Touched By Magic

Touched By Magic

Good Touched, Not Bad Touched

Chapter 1 by HighGrove HighGrove

Throughout history, man has been driven by two primal goals: Getting Something for Nothing and Having Sex with Everything.

Every great advancement in human civilization, from fire to philosophy to the electric guitar, can be understood as some combination of trying to fleece or fuck one's fellow man. And no single pursuit has more perfectly encapsulated the meeting place of those two great ideals than that of Magic.

Magic, as dreamed by the men and women who slavishly pursue it, is the ultimate expression of doing whatever the fuck you want. Not a fan of aging? Boom, twenty-six forever. Gravity would prefer you stay on the ground? Fuck you Gravity, we're flying up in this bitch. Your neighbor somehow hasn't transformed into a snail yet? Well I hope he's ready for a one-way ticket to Snailsville, because that's where he's headed.

And despite pouring over countless moldy tomes, swearing fealty to endless secret cults and who knows how many blood sacrifices, nothing has ever come of any of this rigorous inquiry besides allergy flare ups, costly cult membership dues and bloodstains that are almost impossible to get out of a white couch cushion. It has therefore been the sullen conclusion of nearly every would-be wizard and penny-ante alchemist that Magic, that most sublime of Mysteries, simply does not exist.

They're wrong, of course. Magic most certainly exists.

But it has historically been the case that those with the means and motives to actively seek it out were already more or less free to do whatever the fuck they wanted. Why would a king, upon whose whims men live and die, also need to be able to fly? Why should a foppish dandy, spending only a fraction of his inheritance on magical study and already up to his eyebrows in freaky sex, also get to talk to birds? They already lead lives so far beyond the common man that they might as well be considered a sort of Magic.

No, Magic does exist, but not for those who would simply add it to their pile of spoils. It is instead the sole province of the most common among us.

It has taken many forms over the years, almost all of them undocumented and unremarked by the greater recollection of history. A mysterious necklace discovered in the far corner of an attic, a word of power burned cleanly into the sleeping mind, a strange clearing in the woods stumbled upon by chance, all of these and stranger still have been bestowed upon unsuspecting men and women scores of times. And make no mistake, Magic is every bit as wondrous and powerful as the ancient sorcerers dreamed. So why, then, have none of these beneficiaries of eldritch welfare come to rule us as Wizard Kings and Queens?

Because, simply put, Magic is stupid. And horny. And it seems to exclusively seek out individuals who share those qualities.

Perhaps it could be seen as a self-correcting mechanism. It would probably be bad if there were dozens of people running around with the power to defiantly wave their genitals in the face of Natural Law, right? So if that power must exist, it is perhaps for the best that it go to those who will mostly use it to flame out while indulging in petty delights. How many times has the world been spared a magical tyrant due to the human body's inability to pump blood to the heart and brain and a three foot long penis at the same time?

Six hundred and forty seven times.

But it doesn't always have to end that way. Sometimes, Magic happens to chance upon someone who is Stupid, and Horny, and also Fun. And in those moments of serendipity, mankind's ageless dream of Getting Something for Nothing and Fucking Everything can finally be savored.

But yeah, usually Magic just ends in a fatal priapism.

Hopefully this story is about one of the former times, not the latter.

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