"Read," Elton says, handing you a slim folio bound in green cloth.
THE ORDER OF THE INVISIBLE WORLD
BY CASIMIR LUBASIK
A small tome in the sort of archaic, rambling English that tells you the author preferred to write in Latin, it outlines some of the more common nature spirits found in this part of North America. You haven't read this exact text before, which seems to contain transliterations of names and titles in languages now extinct. You recite the words, your focused will compensating for your limited understanding. The recitations are enervating, as if the lost spirits are feeding on your vitality to restore themselves, but finally you feel the knots of corruption dissolve and spirits starting to answer. And then all at once, a pulse of spiritual power from Elton frees the knotted and sickly spirit-paths in the defiled swamp. Life-energy flows around you, and then out into the wilds in a burst so powerful you can almost see it. Branches sway; snow swirls across the desolate landscape. And then the spirits come rushing in.
They wash over the land. Some dance and laugh; others howl with Rage or shine with tranquility: protean spirits of the Wyld, delicate geometric shapes loyal to the urban tribes, the shades of ancestors and fallen heroes. Elton shouts their names, not like a sorcerer chanting words of binding, but as a man calling out to old friends.
The air grows thin and sparkling as you see into the Umbra and watch the spirits settle around the periphery of the defiled Broad Brook Caern, far enough away that the Wyrm-stuff in its heart will not taint them, but comfortably close to their old abodes. Your shifting vision perceives three places where the spirits have settled…you see each place simultaneously, in shifting fragments of shattered mirror…
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