The Whitmore Family

“Organization” and “structure” are concepts the Whitmore family acknowledges with the same enthusiasm one offers to a mandatory safety leaflet: a polite nod, a vague smile, and absolutely no intention of following it to the letter.   In theory, the Whitmores operate like any old Westminster gentry line—headed by a Patriarch and Matriarch, currently Nigel Whitmore III and Illy Whitmore, who maintain the household, manage family estates, and ensure the family hasn’t accidentally set itself on fire this quarter.   In practice, the Whitmores function as a kooky, sprawling clan of interconnected aunts, uncles, cousins, wayward prodigies, semi-retired chaos mages, and at least one great-aunt who is technically a ghost but still insists on voting during family meetings.   Their structure is held together less by hierarchy and more by a shared conviction that: Life is supposed to be whimsical, magic is supposed to be weird, and both are better enjoyed with family.   The family recognizes two formal roles:   The Patriarch & Matriarch: stewards, mediators, and "cat-herders" (except the cats are family members)   The Heiress Apparent: currently Wendy Whitmore ( Wyrd Wendy), eldest child and natural inheritor of the Whitmore magical legacy (much to some Hermetic gatherings quiet dread)   Everything else—titles, duties, authority—tends to shift depending on:   who’s available,   who’s magically stable,   or who can bribe the most cousins with pastries.   Despite their eccentric approach, the Whitmores are fiercely loyal to one another. Arguments are loud, reconciliations are louder, and every chaotic branch of the family tree ultimately bends toward the same root:   Family first, weirdness always.

On the surface, the Whitmores resemble any old Westminster gentry family: ancient portraits on the walls, creaky ancestral homes, impeccable pedigree, and a lineage stretching back to medieval London. But beneath that veneer lies their true culture — one defined not by rigid tradition, but by a glorious, deliberate eccentricity.   For centuries, the Whitmores quietly decided that they were rich enough, old enough, and established enough to behave exactly as they pleased, and the world could simply adapt. This ethos calcified into a family culture best described as:   “We have the means. We have the time. Let’s be weird about it.”   They prize creativity over conformity, whimsy over solemnity, curiosity over caution. A typical Whitmore dinner party may include:   a séance at the wrong table,   a magically animated centerpiece giving relationship advice,   and someone arguing with a teapot about existential philosophy.   The family values:   Fearless experimentation (magical or otherwise)   Kindness, generosity, and community   The sacred right to be strange   Tea as a spiritual and emotional anchor   Playfulness as a moral principle   They are a clan where eccentricity isn’t merely tolerated—it’s expected, encouraged, and occasionally documented for future hilarity. Children are raised to explore their oddities rather than hide them. Adults conduct rituals that look suspiciously like elaborate theatre games. Elders pass down advice that sounds nonsensical until it accidentally becomes life-changing.   To outsiders, the Whitmores are baffling. To each other, they are home.   Their culture can be summed up in a single guiding belief:   Be yourself no matter what the world tells you

To the mundane world, the Whitmores are simply a kooky old Westminster family—the sort of aristocratic oddballs who have too much money, too much freedom, and an almost suspicious streak of good fortune in their investments and holdings. Financial journalists alternately admire and resent them, baffled by how the family seems to drift through the stock market with an ease bordering on the supernatural. Their ethical independence, refusal to play by conventional high-society rules, and tendency to “accidentally” outsmart corporate predators only adds to their mystique.   Most mundanes chalk it up to eccentricity. They’re not wrong, but they also don't see the magic behind the luck.   In the magical world, however, the Whitmores are known for something far more significant: they care.   Despite their centuries of magical mediocrity, the Whitmores have always supported the broader magical community with a fierce, joyful devotion. They fund independent magic shops, sponsor young practitioners, and openly oppose monopolies—especially the predatory influence of the Goblin Markets, whose merchants have long exploited desperate spellcasters and reckless newcomers.   If the Whitmores have an agenda, it isn’t conquest or power.   It is pleasure, freedom, community, and the stubborn belief that magic should make life better, not harder.   They strive to create spaces and opportunities where magical people can thrive without fear—economically, socially, and spiritually. Their public stance is simple:   Keep magic open.   Keep magic joyful.   Keep magical folk safe from exploitation.   Have a bloody good time doing it.   To outsiders, this looks whimsical. To the Whitmores, it is their guiding star.

