Isle of the Faeries

There are still some places in this world where magic exists. It clings to the remote parts of the world that Time has left behind and forgotten, where life is simpler and nature is powerful. An example is Teelin, an island off the coast of Ireland, in Teelin you are either a farmer or a fisherman unless you work in Rell the largest town on Teelin. There are few cars and fewer well paved roads, the summers are often cloudy and the winters bitter but there is a wild powerful magic in every leaf and every wave that crashes on the cliffs. It is not the magic of movies with pretty sparks and silly words, it is the raw elements, deep and dark, complex and dangerous. It is addicting, and to the residents of Teelin it is a part of life. Something to watch out for, something to beware of but in the end no different than the wild dog packs that roam the moors, dangerous but avoidable. For it is not humans who wield the magic, it is the Sidhe, the Fey who wander the island, who live in the forests and lurk under the waves.