Tales by Balefirelight (a Fallout: Equestria Group Collab)

Cathedral

by Pokonic

The great hall was cold.

This didn't surprise Grave Situation because the hall was a good half mile down underground and wasn't the most well heated place in the world, even with the great care taken by the underpriests and their own acolytes to keep every lamp, candle, and light bulb in working order. Regardless, perhaps it was better if it was cold here; heat distracts the mind, while cold numbs the body, leaving one forced to focus on their own inner thoughts.

Despite the relative cold of the place, it still alighted the hearts of those who truly took the time to travel here and listen to the sermons. Some of the ones who came from the lesser branches of the church, those who were used to the smaller operations that operated in the wastes, tended to be taken aback by the place, which Grave thought was a good thing. Even those who were trained in these very halls for the sake of recruiting new members of the church, after those long years of traveling the wastes, often were brought to tears along with their followers after seeing for their very eyes what they themselves had been preaching for so long.

Grave couldn't be more proud.

It was his job, after all; to make sure the décor was maintained to the proper standards. Every painting and every artifact had to be cared for properly, especially in a place like this where the least regulated places often developed watery film that often cultivated molds and other unwholesome things. He was good at his job, however, and had even gotten a commendation for his works by one of the Cardinals.

He liked that Cardinal. They swore to abandon their old names when they took off their old grey priestly robes and put on the black robes, and dyed their coats the color of coal and sharpened their teeth accordingly. The only real way to tell between them was by the eyes, really, because by the end of the day they rarely lifted their hoods up to reveal if they had horns or not. They rarely spoke to the lower priests, either, because they all had their own groups of bishops and hanger-ons that did their talking for them, in actions and words.

But in the church, especially the upper echelons, purges happened often and promotions were given by merit. While those few who had the ear of the high priest were effectively untouchable unless she herself quietly gives a private sanction for it, the other cardinals had to look for themselves when their years went by, because there were always ambitious young priests who thought they would look nice in black.

The robes were nice, actually. Pure silk. To die for. The offices that came along with them, both the metaphorical and the literal ones, were great as well, but the robes were really friggin nice.

Regardless, the great hall was cold, and the high priest had arrived, finally. The chorus was taking a day off, though, so there was no musical accompaniment to her arrival. A pity, that.

The crowd today was abnormally large, fifty strong and mostly newcomers. A entire town was converted a month ago, apparently after one of the Templars had beat down a raider lord and chased them off. They were a normal lot, the only abnormality being a singular griffon who sat in the piers who followed those strange griffon gods.

The high priest was alerted of this, of course, but she was one to appreciate skeptics. It made it more interesting for her; a closed mind is a fortified fortress, so goes the saying, so if she was successful it would show that her methods were sound.

Grave thought the high priest was eccentric, but effective, but that phrase could be used to describe half the upper priesthood at the moment so he kept that to himself.

It took a good hour after all the new devotees and the griffon for the ceremonies to begin. Normally things were far more efficient than this, but the pomp and the spectacle of the golden decorations and the incense and the formalities were all there to impress, especially for new arrivals like the ones who were sitting in the wooden seats. The four great lambtallow candles on the main pedestal, all in excess of six feet tall and as thick as a pony's hoof, stood like watchful guardians as one of the most high cardinals flanked by two greatly muscled subpriests moved a table used during the last service. Some of the newcomers tittered nervously when they noticed that the big wooden table was stained a deep brown-red, despite being made of steel.

This was good, in Grave's opinion. A little bit of fear was good in worship; grandeur without power meant nothing.

Eventually, with all said and done, the three priests stepped off the main platform, and the high priest made her way up it, looking small but highly dignified in her deep purple robes, the sort of color that had no counterpart in nature besides certain orchids. It was certainty a color that was hard to find in the wasteland except on ponies, truly.

It was even harder for Grave himself to track down the right fabric for it. The high priestess had very specific ideas about her own personal robes, and eventually he just took them up north to have them enchanted to get the right color. Only the zebras had purple dye, back in the day, and this was very far from zebra lands.

The high priestess, from Grave's position all the way back in the upper rows, was a small little thing, but when she took off her hood, a small gasp went throughout the crowd. She was very visible without her hood, even from this distance, because in a environment so steeped in rich, dark colors, the lack of any sharply contrasted with the rest of the cathedral.

She was, after all, an albino. Her coat and mane was a bright white, while her eyes were a pale red-pink.

She also had a small set of fangs, not unlike her cardinals but far more comfortable sitting in her mouth, but it was unlikely that any of the newcomers had seen it, or even their handlers in the priesthood.

If any did, they would do best to keep it to themselves. Such a truth was only revealed to those who had extended contact with her, like Grave's himself. But, she did not shy away from such truths, and it was not hard to learn of it if one asked politely.

Eventually, though, the high priestess spoke. She sounded like any other young mare, and her voice held a slight bit of concern in it, a aspect that she had honed from her many, many years of talking to new recruits, to make them feel better.

"Ah, hello everypony. And everygriffon."

She paused, blinking once and tilting her head to the right slightly. The singular Talon expat in the room coughed lightly, which sent a few waves of laughter throughout the room.

The high priestess was no fool, and this was no normal liturgy.

"My name is Shade, and I am here to let you all know that Nightmare Moon loves you."