‘The more you tighten your grip, Tarkin, the more star systems will slip through your fingers.’
Princess Leia, Star Wars - 1977
From the outlook of my new and inexpensive flat, I could see her. She was kneeling in the graveyard across the cobblestoned way in front of a fresh grave. She was in dark mourning gear, complete with those large black hats that were the fashion. A lost lamb I supposed, recently wed, recently widowed, crying for the loss of a loved one. She had been there two days that I noticed, as well as their nights. She never seemed to move, so locked she was in her grief. As I drank a lonely nightcap, I caught the glimpse that changed me. In the pale moon light, I saw the grave buckle. In a foul corruption of Athenean birth, some spawn sprang forth. Not taking my eyes off the horrid scene, I reached over to the weapon I had been cleaning. Before I could grasp it fully, the petite young widow of my imagination cleared a saber concealed under her over cape and removed its loathsome head. After checking her kill, she looked up at me; backlit I assumed by the lamp in the room. She was not just a simple widow, she was Mourner. I held up my glass in a true salute from one professional to another. At that point I knew two new things: That the Unnatural truly had become more active as I had been hearing in the back alleys and I needed to move far from that graveyard.
Give me your greenskins, your mobz, and your grunts
There were rumours spreading around the newspaper office about a "Press Gang" that would protect reporters. But only the owner and editor knew the true purpose of the Gang.
The beast within became the beast without; ferocity and might blossoming in corpore upon the flesh.
"Men? They send men to repel us? Humans…"
Sing a song of sixpence
Pocketful of rye
Four and twenty blackbirds
Baked in a pie
The twin goddesses of the Medusan race, Gethserath and Amarane.
Come one, come all to the greatest show in the world!
Suffering from an ancient curse, the Medusan race is slowly dying.
Fearsome horsemen from the plains, they raid, trade, and run.
Most know the love that goblins have for mushrooms. Few know the lengths they will go to obtain their delicacy.
Some of the more bizarre cults which could conceivably be found in a post apocalyptic setting
The Pegorans are an ancient culture of people that have left their unique marks upon the world.
Pardon them, they are barbarians, and think that the customs of their tribe and river are the laws of nature.
Lord Bertrand of Shawstrope
These Trolls travel land and sea in an eternal search for their next war. The Host of Battle—for they have no other name for themselves—is part mercenary army, part ethnicity.
A hybrid of man and animal, bred to serve and now free to live.
An odd little cult dedicated to the care and feeding of their ‘god’, the Cabal of Omnomnom is slowly depleting the region of…
Mercenary companies are usually little more than bands of low-level thugs. This one is a much more sophisticated organisation, with its own history, regulations and culture.
In wonder the adventurers stood awe struck by the beauty and splendour of the surrounding foliage. The great open plain before them transformed from a flat green world into mesmerising colours and movement. The Vissealist stood unmoving, his hands outspread and resting gently on an intricate structure of vines that threaded their way over the wall and into the earth of the plain, spreading outwards from the ramparts of the kings palace.
Now, this ol' ramblin fellow tends to walk his talk a bit too far down the train sometimes.. So I'll be brief in my recantin' of how it was my Tavern "came to bein'" on the multiverse as a weave of it's own spell.. And how I'm even alive to tell the story!
You see it's simple really, trust me.. that's my specialty, keepin it elementary. And you can trust this old Bard.
Anyway, this one night these wizards get a ramblin' on about the temporal exististance of space and time and how it could be manifested in a weave of super dimensional space. whereupon the folded space would give rise to an infinite number of entrances and exits to one or many spaces. Now, seein' how my talkin' sometimes get's locked into the way us folks used to talk back in the ol' west. These wizards didn't know I was a master of the word. and I had heard everything they said. They were also a bit over the wagon, while I was steerin' the show.
So that's how it came to pass, I struck a bargain with the wizards. They come to me in the morning and conjure up their idea into reality and I'd pledge them my life, my existance.. in essence my soul. but in a much nicer sense of the word. So they came by in the morning a half remembering our talks the prior evenin'. And I recanted their words verbatum, and that's how it came to be. The spell was complete that afternoon. My tavern would be the super dimensional cube that would exist in this weave of space and time, folks could come and go as they please, knowin in mind some of the rules and limitations set forth.
A few of 'em as follows.
No feller can be causin a ruckus inside any of my fine establishments, as always rule number one god damnit.
n' second the portal works kinda tricky. When ya outside ya cast the spell and lend your will to luck a bit and regardless the doors to the bar will appear, the windows a luminescent amber.. you can hear the chattee but ya can't see in. And the catch is the door might be locked, in which case you chalk it up to lady luck and go walk off and try again in an hour. Now most times the door pops right open and from the outside you always come in the front door, immediately greeted by myself or one of our many fine patrons of Hooper McFin's Ale & Steakhouse.
Now when ya cast the spell from inside the Tavern, another catch comes up. The back door is mainly a secret for the non-initiated staff and the regulars but for sake of the prose let's assume we all know there's a secret door in the back with a portal there. Now when you go on through this one, you got two scenario's you oughta be aware of. One is ya pop outside relative to the same spot you came out. The other is, you walk back on into this one or another of our many Hooper McFin's Ale & Steakhouse.
so it's a clever quantum railroad I got my tavern and my people's caught on. But, Hey the show's sure as always goin. ohhh' rutin tootin skidoodle -
** And that's it.. that's the only notes I found on the spell, apparently out there somewhere is a Tavern caught on the mighty ebb and flow of the multiverse. Well. at least I can put to rest my torment as to the condition now referred to as "Hooper McFin's Teleportation Paranoia".
Dr. Clarke T. Mulligan - Professional researcher of Time & Space.
Hooper McFin's Ale & Steakhouse