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
At regular intervals, a god takes control of your world's weather. Choose the gods at random each turn of the interval and begin applying their effects subtly. Their power will depend on the strength of those who worship them.
For civilised people, worship of a god actually wanes during that god's month in an effort to reduce their potential destructive effect.
A kingdom where, if there are multiple princes (princesses can't rule unless they have no siblings), the princes fight to the death in the arena to decide who gets to rule. A simple way to make sure your brother cannot make a bid for the thrown, and keeps the royal blood in one line.
A country where noone can be executed whilst telling a story provided it's reasonably interesting.
A world where the minds of the rich and the dying are transferred into the bodies of convicted felons.
If you possess someone, you have an hour to get back to your own body or your thoughts will be overwritten by that of the orginal person
Magic is like alcohol, the more that is used, the more it causes a hangover later on and the less judgement one has when using it. If one waits a while after casting a spell, things "detoxify." A cantrip or two is like a sip of weak beer, whilst a large creation spell is like a bottle of vodka. Cast something too big and you can die from magic intoxication.
For the people of Kuboloth, hell is not in the depths of the earth but in the cold of the windy air;heaven is in the warmth of the earth, lit by glowing jewels.
It is possible to buy magical abilities. The process is very dangerous though, involving chemicals, rituals and surgery possibly leaving the aspiring mage insane, retarded or scarred for life.
Magic is impossible except for a handful of days in the year, when those with the knowledge become hugely powerful.
What to export or import....
Fabric: wool, linnen, silk...
Wood: raw-material, furniture
Metals: iron, gold, silver, copper...
Wine, beer, mead, spirits...
Animals: horses, sheep, swine, cows...
Coloring-powder (for fabric, ink...)
Raw-material to make fabric: unprocessed wool, linnen, silk...
Glass: Windows, figurines, glasses, raw-material...
Tea (not sure about my spelling here, but I mean the hot drink Englishmen drink instead of coffee!)
The more you dominate your life to a god or goddess, the more you gain magical powers from him or her, but the big stuff does not come easily. Most worshippers have only the weakest of spells.
It was common belief in medieval times that goods and property could only be affected by the Fair Folk, the faeries, if it was acquired unlawfully or unfairly.
In ancient China, women bind their feet for cosmetic reasons, resulting in them not able to walk without help and walking in a shuffling gait.
Possibly this can be modified such that people do it for less stupid reasons.
Disclaimer: This is NOT a racist remark since I'm Chinese myself and hence entitled to freely judge Chinese customs. NOT sexist either since I'm female as well.
Magic is addictive, small spells are like cannabis in addictiveness, major ones are like cocaine or herion. Many countrys ban even cantrips as a result.
A planet (or city, valley ect) where those who enter witness protection can escape old age and death itself, so they can live for centuries without aging-provided they maintain their cover perfectly. If they are outed by anyone or ever utter their true name, they age the number of years they have not aged since the day they entered witness protection (which might mean that they age centuries in seconds and crumble into dust and bone.)
Elven prison sentences even for small offenses seem very long to humans, but this is not because their rulers are draconian, but because elves live so long that a six year sentence, for example, is like a six week one in human terms.Humans in Elven countries are well advised to behave themselves
The gold hoops and rings that sailors wear are to throw into the sea if there is a storm. These are bribes to the sea gods to let them live through the storm.
Once a year, the king steps down from his throne, and lives as a peasant for one day, the next day is the anniversary of his coronation, and it is celebrated by a reenactment of the ceremony. This is doubly beneficial, firstly, because the people are able to have the grand parade that always precedes the ceremony. Secondly, because the heir to the throne is given a day on the job every year. Although, apparently, the thought has not yet come to one of the kingdoms enemies, the assassination of the king during the renewal coronation would be a moral, as well as a political blow to the kingdom.
A land where virgins are immune to magic (although they cannot cast it.)
The accepted mode of getting otherwise unobtainable information is to go visit the cranky old hermit living in the mountains. It's just the sensible thing to do. So, naturally, everyone takes their monthly excursion to the hermit's hovel to consult him on everything, from lock-jaw to lovesickness, necromancers to nasal viruses.
Now, if everyone's always visiting the poor old hermit, there's going to be an enormous queue... "Wellcome to the Hermitt's Hovele, Please Take Ye a Number and Have Ye a Seate" reads the sign outside the packed dwelling.
Imagine the poor hermit, having retreated into the mountains to escape this precise situation...