I love immersive worlds. I love being able to open up a book, point to a spot on a map, and come up with an adventure for that space based off of what the book says about that area. However, none of my players have ever asked about turnips in my Forgotten Realms (or any other) campaigns, and they also have never been incorporated into any campaign of mine. Because they're f*****g turnips, and they don't matter to D&D.
Incidentally as Jan Jansen would tell you turnips are very important! His cousin Kimble. He fell in love with a dwarven lass. She was stout and stocky, with a gruff voice and a soft, supple, full beard...
…Oh yes, she was a fine-looking woman... to Kimble's eyes, at least. She cast a spell on him far stronger than any sorcerer ever could. But she wouldn't have anything to do with Jan’s cousin—she had dwarven princes and clan lords after her calloused hand, and she couldn't be bothered with a dirt poor turnip-farming gnome. But Kimble's heart wouldn't be denied... he left his own family to follow this bewitching creature back to her clan home.
The cousin followed the lovely dwarven lass to her clan home in the Alimir Mountains and started a turnip farm there. He had a rough go of it at first, let me tell you... taxes, levies, zoning restrictions. It was almost like the dwarves didn't want him and his farm there. But they had never tried turnips, so they didn't really know what they were missing.
Once those turnips started to sprout, things changed in a hurry. Turns out the dwarves of that particular clan LOVED turnips. Fried, baked, boiled, whipped, pureed, mashed—you couldn't find a meal of the day that they didn't have turnips with. Turnips became so fashionable the dwarves began to wear clothes made from turnips. Never did a dwarf look so snazzy (or smell so appetizing) as when he was dressed up in a turnip top hat and turnip tails, with turnip skin shoes to complete the ensemble.
And with his turnip business booming, Kimble found himself with more wealth than he knew what to do with. Just walking around his house was an effort, what with all the mountains of gold spilling out of every door of every room.
Kimble was rich, true enough—but it turns out his dwarven love didn't share her clan's fondness for turnips. In fact, she was deathly allergic. She did her best to avoid the lethal vegetables, but as popular as Kimble's crops were, it was only a matter of time until she accidentally ate one.
It killed her, of course. Heartbroken, Kimble tried to return to his own people. But the dwarves weren't just going to let him and his turnips leave. They threw him in prison and demanded he reveal the secrets of turnip farming, but that isn't something you can just teach. You either have the gift or you don't, and dwarves don't. In the end, Kimble's frail body succumbed to the dwarves' torture and interrogation, and he left to join his beloved in the afterlife. And that particular clan of dwarves discovered that turnip farmers were almost as tasty as the turnips themselves. Or so I've heard.
