A small adventuring party rests by a burbling stream in the middle of the Benevolent Noocracy. It is the middle of summer; dappled sunlight cascades over a tall faun, an elven woman, and a six-armed cambion. They do not walk into a bar. 

“River water is good for your complexion,” says the faun, twirling a flower in his hands. “I hear it’s really, like, anti-comodogenic, and the relaxation helps too. Like you’re taking a bathysphere above the clouds and feeling heaven on your tongue. Or just taking a bath.”