It's Tough to Be a God Caller (RWBY/Pathfinder Quest)

There's two thoughts running through your mind as you pull on your tunic and trousers - one that you're glad Blake isn't staring, the other indignant at how she's chosen the wrong way to intrude on your privacy.

"Why do you have four different editions of the Pathfinder Chronicles?" Blake asks as she compares the books she pulled from your bag.

"I have six different volumes of the Pathfinder Chronicles, two of which are fraudulent copies of Volume 5 and also a corrected copy of Volume 44." You correct her. Only after your belt and boots are on do you turn around and panic at the poor embossing of the book in her hands.

"The Pathfinder Chronicles is the best known academic publication in the Inner Sea, collecting the most notable adventures and discoveries of the Pathfinder Society's agents and ensuring they will endure for centuries to come. Getting a mission report published in the Chronicles is the ultimate triumph of any Pathfinder and my mentor's life goal. Natty hasn't managed it yet, but we're hopeful about the work still to be done in the Sarkoris Scar. "

You pull the book from her hands and put it firmly at the bottom of the stack you build of the non-chronicle books, before rearranging the remaining books. Volumes 44, 45 and 46 are stood up on display, each bearing the Glyph of the Open Road and the volume number on the cover with the perfection that comes from a printing press.

"They formed the written core of my apprenticeship - by solemn tradition a Society Initiate must copy out a volume in full for each year of their training. I wasn't being formally trained but I still had to work on Volume 33 whenever we found ourselves at the Starrise Spire. Twenty years ago possessing three different volumes would have made me the envy of any academic, but the Society finally yielding to public demand means that every volume from 42 onwards, plus a decent amount of the previous ones, is being printed on an Andoran press."

"They're pretty important to you then?" Blake asks.

"Yeah. Even in the worst days of the crusade I could turn to history and know that things could still turn out okay." You say, trying not not to think about those days.

"That must have been nice." She says wistfully.

--

You draw a lot of stares as Blake leads you into Beacon's Dining Hall. Most of them are bewildered or disgusted by you, though you do see a few eyeing Blake's ears with shock and one boy shooting you a a hatefully envious glare.

You pay them no more mind than you do the faint pain of Eltira's claws digging into you as you both marvel at the the vast amounts of food on offer along the front of the room. Its either a feast day or almost all of the students present are nobles, which feels wrong. There's several hundred students in the room, most of them in the same black and red uniform as Blake but at least two dozen wear a much duller uniform of grey and white.

Were there that many nobles in Mendev before the crusades? Were there enough nobles in all the Broken Lands? Probably, if you were willing to accept whatever the River Kingdoms called nobility.

You follow Blake's example by taking a tray and pile it high with the standard staples as well as the choicest of the new options - honey poured over bread alongside a crescent shaped pastry you think is Galtan and a stack of flat cakes the definitely are, a fat yellow melon you don't immediately recognise, and a pile of bacon. No fish or ale disappointingly, so you pour two mugs of the same tea as Blake and make do.

You do manage to pick out Blake's friends before sitting down, though you can't claim you were all that swift to notice. More than once you have to stop and apologise for your wings striking people or sending plates tumbling to the ground. No drinks, you were raised properly, but still too many accidents to ignore. You do manage to remember their names after only a little thought, but why not try and have fun?

"Blake!" Ruby calls out as you approach, gleefully waving.

"I told you she'd be here." Weiss notes with prim satisfaction, sipping from a mug with the deliberate dignity of a noble.

"And Telka right? Thanks for helping out Blake last night." Yang says to you.

You nod back as you set down your overflowing tray and push Eltira off of your shoulders, apologising to the unfortunate behind you who cops a wing to the back of his head.

"I wasn't at my best last night but I think I remember you all. The egotistical tyrant Rose, the overly formal yet still sexy Vice and the helpless mother figure Yangtze." You say, pointing at each of them in turn.

Ruby squawks in protest, Weiss is torn between defending herself and being scandalised and Yang just laughs.

"You two are family, yes? I don't remember much but that stood out." You ask, pointing at the sisters.

"Yeah, Ruby's my little sister." Yang confirms.

"And I didn't name the team!" Ruby adds.

"Is that as confusing as it sounds?" You ask, leaning towards Blake.

"Only sometimes." She confirms.

"What do you mean, uptight?" Weiss asks.

Behind her Yang raises an eyebrow in a silent and obvious question.

"You acted like a noble so used to privilege that you didn't know how to address a social inferior. Admittedly not the best impression, but I try not to judge nobles willing to do actual work." You answer, mentally confirming what you remember.

