Normal punishments tend to involve either fines, imprisonment, amputation or execution, but not all crimes are going to be bad enough to be executed for, and imprisonment is often a waste of resources. Here are thirty punishments for those who get out of line and get caught and convicted.
Many, perhaps most fantasy lands are monarchies, which can be ruled well when the monarch is a clever and able man or woman devoted to his or her people. But what happens when the monarch is ill, or is tyrannically cruel, or a young child, or is otherwise blatantly unfit to rule? How can he or she be dealt with without risking civil war as powerful nobles fight for the crown?
30 wierd, wonderful and wacky wedding customs for your worlds.
Why are most people not users of magic? Why does magic not rule the whole world? Because...
Thirty systems of justice-or the most rank injustice, in some cases.
For want of a nail a horse was lost
For want of a horse a rider was lost
For want of a rider a message was lost
For want of a message a battle was lost
For want of a battle a kingdom was lost…
Which serves as a warning not to get on the wrong side of the God of Smalll Things.
The many worlds of the Universe have their multiple festivals-some may be to celebrate the turning of the year, the coming of the rains or the return of the sun.
Wytchwolde-Under-Ash, once a great Thorpe, was razed to the ground by the ruthless, and truth told more than slightly deranged, Porcelain Princess and her henchmen, the Purifiers. When the flames had at last subsided, and a kaleidoscope of swirling, dull-gray ash choked the sky, nine hundred acres of old growth iron spruce, black larch and weeping birch, was burned to utter cinders, along with the entire coven of witches comprising the Sisterhood of the Silver Teat.
Now, centuries later, the forests are somewhat re-grown, and the town of Foolswater stands where Wytchwolde-Under-Ash once did. It is said that even to this day, one can still find ashes in the otherwise potable well-water of this village. Once a year during the Winter Solstice, the “Ash-Wind” comes to Foolswater, a suffocating black cloud that passes quickly but leaves dead birds and animals in its wake, darkening the trees, and staining the sky with black snow. The inhabitants of the village know better than to be caught outside during the day-long Ash-Wind. Everyone is locked snugly inside, singing old hymns that curse and re-curse the burned witches who once called this place home.