“ The Pcs discover an ancient, dusty oil lamp, somewhere in the bowels of a dungeon. Naturally they 'rub it', and out pops a wizened, old djinn. So far so good. Then it speaks...
'Ah at last, at last I am free! Now grant me my wish!'
When the PCs explain that they are the ones that should be granted a wish, the malignant djinn explains to them that his particular oil-lamp has a curse placed upon it. Whomsoever releases the entity inside shall be geased to grant the djinn's wish to the best of their ability.
Groans ensue from the party. The djinn rubs his wrinkled hands, grins, and proceeds to name his wish. What could it be?”
“ 'The Cetemi have a most curious custom that in their celebrations must all men don the garb of women and women... the garb of men, to the aim that none shall... know another.' -An Account of Barbarian Lands, Lord Shakthur”
“ (Post zombie apocalypse)-a tribe of humans
Culture: Drumming circles daily around an arena for their bravest brutes to slaughter their accepted foe, the zombie. Feasts of overcooked zombie flesh (to kill all of the zombie virus present). Wooden fortress that make this tribe in the far future look several millennium behind in technology. Instead of becoming a troublesome and unnatural foe that they seek to cure, this tribe has accepted that Zombies will continue to roam their land and, if the undead were to perish (be cured), this tribe would suffer as well.”