"Enough. Give me the sausage and I'll allow you to pet me." Eltira interrupts, focused on Weiss' breakfast.

You take advantage of her distraction to give Yang her answer, tracing a scar over your left eye before turning your attention to the Galtan pastry. It's fluffy and buttery with something sweet inside. Maybe Galt did produce something worthwhile?

"Your cat can talk?" Ruby asks not waiting for an answer before cooing over Eltira and abandoning her food.

"Of course not, she must be a ventriloquist." Weiss suggests, though she's no more resistant to Eltira's charms than Ruby.

"Eltira is Telka's semblance." Blake interjects.

"She's my eidolon." You correct.

The ringing of a bell disrupts any further attempt at conversation.

"You did remember that we have an exam this morning before you vanished?" Weiss asks Blake.

"Of course I did." Blake answers before turning to you.

"Good luck." You say waving her off. If the students are busy with exams you'll be able to explore the school without any interruptions.

"Wisdom and patience go hand in hand." Eltira adds.

--

From the moment you met her, Eltira has only ever answered to herself. She goes where she wills, sticks her nose in wherever she wants, and expresses her opinion without ever being asked for it.

Which makes perfect sense if you think of her as a cat and not a god.

Today isn't the first time you've followed her when she decided to vanish without a word, but it is the first time you haven't had to run to keep up. Whatever caught her attention has her pacing slowly around the school, investigating innocous plants or random points in the air.

It gives you time to ponder your own mysteries. Or it would if Eltira couldn't speak directly into your mind.

'Waixii the Wise.' She prompts you.

One of the sacred duties of a god caller is to record the names and forms of the gods of Sarkoris. You may not know the specific rites to call any of them except Eltira, but with guidance and the right caller, any of them could be returned to life. It's as important a duty as tending to a clan's huzuri. Maybe even more important. And you'd be a lot better at it if you could write any of it down.

You take the time to remember everything Eltira has ever told of her ki, knowing a slow complete answer is better than a fast one that needs elaboration.

'Patron of the Howlingblood Clan, Waiixi is a god of willpower and forethought. It is first recorded over a thousand years ago, when it helped the Faimeir tame the wolves that eventually begat bearhounds. It appears as a praying mantis that stands as tall as a man, with a head that resembles a ring archon and legs of coloured glass. Waiixi's last caller was Sagiyas, the clanliege of the Howlingbloods before the Worldwound opened and likely would have been inherited by Sagiyas' third child.'

'Good. Risorek.'

An easy question to answer, considering Risorekis one of the few gods you've met.

'A newly manifested god, first of the Tarshiav Clan in Shadow Spring. He first manifested when their elder carved a huzuri with Natty's guidance, taking the form of a boar with a skeletal head, the Aurora Iobara in his fur and he's generally thin and sickly looking. The goal of him and his summoner, the tiefling child Kelhevok, are working to cleanse the spring the village is built around and finally cure the demonplague that's afflicted the all for the last century, alongside Eliandra, high priestess of Pulura.'

Kelhevok was a quiet kid, far more assured in his role than you are despite only being eight. Probably comes from growing up in a tigh-knit clan that has been continually discovering hope after hope ever since Natty found them during the crusade.

'Grol-thaun.'

That's not a name you're familiar with, forcing you into silence for several minutes before admitting defeat.

'You've never spoken of them.'

'No, I wouldn't have. A matter for latter.' Eltira decides, darting into a shadow and forcing you to draw on your bond to actually follow.

It only takes you a few minutes to find her, perched on the railing of a lookout and utterly ignoring the view that blows you away. A grand river, easily equal to the Sellen that fuels the trade of half of Avistan, rolling out to the sea and flanked on either side by a vast city. Bridges crisscross it with arches that must equal the Irespan of Magnimar, continuing through the city and elevating the carriages of the city into the sky itself.

You pull out your spyglass for a better look, peering at a city grander than Kenabres or Nerosyan ever could be. It's impossibly large, akin to the scale distant Absalom takes in your dreams.

Towers climb high enough into the sky that you're shocked their shadows don't reach the cliff, surrounded by tiny, neat rows of buildings that you know are at least five storeys high. Shockingly you can pick out seperate districts of the city, despite any dividing walls. Smaller buildings surrounded by greenery here, a dense cluster of the tall towers there, row upon row of tall and wide buildings devoid of any true decoration along the docks in the distance.

What you saw yesterday was just a tiny slice of Vale. You could walk its streets for days without having to cross your own path. And even where you can see its limits, the view is just as breathtaking. To the north, beyond walls fit for giants, the city gives way to a vast forest of crimson leaves, as if it were the middle of Autumn instead of the height of summer. To the south lie vast rolling stretches of farmland, large enough to feed the entire crusading army for at least a year.

