Founded in 1017 by a slavic witch Marzanna in Giant Mountains in Poland, then known as the Kingdom of Poland.
Located in Giant Mountains in a enchanted valley cloaked by magic.
Due to the original plans intending to place the school entirely underground, some of the most exquisite chambers and halls are suited below ground level, such as The Lunar Archive.
Subjects in which students of this school excel are herbology, healing arts, divination and wandless magic (part of Spellcraft curriculum since third year).
There is no house division, students are only divided accordingly to their gender, therefore there are only two dormitories, one for girls and one for boys.
Known to possess one of the greatest magical archives in all of Europe - The Lunar Archive. It contains some of the oldest and most dangerous spellbooks and grimoires, and also many magical artifacts. The door to the Archives is enchanted to only open for everyone on full moon, otherwise you need a special talisman to open the door.
The Academy is often looked upon with suspicion by other European wizarding schools and governments as they put an eminent emphasis on teaching wandless magic in their Spellcraft classes (equivalent to British Charms). It is because Polish wizarding society has a long history of wizards and witches being kidnapped with their wands being snapped which very often rendered them defenceless.
Due to the above, the Academy is collaborating with Uagadou School of Magic since 2004. The professors exchange their knowledge of wandless magic and the Polish students have a chance to swap places with African students.
Syllabus:
Core Subjects:
Spellcraft
Herbology
Potions
Healing Arts
Transfiguration
Divination
Defence Against the Dark Arts
History of Magic
Astronomy
Elective Courses:
Arithmancy
Advanced Wandless Magic
Care of Magical Creatures
Elemental Magic
Jewish Mysticism
Martial Magic Arts
Muggle Studies
Study of Ancient Runes
Magical Musical Compositions
Alchemy
More on the history of Marogród Academy coming soon…
Somewhere, out on the flats, is a church. Or at least: in America it’s a church. Elsewhere it’s a temple or a synagogue, a gudwara or a town hall. But in the American South it’s a church, cross shining neon above the doorway.
It’s always been neon, no one questions this.
It’s never in the same place twice, no one questions this either.
The church sits there, walls shiny and pristine white, roof neat grey, cross almost invisible in the day but blinding in the light.
No one questions it.
It travels. You’re driving down a highway: you see it. You’re walking in a park: you see it. You’re flying high above the ground, broom study beneath you: you see it.
There is one similarity between all these people: they need a place to go.
The church isn’t really a church. It’s more like… the idea of a church. A safe place to go, a safe place to find yourself. A safe place to get some rest, to sort things out and think things through. A place for peace, a place for advice. A place to take a moment and be a person.
They say, time passes differently in these travelling places, that these pieces of folded space are also pieces of folding time, that you can go in one day and leave after three days and find only an hour gone. That you can enter one day, and leave the next, and find you’ve been vanished a whole year.
“’S jus’ the ley lines,” says the preacher. “Jus’ the foldin’ of reality. ‘S all good.”
And in truth: no one lost is ever lost forever, with these travelling places. They just end up a different place to where they meant to go - a different place, but a better one, often.
