Pony religion is a complicated, rambling thing.
Faith in general is meant to serve as a buffer, a psychological bridge over uncertainty, the idea that what is out of one's direct control will work out (hopefully positively, but at least as a net wash). Faith in oneself, in one's works, in one's neighbors... it wasn't always easy, but at the least when that faith failed a believer could point at something and say "This, this is what went wrong." Religion, however, steps beyond that. Religion is faith in something that can't be confronted, nebulous forces given name and image in the mind of the believer.
The primary issue with religion was that to a pony, most forces were not nebulous.
Controlling weather was a day-job, a mass industry run by a good quarter of the population. The sun itself was raised and lowered by an immortal but still physically present mare, which set hard standards for any would-be gods to exceed. And if they were ever feeling lost and without direction, most ponies would just take a glance at their own flanks and remember that special moment in their childhood when they realized what they wanted to do with their lives.
There wasn't room for vagary in most ponies' lives. On the whole, they lived openly; even a liar by trade would deceive very specifically, with gentle assurances or extravaganza or perhaps, in some cases, forged documents.
But for some, mystery was a way of life. Researchers. Artists. Explorers. Those who lived on the edge of the known, who looked into the unknown, who worked with knowledge as their tool and craft. Superstitions cropped up like weeds in these groups, small nods towards the twins of Fate and Luck, both of whom had a habit of making their big brother Destiny look like a fool. In some groups, these tiny weeds were carefully cultivated into great fields, harvested and processed... in some groups, there came to be cults, dogmas, actual religion.
And sometimes... that religion was strange.
"O magnum texentium ipsum fati, obsecro te, audite me!
Ducant mihi tua benedicta execratione maledicta congessit
Ut delectet, qui tecum apricationem in illo
Itaque invenirem gratiam coram magne texentium ipsum fati!"
A few of the passersby gave the pale blue mare some odd looks, whispering as she threw her dry voice into the passionate chant. A few stopped, and stared, and pondered the action. Most, however, simply rolled their eyes and moved on; this part of Canterlot had long become accustomed to this particular unicorn's quirks. It was certainly helpful that she performed her dance on a balcony of her apartment, and not the street below.
And that she was very, VERY easy on the eyes.
Moonlight Raven didn't much care for her appearance, though. She didn't hate it--hate was a fire that consumed all, a lead to a false sort of emptiness that did not truly embrace the glorious writhing of the dark--but... well, if she had to sum up her opinion in one word, that word would be "meh." Her mane, a sultry purple that coiled round her neck and horn like a lover's embrace, was merely a reflection of the night's confines. The golden rings of her eyes could enrapture any who looked into them, even shaded as they were by the amethyst eye shadow she wore; to her, however, they served as reminders of the trickery of vision, and the truth of the immaterial. And were one so inclined to rate the attractiveness of her smooth, softly curved body, one would be surprised to discover that Moonlight herself did not feel her mortal vessel had any need for attention more then the basics.
Many, many, many ponies had attempted to compliment her or ensnare her in a romance, and been rebuffed for focusing on the physical--Moonlight Raven had no patience for such obvious falsehoods, and left behind a litany of confused would-be lovers, uncertain as to how they had failed.
Her dance soon ended, and the unicorn opened her eyes, lifting her left forehoof to look beneath it. "Brown and white." Her voice was breathy, her eyes wide. "Two blends, one pure and one of impurity. But where shall I find the one with both?" she pondered.
"Scio quid quaerere, adhuc peto me
et debet quid ambulo viam?
Rogo indicium magnum fortunae texentium
superbiae meae accipe poena aequum censeas."
Her new verse disturbed some of the pigeons roosting nearby, and their fluttering led them across the roof. An annoyed caw caught her attention and she watched, wide-eyed, as a great black bird took to air, gliding after the pigeons with gusto.
"South. I must... I must head south." Her eyes followed the dark wings. "A great distance south. Yes... A map. I need a map."
Moonlight Raven gathered up her scattered discs, stacking them in their proper order and gently wrapping her fortune pad around them. Even in haste, it would not do to order them incorrectly; offending the Hidden Weaver was inevitable, but greater offense only led to greater retribution. She had already demanded much... perhaps too much, and been granted a gift. She gently levitated it into her saddlebags, locking the balcony door behind her; it wasn't long before she re-emerged, this time on the ground floor.
And a white stallion in a dapper suit was there to greet her. "Excuse me, miss, I couldn't help but notice your act up on the balcony. Might I ask where you learned to dance like that?"
"The dark whims of my goddess direct my form," she explained simply.
"I... see."
"No you do not. Nobody does, not the princesses, nor the common pony, nor even I. Yet I understand, a touch, of what she demands." She began trotting down the road.
"Well, I might be ignorant of your... goddess," the stallion admitted, following after, "but I am well versed in recognizing vocal talent. Your mastery of rhythm is beyond that of ordinary ponies, and your pitch control is simply astounding. It would be a shame to waste such gifts in the privacy of your own home."
"They are not wasted. They serve their purpose."
"Ah, my apologies, I did not mean to imply your work had no value. I am used to something a bit more... material, when judging what is worthwhile." The stallion cleared his throat. "You see, I'm in the business of escalating singers to the popular forum, where their voices can be heard by the masses. My most recent project has decided that our methodologies conflict, so I'm on the lookout for a new star."
"...You compare singers to the stars in the sky?"
"Ponies like to look at both."
"Hmm." Moonlight Raven gave the stallion a careful look. His pink mane and tail were naturally unruly, but cropped short with strict precision. The suit he wore covered him exactly, hiding his true nature from the world. And behind perfectly balanced spectacles were thick but clean brows and crafty brown eyes.
"...You are anathema," she decided.
"I... beg your pardon?"
"You seek to control your image, your career, and your fate. You know the game and play the rules. You are a servant of the still light, where I follow the writhing dark."
The stallion frowned. "I see. Sorry to bother you, miss."
"You say you can turn my voice to coin?"
He paused mid-retreat. "...Yes?"
"I am headed south to find blessing. You, I believe, are my punishment. I will follow your words to survive, so long as you allow me my quest." She smiled faintly. "Perhaps you will be saved."
"I... suppose I can agree to that." There was only faint confusion in his tone. "Where are you headed?"
"South."
"...How far south?"
"I don't know. All I know is what I seek lies that way."
The stallion quirked a brow. "You must have a lot of faith."
"And you, from your tone, very little."
"I have faith in your talent and my skill."
"Basic faith, then."
The stallion sighed. "I can already tell this is going to be interesting. What's your name anyway?"
"Moonlight Raven is the title given to me." She glanced at him. "What should I call my curse?"
He glared at her. "My name is Svengallop. And I am not a curse. I am the best thing that has ever happened to you, you just don't know it yet!"
She smiled faintly. "We shall discover that together."
Author's Note
Oh great weaver of fate, I beg you hear me!
Lead me to your blessed curse
That I may bask in that which amuses you
And so gain your favor, oh great weaver of fate!
I know what I seek, yet I ask
down what path should I walk?
I beg a sign, great weaver of fate
and take what punishment you deem right for my arrogance.