You don't know how long you stand there, trying to take in this impossible monument to Abadar and the people who built it, before you realise Eltira is facing the other way.

You turn slowly and take in Beacon in the daylight, an artistic collection of arches and towers that almost resembles a fortress.

"What do you think?" Eltira asks.

"If a Shelynite handed me this painting I'd be astounded by their talent. The grand welcoming promenade, the beautifully curving arches that link the towers, the carefully constructed gardens." You say, feeling compelled to compliment a place that so graciously hosted you. "But I can't imagine anyone halfway educated approving of this design, nevermind building it. There's no walls, no defences. The lights in the main tower look pretty, but there's no need for a lighthouse up here, nor could it function as one so far away from the water."

"Is that all?"

"They named it Beacon, and the name must have come first. This school is meant to be a shining example of something, whatever it is the Hunters stand for, but it feels incomplete. If this world only has humans and faunus living on it, then why so few faunus among the students?" You reason.

"Because you can tell if someone is a faunus at a glance?"

"I can tell if someone is human without trying."

"Not that. Look with more than your eyes." Eltira demands.

You pull your wand from your belt and twirl it, focusing on how it shifts and tugs in your grip as you try and attune it to mystical energies. For a moment you close your eyes and focus on your bond with Eltira, seeing the world with the slight lavender tint that she does.

Many Pathfinders assume her to be a dweomercat when they first see her in her true form. It's an easy mistake to make, but she is a creature of shadows and stars, not mischief and magic. Even as you feel her whiskers bend in the wind and smell the acrid trail of the flying machines, there's no grand revelation for you. She can't see magical auras, no one can. Whatever she feels is as invisible to you as a map is to a mole.

Eventually you feel something more. A slight pull towards the tower, as if you just noticed the call of gravity while clinging to a wall. Except it fades as soon as you feel it.

"I don't know what that is. A leyline?" You guess.

"No. Leylines are like rivers as they flow. This is something else. Something a normal mage would be blind to." Eltira says, her frustration plain through your bond, even if her tone is as even as ever.

You consider that as she leads through the school grounds, pausing every time your wand twitches, the same yearning pull to the centre of the school. No, to something below the school, below the central tower.

Eventually Eltira climbs one of the arches and grows, stretching in the sun before stepping into a shadow and vanishing. You turn to a statue of some ancient knight and watch her reappear, giving the man a disdainful stare.

"I understand now." She announces.

"What is it?" You ask feeling your wand twitch again.

"Not that. That is nothing more than a distraction, one that has been driving me to madness all day." She says before staring up at the sky. "You couldn't tell, but the teleportation spell that brought you here was strange. A strangeness that I felt when you called me here and when you dismissed me. I knew we weren't on another plane, but this world is separate somehow."

"You've never been this far from Sarkoris. Couldn't that explain it?" You suggest after a moment of thought.

"I have visited Sovyrian. This is not a strangeness created by mere distance." Eltira says. Which means that the ancient home and refuge of the elves truly is on another world. That's a conspiracy theory, on par with the nonsense about snakefolk and drow.

Not for the first time you wonder how old Eltira truly is.

"This world stands in shadow. Hidden from the wider universe. I know not how or why, but even if you could cast a teleportation spell we'd be unable to leave." Eltira says. You tilt your head in surprise as you realise she's still thinking through the implications.

"Then how did Jerek send us here?"

"A natural portal perhaps? One sealed by the veil long ago, that can only be opened if you know it's there." She speculates.

"Would the veil explain why people don't believe in magic?" You wonder.

"It could explain many things. It could explain nothing. What it means is that we must be cautious about you dismissing me, lest I be unable to return."

"Is that possible?"

"It has never happened before." Eltira pauses, turning to the tower and staring at the green lights. "Tonight. It is past time you learned more of magic, and I will not have you embarrass me in another academy."

"The Nerosyan Officer's School shouldn't count. They had a witch-hunter teaching them magic." You complain, not regretting what you did to the man.

"Shimmering Maiden, grant my foolish student the wisdom to listen and I shall build for you a temple of ice and marble."

--

When night comes Eltira will be teaching you a new Lesson, one that expands your understanding of the world and your knowledge of magic. She first taught you the Lesson of Darkness. What will the lesson focus on?

