d100

Potion Side Effects

Harmless side effects for any potion, draught or dubious brew.

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Potion Side Effects — 100 entries
d100	Result
1	Your voice rises an octave for ten minutes.
2	You burp a puff of lavender-scented smoke.
3	Everything tastes of mint until your next meal.
4	Your ears wiggle uncontrollably when anyone says your name, for one hour.
5	You glow faintly pink for a minute after laughing, for the rest of the day.
6	Hiccups, on the hour, every hour, until dawn - exactly three per episode.
7	Your hair stands on end for an hour, magnificently.
8	You can smell magic for ten minutes; it smells like your grandmother's kitchen.
9	Your freckles rearrange. If you have none, you now have seven.
10	For one hour, your tears are tiny pearls of no value whatsoever.
11	You speak with a slight echo for thirty minutes.
12	Your shadow is fuzzy for a day, like felt.
13	Any hat worn in the next hour fits perfectly.
14	You are convinced the potion was delicious and describe it at length, unprompted, twice.
15	Your fingertips are stained a noble shade of blue for three days.
16	For ten minutes, you weigh slightly less on stairs.
17	You sneeze exactly once; somewhere, the brewer of the potion sneezes too.
18	Your reflection toasts you the next time you see it.
19	Birds consider you briefly trustworthy; one may deliver a small stick as tribute.
20	You cannot whisper for an hour; your quietest voice is a warm conversational tone.
21	Everything you drink for a day tastes like the second-best thing you ever drank.
22	Your knuckles crack musically, in tune, for one week.
23	Tiny harmless sparks when you snap your fingers, for one hour. You will snap them often.
24	Your handwriting improves for a day and is not your own.
25	For an hour, you always know what time it is, and announce it, involuntarily, at quarter past.
26	Your eyebrows migrate a quarter-inch upward for a day; everyone finds you very engaged.
27	Warmth spreads to your toes; your boots feel recently by-the-fire for six hours.
28	You blink one eye at a time for ten minutes.
29	Small animals within thirty feet fall asleep when you yawn - once only.
30	Your burps sound like a tiny fanfare for the rest of the evening.
31	The next lie you tell tastes of soap. Only you know.
32	You gain perfect pitch until sunset and lose it mid-song.
33	For an hour, your pockets are two degrees cooler; butter keeps beautifully.
34	Your laugh is replaced, for one day, by an aristocratic chuckle you have never used before.
35	You leave faintly glowing fingerprints for ten minutes.
36	Fruit within arm's reach leans toward you slightly, for an hour.
37	Your next sneeze extinguishes one candle of your choice within twenty feet. Choose wisely.
38	For thirty minutes, written letters have flavors; 'E' is disappointing.
39	You feel an overwhelming certainty that today is Thursday. This persists regardless of evidence.
40	Your hiccups summon a brief smell of the sea.
41	For an hour, all your footsteps land on the beat of a song only you can hear.
42	You are followed, for ten minutes, by the faint sound of polite applause.
43	Your tongue is briefly bright green; the color retreats one tooth per hour.
44	Water tastes fizzy to you for a day.
45	Your ears pop pleasantly at every threshold you cross until dusk.
46	The next word you read aloud echoes in your voice from across the room.
47	For one hour, you always land on your feet from any hop, gracefully, like a show cat.
48	Your yawns sound like a creaking door; the party will check the door every time.
49	You smell of fresh bread for six hours; strangers trust you slightly more and are slightly hungrier.
50	Your hair curls when danger is within a mile, which, in your line of work, means it is now permanently curled.
51	One eye changes color for a day, to match the eye of the last person you argued with.
52	For an hour, you cannot say numbers; you gesture quantities with confidence and inaccuracy.
53	Your heartbeat is audible only to dogs; local dogs find you fascinating.
54	Every ring you wear spins slowly for ten minutes.
55	You radiate the cozy heat of a hearth for one hour; cats convene.
56	Your next twenty steps leave no footprints. You will not notice; the ranger will.
57	All ale tastes of peaches to you until midnight. You will mention this more than anyone wants.
58	Your voice, for ten minutes, is perfect for storytelling; the tale you tell will be retold without you.
59	You itch exactly between the shoulder blades whenever someone thinks about you. It has not stopped.
60	Moths ignore lanterns to orbit your head, gently, for one evening. Halo-adjacent.
61	For a day, you always deal cards in the correct number without counting. Gambling dens take note.
62	Your sweat smells of rosemary during exertion, for a week. The cook keeps standing near you.
63	You dream tonight of the potion's other drinkers, all of you at one long table, comparing notes.
64	Your pupils are star-shaped for an hour. You are told this constantly.
65	The next door you open swings with theatrical slowness regardless of its weight.
66	For ten minutes, you can hear grass grow. It is unbearably smug.
67	Your bones feel well-organized. No mechanical effect. Deep satisfaction.
68	You pronounce every word correctly for a day, including names, including the unpronounceable ones, including one that makes a passing scholar sit down abruptly.
69	Small objects you drop pause a half-second before falling, embarrassed.
70	Your reflection lags a quarter-second for one hour. Do not shave.
71	Everything you write today, you write twice; your hand insists on a fair copy.
72	For one hour, your sighs produce tiny visible clouds at any temperature.
73	You know, absolutely, which of your boots is the older. This knowledge does not fade.
74	Your next laugh is your childhood laugh. Anyone who knew you then will turn around.
75	Salt refuses to stick to your food for a day; it slides to the plate rim and sulks.
76	For six hours, you cast the shadow of yourself at age ten.
77	You can balance anything on one finger for ten minutes; nothing you balance will matter; the memory will last forever.
78	Your voice drops to a velvet register for one hour; everything you say sounds like a secret.
79	Rain avoids your left shoulder only, for one day. Tailors weep at the asymmetry.
80	You briefly understand the last thing your horse said. It was about you. It was fair.
81	The potion's taste returns to you at sunset, improved, like a memory that has been editing itself.
82	For an hour, your fingertips remember every texture they have ever touched. You will touch the tavern's oldest table and learn something.
83	Your next hiccup is in someone else's voice. Theirs, wherever they are, is in yours.
84	Bees mistake you for a meadow, briefly, respectfully.
85	You cannot mispronounce your own name for a week; previously, it turns out, you always had, slightly.
86	For ten minutes, you take stairs two at a time, involuntarily, including down.
87	Your goosebumps spell a short word in an old alphabet. The wizard wants to watch you be cold again.
88	All your minor aches move politely to your left elbow for a day, where they hold a meeting.
89	Tonight you will snore in perfect iambic pentameter. The bard is taking dictation.
90	Your tears, should any fall today, are warm as tea and taste of a summer you cannot place.
91	For one hour, mirrors flatter you by roughly six percent.
92	You feel a powerful kinship with the third stair of any staircase.
93	Your applause is thunderous - literally one thunderclap, once, at your next genuine delight. Use it well.
94	Every candle you light today lights on the first try and leans toward you like a sunflower.
95	You smell rain three minutes early for a week and become insufferably smug about it.
96	Your next sleep gives you the dream the brewer intended for themselves. There is a recipe in it.
97	For a day, your name in others' mouths sounds kinder than usual. Nothing else changes. Everything else changes.
98	You are convinced, for ten minutes, that you are slightly taller. You are. It does not last. You will not stop mentioning it.
99	The potion bottle refills once, at midnight, with plain water that nevertheless feels like a wink.
100	Roll twice more; the side effects interact, and the alchemist would love notes.