Submissions that I find possibly relevant to The Kingmakers campaign
"Whosoever shall brew ale in the town with intention of selling it must hang out a sign, otherwise he shall forfeit his ale."
King Richard II, 1393
Because, after a while, even the oldest adventurer will need a place to settle as he grows tired.
The City of Bells, home of Bornegault’s Tongue.
The city has a thousand stories - and here are a few of them..
This alchemy shop has two faces - its above ground establishment which serves the general public with the typical love potions, cure-alls and whatnote, and a ‘secret’ below-ground operation which is where the real action is…
"Bristlebane ale. Tall."
Mathus looked up. He didn't recognize the man ordering, but he seemed the type: muscles beneath a layer of fat, a snarling expression with most of his teeth missing, fists like summer hams. "You want it in a bottle?"
"From the tap."
Mathus nodded. "This way," he said, stepping from behind the bar and into the back room, the "customer" following.
A fresh-faced young man sitting at the bar looked around, confused. "Bristlebane? Sounds adventurous."
"You couldn't handle it, son," an older man said from across the plank bar with a hint of derision. "It'd right kick your ass."
Each town has a House of the King. This is the main one, and by far the largest, set in the heart of the capitol's temple district.
The Tired Traveler’s Tavern Guide (new with alliteration) is the beginning of a compilation of taverns and tavern resources for travelers of all realms, should as they need a place to rest or munch. Whether you need a fully-fledged tavern with history and a table map, or just a name to get you started, this should get you off on the right foot.
Once every decade on the eve of St. Poskov's Day during mid-winter, the coastal city of Tiyabon experiences a horrific event. Quool's Tide rolls in, depositing hundreds of bloated, fish-eaten corpses upon the pebbly shores of Tiyabon's wide bay. This singularity is to this day unexplained, though countless theories abound. It is said for example, that these corpses are not eaten by the myriad fish of the seas completely, due to the fear all creatures of the seas hold for Quool.
Named for Quool, a terrible, antediluvian god of seas and storms, who no longer exists for he has no worshipers, the Tide chokes the beaches and surf with the countless rotting bodies of those who had perished at sea in a violent way.
Almost immediately, the lifeless corpses are fed upon by crabs, gulls, and worse things that await the horrid feast. The townsfolk let nature take it course with disinterested disgust, though lately some enterprising adventurers have taken to searching along the beaches of flesh for former deceased companions, with intentions of raising them again!
Surprisingly no undead ever rise from among the many corpses. This is also a mystery.