Ark and Dove Cathedral

When the swamplands gave way to open ground dotted here and there with twisted trees, Ellen almost couldn't believe it. She'd begun to think the stupid swamps went on forever here. But no, the ground underfoot was solid and almost dry, and the land here rose and fell in gentle hills dotted with the ruins of pre-War walls instead of slumping into endless mud thick with treacherous pits of fish and crab. A person could almost make a decent home here without having to ring their home with traps and guardian pig-things.

There was a faint plappaplappaplud noise; she looked down. Dogmeat was shaking the water and mud from his fur. "You and me both, Dogmeat," she murmured. "Let's go find that tribe."

Desmond had been possibly the weirdest ghoul she'd ever met, but he'd struck her as honest. Unpleasant, sure, but the Wasteland was full of unpleasant people, smoothskins and ghouls both. Anyone who'd lived as long as he had- he'd muttered something about having been stationed in the area before the War- was entitled to a little unpleasantness, especially if he was under assault all of a sudden after years of being left alone. The wet land around the pre-War mansion he'd taken residence in made finding the paladins' trail all but impossible, what with the tribals who'd been assaulting the place from all sides. All she had to go on was his word, but as far as she could tell he had no reason to lie about Whydah and Morgan coming to his home. More importantly, he had no reason to lie about them leaving, or which way they'd gone. If all he'd wanted was to get rid of visitors, he could just as easily have sent her back into the swamps again and that would have been the end of that.

(Then again- and she wished she'd thought of it earlier- she might very well be his way of finding out how to wipe out the tribals bothering him without putting himself in danger. Dangnabbit.)

Well... it was a little too late to worry about that now. She wasn't about to pludge her way back into the swamp and find Desmond and question him in more detail. Not when she could make out the shape of a tower and fortified walls in the distance, and streaky orange trails of human scent wending their way towards it from a dozen different directions. With a sigh of relief she set out towards the building.

The tower, it turned out, was an ancient, decrepit church spire. At least, it resembled one more than anything else. Ellen couldn't make out much of the building; the outer walls blocked her view. They were of brick, and easily twice her height or more. To judge by the scent-striping around them they were patrolled at least semi-regularly, and- she wrinkled her nose- occasionally used for other purposes than mere protection. But neither the staining on the wall nor the streaks of scent on the ground spoke of anyone being too nearby, so she opted to take her chances and follow the wall all the way around to its gates. They were a little higher than the walls themselves, made of spiked metal with rusty spots in places, and showed no inclination to move when she leaned against one. No guard or gatekeeper was in sight, but there was an intercom-

Tribals. With an intercom.

Huh.

Well, maybe they'd taken the place from somebody else- or maybe Desmond had lied- or maybe she was in the wrong place altogether. There was only one way to find out; she reached up and pressed the intercom's call button. "Hello?" she said.

"Who lingers at the threshold of transcendence?" it replied.

"… what?"

"Who lingers at the threshold of transcendence?" the voice repeated. It was a man's voice, without the raspy quality of a ghoul's half-ruined larynx or the swamp woman's odd projecting cadence.

"The threshold of transcendence," Ellen repeated. "Seriously? What the dickens are you talking about?"

"What? No, you're doing it wrong!" the man's voice said. "If you want to join, you're supposed to get into the right mindset, you know? We don't just take any recruit, either. You've got to be willing to see the world in a different way. You may not understand, but it's important to us."

"Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa," said Ellen. "What're you talking about, joining? I'm just looking for someone!"

"Nope, sorry," said the voice. "You can't get in unless you've gone through the ritual. Don't worry, it's nothing big. But it really does make a difference."

Ellen opened her mouth. Then she closed her mouth. Then she looked around for some sign that Desmond or Tobar or- or someone- was lurking in the nearby bushes, playing a practical joke. "Ritual," she finally repeated. "What ritual are we talking about?"

"Much better!" the man's voice said cheerfully. Then he cleared his throat. "Wisely spoken, initiate! Your dedication and, um, flexibility shall serve you well in the Ritual of the Mother Seed!"

"WHAT."

"Venture west to the Great Bog," the voice went on unperturbed, "and within you shall find the Mother of all Punga Fruit. She stands taller than a man, and Her vines guide our future. Collect Her seeds, and kneel before Her wisdom. Only then will you be ready to enter these sacred halls."

"That's it?"

"Yep, that's it."

"And... you're going to be able to tell that I did this how?"

"Oh, we'll know," said the voice. "We always know. Now go forth, initiate!"

Oh, she'd go forth, all right. She'd definitely go forth.

She needed to get out of this place's line of sight if she was going to change into her stealth suit and come back to climb over the stupid walls.