Mask Magic
It first comes in the night, a flicker of a nightmare. A crash of thunder, the sound of stone on metal.
They don't think much of it at first, but then the images start showing up in the daytime. A crow, a fox, flint, steel, hands grasping up from the earth, attacking the senses. An Icon beckons to them.
The first mask usually isn't even a mask, just a fever of earth and dye, almost plastered on their face, thick with unrefined emotion. It is then that the totem can speak.
And there is much to teach.