The Order is of one mind. Power freely flows from one into the other as they lend their strength to each other's magic. Such strength now surges through Arkmer's body and into his staff, the ancient magic of Lerkintin stored there pulses outward in waves. The Elves slash and stab with swords and spells, but there is no blood, no feral cries of pain. Their swords and their magic meet with only air. Their attackers vanish before the killing blows can land. Some strange new magic is at work here.
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