Clad in full plate with lobsters pauldrons and a flowing cape of azure silk, the knight hid her face behind a winged helm emblazoned with the gryphon sigil of Camilla's house. While obviously female in proportion, there was nothing feminine about the lady's protector. "Dame Arianna will attend me throughout the ceremony, to ensure I am not harmed or...bewitched by your heathen magicks."

Arianna thumped her armored fist loudly against her smooth steel breastplate, rattling the layers of chainmail underneath, the other hand never leaving it's resting place on the pommel of her sword. Her voice echoed, muffled and tinny behind her helm's visor. "Yes, milady."