Modern Magick
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- Parts 175
Ongoing30h 27m
Last published Fri, Dec 18, 2020
Can British magick be saved? Hell yes.
Imagine modern Britain without magick.
No fae enclaves. No flying chairs. No magick wands. Giddy gods, no unicorns.
Who wants to live in that world?
Me neither. But with magick on the decline, that's the world we're ending up with.
Meet the Society for Magickal Heritage. Our boss is a disembodied voice. Our headquarters is a sentient house. You could say we've a vested interest in keeping magick alive.
Can a ragtag bunch of magicians, necromancers and fae prevail against inevitable ruin and decline?
Hell yes. Try and stop us.
First mission? Find the source of a magickal disease that's decimating Britain's troll enclaves - and fix it. Simple.
Or... maybe not. For the only place that might hold the information we need is the ancient and inconveniently lost enclave of Farringale...
This serial has an official home at http://www.modernmagick.net! Check out the site if you'd like to get a bit further ahead with the story.
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#37
contemporaryfantasy
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It was the summer of 1976 when my father left us. It was a particularly memorable summer and my mother suffered terribly. My father had left her for a younger woman and moved into her apartment which was above a flower shop where she worked. My mother struggled making ends meet and got a job as a nursing assistant at Peaceful Haven, an old folks home that still exists although it is very badly run down now. Because she could not afford a baby sitter, my mother took me to work where I sat in the lounge and watched TV and read books. On her lunch breaks she took me across the street to Faulkner Park where she made out with Fred while I wandered around eating my sandwich. But I quickly grew bored. I was 8 then, a bright young girl with an active imagination. I imagined doors in the sandbox, swings into the sky, doors to another world. And in the rooms of the old lost souls were more doors only waiting to be opened. I took those souls with me on my adventures and eased their loneliness and age with my contagious eagerness to believe anything. And then a terrible thing happened to me, so terrible I could not speak of it. I was in hospital, unable to believe anymore and my old friends came to visit me and to believe for me. I am 30 now, and as I write this and look back I wonder if I still believe. And yes, I do. Believing got me through that summer and believing got my father to come home again.
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