The Westeros Winter Is Coming…soon…to a store near you. If you found yourself standing on a giant icewall and you’ve spent the night watching hordes of undead creatures, who could blame you for sticking your nose into a glass of spirits to warm your septum and revive your spirits? If you did so, you’d find a delicate, cool, almost minty bourbon barrel of provisions—if your provisions included pinecones smoked by people grilling tiny Oldtown elk sausages and very nearly perfectly round pommes. A green apple preserved in crumbling sealing wax, bouncing around in a tin cooler lashed to a raft on the Green Fork river.
You drink: A Drogonesque 100 proof with Ser Peater Pounce and Ladi Sherri Tarry coming out to play. It’s unctuous, but not in a eunuch-like plotting way, more like someone who wishes merely to stay alive and relatively unharmed. The fortune teller reveals your fortune: Beware Wildfire kept in green peppers.
You breathe death and doom on your enemies, as you emulate dragon fire and breath. There’s burning wood and Lampong peppercorns, sure, but also—improbably—chipmunk aftershave spilled into a grinding coppery grist mill.
–Our thanks to Westland for the sample!