The priestesses of YoonKao.
There are more priestesses than there are divine beings. Or, maybe it's the other way around. It's hard to tell.
Both deities and their worshippers are so vast in diversity, it's impossible to count. That includes the divine forces working without our knowing, devoid of worship and prayer.
So, in theory, if you made up a deity and started to worship it, your prayers may by happenstance just land.
Nonetheless, this doesn't mean anyone can just become a priestess.
For one, you need to be a girl. There are male counterparts: the fingers. Though, their initiation is another story.
Beyond gender, a woman may only become a priestess if they are chosen by birth.
To be chosen, one must have a nature-born magical proficiency between .35 and .68. Anything less than .35, and the child may lack the innate magical prowess to perform tasks. Anything more than .68 and, well, the government of YoonKao may find it inconvenient for one person alone to have such power.
When one is chosen, a priestess doesn't just whisk you from your mother's arms.
Instead, the representatives of the church, chapel, cult or whatsoever institution reaches your family first will approach you. Often, they'll receive an offer:
You get:
1. 1000 silver crows in payment.
2. Your daughter's food and shelter paid for until they reach the ripe age of 16.
3. Your daughter's education and mentorship.
4. Your daughter's reputable title as priestess.
We get:
1. Your child to train and mold to their desire.
Usually, 1,000 silvers is good enough payment to convince any family to surrender their child. However, the true benefit comes from the title. It's a great benefit for families, as having one such title —or any at all— grants an abundance of privileges.
After being chosen, daughters are sent, typically at or around the age of 2, to a temple for initial training. The most prominent temple of YoonKao, The Temple of Prying Light, boasts architectural features of sharp and angular design. The white marble and gold veins running through the structure give it an almost ethereal glow during the day. At night, the piercing steeples above reach out asynchronously like claws tearing upon the night sky.
Many temples exist in the realm; but, most serve the same purpose of conditioning daughters at a young age in preparation for their trials. One such trial in The Temple of Prying Light requires acolyte girls to "cull" the "damning darkness" with light. This can be interpreted in a number of ways. Some have healed the sick.
Some banished the undead.
Others "purified" the "unclean" with their "light".
Priestesses, after completing their trials, are thereby free to roam the world freely and use their holy prowess in the name of their divine being. One can make a lucrative living working in medicinal and healing arts. Though, often times, priestesses prefer the free-spirited nature of assisting adventurers wheresoever they go.
After all, there's a good reason for this.
Many forget this one detail. But, priestesses are bound for life to their divine overlords. They are free to roam the mortal world so long as they spread the influence of their respective divine being.
They are sworn for life.
Once you're in there's no getting out.
—————
"You've walked into quite the alarming situation," the girl with the emerald eyes said. "But, rest assured you're welcome here; perhaps, even needed."
"You're making less sense than before." The graying man said through grit teeth.
The lady dressed in mourning said nothing but looked down. She seemed almost ashamed of what was going on, and that her debacle was walked in on unexpectedly.
"You don't… I…" I started.
"You want an introduction." The girl interrupted. She seemed to be capable of foreseeing anything I was going to say before it came out. It wouldn't be surprising when electrifying emeralds were piercing through me so calmly.
"My name is Chrisanta. This poor soul here is Yvette, her brother had passed and was given an improper burial. And these two here are Mr. Rutherford and Mr. Demore. The former is half-mad and the latter is full-bald…"
"Yer a crazy bitch with a wicked attitude for a priestess, you know that?" Started Mr. Demore.
"Certainly not!" Chrisanta smiled, "I am simply speaking to you as delightfully as you are."
"Why, you…"
"Enough!" Mr. Rutherford interrupted. "All this bickering. It's so pointless. You, stranger, this mysterious woman declares that you're important. I don't know much about the priesthood nor their works."
He breathed in through his nose, and exhaled in disdain.
"But, if she insists, I think it valuable to let you two talk it through. Maybe the two of you could in fact help us. Or, maybe not."
Mr. Demore chortled in a semi-laugh mixed with rage.
"Wha— Master! You do not mean to allow this stranger and this, this, crude, witchy snake to meddle with our business!"
"I am no one's master, Mr. Demore. And the way I see it, our situation is nothing short of unnatural. What better way to solve it than the work of a witch?"
"So," Chrisanta started, "it's settled then. We'll be staying the night here in preparation. And, I'll take the time to fill in our fellow traveler here."
Before I could say anything, Chrisanta the snake priestess took my hand and firmly grasped it to her. She strutted out the large doors to let the moonlight into the room. It was already dark out.
Walking out with my hand and therefore my whole body along with it, the girl with the pink hair and green eyes seemed ethereal when wrapped around moonlight. It was from that instance the cold air started to breathe.
I became suddenly aware of my own current predicament.
Here I am. A boy, who grew too quickly into a man. With more money than I could possibly use, yet nothing to my name. With a great history; yet, having to peddle blue, veiny white rocks.
Yet, here is this girl. This person. This priestess. Someone. Something.
She guides me away from the hall and into the cold, moist air from which the dark envelopes us —covers us in moonlight.
As the doors close, I steal a glance at Yvette.
The graying Mr. Rutherford held his head down facing sideways, with Mr. Demore facing him opposite ways. Their silhouettes resembled grieving angels, one taller than the other, closing in on the grieving Yvette dressed in black. Black dress, black veil, black laced-sleeves, black eyeshadow, and golden eyes that looked up at me for just one second before the left-most oak door closed at last to conclude the meeting between the stranger and the even stranger lady dressed in mourning.
"Come." Chrisanta looked to me. "We've much to discuss."