In ancient times, Britain was a land of mists and magic, the island where students could come to learn the secret druidic arts. Prophecy and lore run deep through the hills and valleys, from whispers of Arthur's return to dragons screeching and putting a bane on the land.

But, as with most lands these days, people have forgotten the truth of those old ways. In the modern United Kingdom, cars bustle along highways, tourists snap quick photos by dying monuments, and magic is written off as superstition, the realm of children and dreams.

The trouble is, the old ways have not vanished. Look a little closer at the streets of London - down one alley you might be mugged by a perfectly human thug, but down another you might run afoul of a sly goblin and wind up selling your first-born to escape with your very life. The rock star chatting up supermodels at the other end of the bar might be hiding a pair of fangs in that smile, and that sinewy bouncer might turn into a wolf under a full moon.

Magic, of all kinds, lives and breathes in London, drawn by the dreams and nightmares of so many blissfully unaware mortals. Any time the Otherworld is so close to the surface, however, it is easy enough for a mortal to take that first step into a fairy ring - easy enough for them to unwittingly start on their journey.