Spellcraft and Saber-rattling

Harold dressed in his 'lucky' Spiderman boxers and headed down to his studio. not that he was an artist – of any kind – but he had a study / workshop on the first floor in which to conduct magical experiments. (Other than the cellars and the attic, it was the one room in the whole mansion where he could cast a pentacle without it being broken by pipes or wires under the floorboards) Ever since Lucy was born he's preferred to call this space his 'studio' as if he were some bohemian dr. Faustus. It could have been worse – he could have called it 'laboratory'.

He picked up his pocket book of spells and went to drag Julie out of bed. His spell book is very interesting. Every magician I've ever known has followed the traditional path of great tomes of vellum bound in skin (human or otherwise) in which to record their craft – as if the grandness of the book imparts some extra gravitas to their ability with the craft. Not so Harold. Embracing both old and new, he has a pocket-sized tome (bound in goatskin purchased on e-bay) in which he glues sheets printed from his word processor. If he wasn't so possessive of spells it's taken him years to research, I'd suggest he market the idea. He'd make a small fortune.*

"I'm ready," he said, buckling on a sword belt and saber. "Now where's this dratted portal?"


*small being the operative word – mages are few and far between and mages willing to spend money rarer still.