A brutishly strong honey liquor, reminiscent of warm summer days, apple blossoms on the wind, with an unexpected aftertaste of Father going off to war, never to return. Bitter, to say the least.
Likely dropped to avoid seizure by authorities, or because of seizure due to drinking it. Garbolg only brewed from 8:74 to 8:92 Blessed, killed when the vapors in his beard spontaneously combusted.
This battlefield spirit maintains a chill even in direct sunlight, which it appears to absorb. Optimal serving is by the drop. Contact with exposed flesh is discouraged, but likely inevitable.
Peculiar and rare, a single run of this spirit took color and what has been optimistically called flavor from lyrium in the cask's bilge hoop. A sipping whisky if you value your innards. Circa 790 T.E.
Fine spirits infused with a bit of refined lyrium. Potentially fatal if ingested in quantity.
The name is probably figurative, but no one knows for sure.
"It tastes like burning." Brewed exclusively in Kal'Hirol.
Notes of black currant with a honeysuckle finish. Also, tastes like brandy.
Flames of Our Lady
A wine with hues that range from blood to fire, always in that order. In the South, take a single draught, shout, "She is with us," and throw the remainder into a fireplace. In the North, draw steel and march.
Silent Plains Piquette
Finale By Massaad
The last bottling from the legendary vintners of Ferelden before lands were divided. Tears on the glass as slow as the turning of a reluctant heir, as quick on the tongue as words that can't be unsaid.
A hard liquor that is not so much served as it is brandished. Coarse and indifferent, it is to your taste, or it is not. The failing is yours if you cannot raise—or lower—to the challenge of a distiller told not to.
Vint-9 Rowan's Rose
Delicate to the nose, comfort to the tongue, and, strangely, a half-remembered whisper to the ears. It is described as—and inspires—a wistful spirit. A vintner's opus.
"I am aware of how to spell it. This bottling reflects my wish that the current crop of behatted self-styled cads would disappear. I preferred la fée verte as spirit, not affectation. " —Distiller Emeritus Gaivon
Careful, this one's mean. Attic-raised mean. Popular among highborn who wish to seem dangerous, but more at home grasped by the neck by those who actually are.
Carnal, 8:69 Blessed
An Orlesian liqueur for the daring, or those who wish to seem so. Said to enhance sensation. And at the bottom, an erotically carved peach pit. The design is plain, but the bottler assures that the act of carving was scandalous.
Not so much filtered as dredged. Should be kept in a cold, dark place. Also locked. Forgotten as well, if one is wise.
Alvarado's Bathtub Boot Screech
If you can read this, you haven't drunk it.