[ ] The Elements
Whether the unpredictable churn or the calm cycles of nature, the elements are a potent source of magic. Air, Earth, Fire, Metal, Water, Wood. Together they're can vecome anything. Apart, they remain potent and malleable.
[ ] The Song of Life
There's a rhythm to the world, one that underlies everything. If you can learn to hear it, you can learn to join the chorus. Sing of Sarkoris and its Fury. Sing of the Stars and Hope. Sign of Remnant and Defiance.

--

It took me a bit to nail down exactly what Eltira could put into words, but I'm really looking forward to the next update. It's soemthing I've been thinking about for a while.

Eltira leaves as you dwell on her last comments. On the veil around the world that might interfere with summoning magic. Unless she teaches you summoning spells tonight, you don't have a way to test it. No sane way at least.

A single murmured syllable and a scratch of your nail against stone is all it takes to cast first the spell you ever learned. Something so simple you can do it without any focus, something you can do while pacing back and forth. A twisted and distorted star forms on the arch, black ichor dripping from its cracks. Now it's riftmarked, the same as you.

You had a few days of fun back when you figured out Sigil. When you were young, dumb and impulsive, adding little inch wide runes to signs, banners and graffiti whenever people weren't looking. Until Jerek told Ma and she made you swear not to do it again. It was the only time she used the witch-hunters as a threat, which is probably why you listened.

A twisted cantrip was all your lineage was until Eltira granted you her magic. Now it's an ever present threat, burning runes channeling the chthonic power of the Outer Rifts into your spells whenever you let your guard down. You screwed up last night, let it get away from you after Jerek shot you. And the effect was less than you're used to.

If the veil affected that, it would make sense. The occult surges were more common in the Sarkoris Scar, which is still closer to the Outer Rifts than anywhere else on Golarion, even after the planar rift was sealed. If you're more distant from the Rifts here, then the surges would be weaker, harder to trigger.

You could experiment with that now. Cast your spells over and over again, compensate for exhaustion by drawing on the sickening power of your blood. See if the veil is real, see if it interferes with summoning - or at least inter-planar - spells with empirical evidence.

Like a wizard that cares more about knowledge than caution.

You dismiss the idea with a prayer to the Inheritor, reminding yourself of the oath you swore to Eltira before considering what she might have in mind for tonight. A spell to animate your shadow, expanding the options in your repertoire so you're better in a fight during the day or something directly related to being stuck on Remnant. Maybe she knows the Sending spell? Getting Natty or someone to look at the teleportation circle would be helpful.

Hopefully you understand what she talks about this time. You're loathe to criticise her as a teacher, not when every alternative you sought out was worse, but you don't have a good track record with any magic teacher. Natty knows the jargon by heart and all the tricks possible but couldn't help you understand it in your soul, Meander struggled to describe anything in terms a human would understand after being taught by arboreals, Kelhevok knew even less than you and that damned witch-hunter made sure you couldn't find any help in Nerosyan or Kenabres.

You need to make sure tonight doesn't degenerate into Eltira staring at you as you try and put a half understood concept into practice. There's something about that pressure that makes it difficult to do anything right, a problem that's somehow non-existent in battle.

You need to distract her without wasting her time, is the thought on your mind when you turn and spot the red sword on the arch. You keep turning on the spot to follow the sword's blade, seeing the students of Beacon pouring onto the grounds. Their exams must be finished.

You consider what can only be a sign from the Inheritor for a moment before everything clicks together in your mind. If two learn when one teaches, then why not have two teachers and three students?

"Do you want to learn magic?" You ask as soon as you track down Blake. Fortunately she's separated form the crowd and only a few are staring at you.

"I don't... what?" Blake asks.

You fail to keep your right wing from twitching, nervous energy finding whatever escape it can.

"Your exams are finished, Eltira is in a forthcoming mood and I think you're more suited for it than I was. Your exams are finished, yes?" You explain, realising halfway through you might be asking her to sabotage her education.

"Yes. Today was the last one." Blake confirms. "What do you mean, learn magic?"

"You will learn to hear the primal rhythm of the world, to feel the turn of seasons and the dance of sun and moon. Once you can hear that, all you have to do is ask. And the world will respond." You explain.

The twitch has migrated from your wing to your tail, driving you to distraction as the seconds tick by and you wait for Blake to respond.

"Can you teach me how to paint with the colours of the wind?" She asks eventually.

"I, ah, don't know that spell. But that won't keep you from learning it." You answer, not at all sure what she means. Does Remnant have wind spirits, or maybe the stolen Dust is harvested from prismatic winds? That would be a sight to see, akin to an aurora of sand instead of fire.

"It's not -" Blake begins before cutting herself off. "Don't worry about it. Learning magic sounds, great." She says, with only a little false confidence.

--

"So when do you teach me the primordial tongue?" Blake asks.

