Aldus Huxley imagined a future where the masses were controlled by readily available doses of a drug called soma. The Cosmic Era is rife with drugs, some illicit and some marketed with the accuracy of laser guided weapons. The only thing he got wrong was that there isn't one happy pill, there are hundreds to choose from.
Also known as ambrosia, nectar, bio-gel, and a dozen other copyrighted and patented trade names.
There are two stories to the Cursed Cup of Immortality, the one that was fabricated and sold to adventurers upon return, and the real story.
"That one, you might want to be careful with that. It doesn't like people..."
"A potion? "
"We fought the li'l beasties," the gruff old Dwarf growled, "so where the blazes is their treasure!"
Glacier grinned, "Just give me a second, I know how to find it."
Pretty smoke rings? Naw, I can do a lot more than that.
There's nothing like a good, full pipe after a day of slaying.
When a situation calls for more than Soma, but less than Nerve Stapling, there's Lybrium
Gotta have dat juice!
Golgotha, Shadowrunner and notorious Juicer
Chrome is the one of the most popular Superbrands in the Cosmic Era
'Cmon and drink up. This potion will really help us understand each other, if you know what I mean.
A list of 30 more wines, none of which are vinted by humans, elves, or dwarves.
One of the strangest weapons deployed by Z'pl'rt the Mad
This ever-full, ever-surprising, ever-ridiculous flask contains a magical liquid that may be the best or worst thing you've ever drank. Handling with caution won't do you any good.
Made out of the tail-hairs of a Girsh. Enhances perception.
There are hundreds if not thousands of liquors throughout all the lands, but few ever manage to stand out from the rest. The defining trait between a run of the mill booze and a rare and special spirit can often be a gimmick. This is what master brewer Donovan learned all too well.
Drink deep from the Moon-Cup, let its powers quench your thirst, or even save your marriage.
One drop for a cluster of flowers, three drops for a tree, no more, no less.
There are those as rich as kings but dress as peasants and worry not about funding. To visit their true homes one would see wealth of untold value scattered as dirt is in a hut. They know the monetary value of their possessions but they have long lost any true value to their owners. Experience is their currency and their curse. They dispense secrets of the ages as if discussing the weather. Few things have they not experienced so that very little gives them joy. They are the lost ones looking for new life while humoring the mortals around them.