To say the Whitmores are wealthy is an understatement that borders on comedy. They are a stupid kind of rich—the sort of generational wealth so vast and old that society collectively shrugs and accepts whatever eccentric nonsense the family gets up to, because everyone wants even a fraction of their patronage.   Their mundane assets include:   centuries-old Westminster real estate worth more than some nations   a labyrinth of trusts, estates, and investments dating back to the Tudor era   deeply inconvenient stock market luck that financial analysts hate trying to model   and a family relationship with the British economy best described as “Oh for God’s sake, how are they doing that?”   In the magical world, their resources are even more impressive:   ownership and operation of Brooms & Bangles, the largest magical marketplace in the UK   numerous herb farms, crystal refineries, and spell reagent suppliers   leyline-tuned shipping networks that move magical goods safely across Europe   a web of independent magical businesses they’ve funded, rescued, or nurtured over generations   a formidable stockpile of acquired relics, enchanted oddities, and “accidentally purchased” artifacts   libraries of spellbooks spanning six centuries, many with notes from Whitmores who were… trying their best   The family’s real asset, however, is their economic influence. The Whitmores don’t control magical commerce—but they enable it. They keep independent practitioners afloat, prevent cartels from gaining footholds, and ensure the Goblin Markets don’t dominate the magical supply chain.   If wealth is power, then Whitmore wealth is whimsical power—unpredictable, benevolent, and occasionally weaponized in ways that make more traditional magical families feel faint.

The Whitmore family first appears in Westminster records around c. 1350 CE, during the late medieval period. They were already landowners by then—quiet, respectable, absurdly well-positioned, and very clearly the sort of gentry who had been around long enough that nobody questioned where they’d come from. Their early history is full of lost parchments, contradictory genealogies, and more tea stains than a London rainstorm. One archivist famously declared, “I cannot verify any of this, but it all feels very Whitmore.”   The Tudor Era – The First Recorded Witch   The first documented Whitmore spellcaster was Sadie Whitmore, accused of witchcraft in 1567. She survived the ordeal thanks to an overwhelming “donation” of silver that nearly buried the presiding judge. The family insists it was not a bribe, merely enthusiastic philanthropy.   Sadie herself was a capable, earnest witch—nothing spectacular, nothing dangerous, just enough to get noticed. Which became something of a pattern.   The Long Era of Magical Mediocrity (1600s–1960s)   For the next six centuries, the Whitmores developed a reputation that could best be summarized as:   “Old money. Great parties. Terrible mages.”   They dabbled politely in every magical movement that crossed Britain:   a Whitmore in Mother Shipton’s circles   a Whitmore fetching tea for Dr. John Dee’s astrologers   a Whitmore quietly observing Hermetic lodges   a Whitmore saying, “Well, this is interesting, innit?” during the rise of Thelema   They were everywhere, yet never central. Present, but politely forgettable. Too wealthy to dismiss, too magically mediocre to fear.   This suited them perfectly. No pressure. No expectations. Plenty of time for eccentric hobbies.   1967 – The Spark Before the Storm   The Whitmores opened the Brooms & Bangles Magical Market in 1967, just as the occult revival surged through the UK. This marked the first truly ambitious magical venture the family had ever undertaken—and even then, it was primarily an economic project, meant to support practitioners, not demonstrate power.   Fate had other plans.   The Chaos Revolution (1970s–1980s)   Everything changed when Nigel Whitmore II—a man with magnificent sideburns and the curiosity of a caffeinated raccoon—stumbled onto the writings of Austin Osman Spare. The emerging movement of Chaos Magic struck him like a revelation. Spellcraft that was experimental, irreverent, belief-bending, artistic, and unbound? It fit the Whitmores like a waistcoat tailored by a drunk faerie.   Nigel spent the next decade dragging—cheerfully—every Whitmore into the new era:   sigils on napkins   rituals built from symbolism rather than formula   fey witchcraft quirks absorbed into chaos praxis   Victorian séance nonsense repurposed   400 years of magical detritus turned into weapons of whimsy   By 1980, the Whitmores were no longer forgettable. They were a rising power: unpredictable, joyful, terrifying, effective.   Magical society’s opinion shifted overnight from:   “They’re silly.” to “They’re silly, but do not provoke them.”   Modern Era – Whimsy Ascendant   Since the chaos revolution, the Whitmores have become one of the most influential magical families in the UK—not through force, but through economics, creativity, and impossible luck.   They fund independent magical businesses, shelter young practitioners, undermine monopolies, and maintain Brooms & Bangles as the beating commercial heart of Britain’s magical community.   Their newest rising star, Wyrd Wendy, has become the living embodiment of the Whitmore renaissance: chaos-sparked, charming, terrifying, beloved, and just dangerous enough to keep destiny on its toes.