It's almost midnight and the two of you are following Eltira through the forest. The full moon dominates the night sky, which was almost bereft of stars even before it rose, and provides more than enough light for even a human to navigate by.

"Primordial tongue? Do you mean Protean?" You ask, wondering why Blake would be bringing up the question of which language was first spoken.

"It doesn't matter what language you speak when you cast spells." Eltira explains, easily understanding Blake's question. "Inherited incantations are a method to make things simpler, but they are fundamentally tools of communication. No foul consequences await you if you mangle a rhyme or forget a syllable."

"I prefer to use Hallit when I cast, because it's the first language I learned. The tongue of my ancestors." You add.

"What about a wand? Do they choose their wielders? Or do I need to make one?" Blake asks, clearly wondering where you were going.

"Wands, staffs and other loci are tools that make spellcasting easier. Take them up too soon and they teach bad habits." Eltira glances back at you as she speaks and you respond with a curse in Napsu-Sign. She'd disagreed with Natty about you using a wand, blaming them for your existing bad habits with your spear. "Though you may find your blade sufficient for the task."

"Most wands have specific spells woven into them, so you can cast them without truly knowing it. Some can trigger the magic without possessing any true power of their own." You add. Natty could pull it off, but you hadn't been able to manage the trick.

Your journey ends in a clearing, where a single autumn-red tree is surrounded by a rough circle of tree stumps.

Eltira takes her place atop one, staring you down as you remove your boots and kneel on the grass.

"Make yourself comfortable. This is the tricky part." You say to Blake.

"Trickier for some than others. You have chosen your first student, God Caller. How shall you teach her?" Eltira asks, glaring at you.

Maybe you should have asked her first. She's not truly angry, but you only know that from your bond.

"There's no spirit guide here for her to bond with, nor a pet suitable to become a familiar, but that ritual is easy to adapt." You answer, falling back on what Natty had been able to find about god calling. "We open her ears to hear the world and she'll be able to sing along."

"An excellent idea, shamelessly stolen from your teachers." Eltira declares with a smile. "But so easily dismiss her existing gift. Just because you deny the magic of your blood doesn't mean she will."

"I don't know what magic a faunus would have." You admit. "I thought none, since she didn't believe magic was real."

"I don't have any magic." Blake adds, looking confused.

"I saw you fight child. If you do not posses magic, then you you have a very devoted twin."

You stiffen as you remember what Eltira is talking about. The mirror images Blake somehow kept hidden until she was hit, what you'd assumed was a very clever use of a very common spell.

"That's just my Semblance. It isn't magic." Blake protests.

"I saw it. I felt it. It may not be a spell, but it is magical as I am." Eltira insists, growing to her full size for emphasis.

"It's my Shadow, my Aura. I know it isn't magic." Blake snaps back.

"So you know yourself? Truly and fully? Then I have nothing to teach you." Eltira says, her voice dripping with condescension.

"You aren't teaching her anything. I am." You interrupt, knowing that Elitra won't back down. "And I say it doesn't matter. A single innate spell is meaningless. Akin to a gnome that can talk to moles."

You stand up and pull your spear from your satchel, driving the heel into the ground and cutting a shallow trench into the grass. Not a perfect circle, but good enough.

"And if it isn't magic, then I'll figure out whatever alchemy or martial art it is tomorrow. Tonight you will sit back and await my call."

Eltira shrinks down as you glare, looking more than a little smug.

You swallow as you took at Blake, seeing a trust in her eyes that you're not sure you've earned.

She knows how to meditate. Whatever the mirror image thing is, it's made her receptive to this sort of ritual. You can feel that much in your gut.

You don't have any incense to burn, no candles to light. No distant god to invoke, no bystanders to impress.

All you have to do is sing, and wait for her to join in.

What shall you sing of, as you harmonise with the world?

[ ] Hope Enduring
Sing of the Mendevian Crusades and the soldiers that never faltered. Sing of the Knights of Lastwall and the battles that continue today. Sing of the endless tides of evil and sound the clarion call, joining the Adventurers and Heroes that answer.

[ ] Hope Rewarded
Sing of the Sarkoris Scar, of the wound that has finally begun to heal. Since of the peace that has come to your mother, and the redemption of evil. Add your melody to the Song of the Spheres.

[ ] Fury Rewarded
Sing of the Fifth Crusade, of the deaths of Deskari and Baphomet. Sing of the vengeance you delivered, of the foes that fell before you. Raise your voice and sing of the Wrath of the Righteous.

--

Actual spell choice comes next time, as this is the important bit. There's no wrong choices here, this is deciding thematics.