Spirits, Liquors, and the Perfect Sip: A Connoisseur’s Tour of Elysium and Erebus’s Finest Cocktails

A Cat’s-Eye View article by Milosh Cheshire, Nova Aurora Daily News

Darlings, if there is one universal truth that this well-traveled mog has discovered in his years of pawing through every market, tavern, festival, and disreputable back-alley establishment from Fairgate to the depths of Agartha, it is this: wherever there are people, there is drink, and wherever there is drink, there is a story worth telling.

I have sampled the finest and the most questionable libations this star system has to offer. I have clinked glasses with sky pirates and corporate executives, with dwarven elders and Azarketi pearl divers, with halfling nomads and Ruritanian generals who probably should not have been talking to me. And in every case, the drink in the glass told me something true about the place it came from.

So pull up a stool, my dears, and let Milosh take you on a tour of the finest, strangest, and most memorable cocktails in the Victoria system. I have included the recipes because knowledge, like good liquor, should be shared freely.

A word of caution before we begin: some of these recipes call for ingredients that are difficult to obtain outside their home regions, and at least two of them have been known to cause temporary loss of inhibition, one case of spontaneous singing, and, in the matter of the Tunnel Brew variant I shall describe later, a full twelve hours of what my editor charitably described as “creative incapacitation.” Proceed with appropriate enthusiasm.

NOVA AURORA, COLONIAL ALLIANCE – The Founding Day

Nova Aurora’s signature cocktail is as grand and self-congratulatory as the city itself, and I mean that as a compliment. It is served at every respectable establishment in the capital, most prominently at the long mahogany bar of the Meridian Club, where politicians and merchant princes rub elbows and pretend they are not watching each other’s companions.

The Founding Day is a tall, layered drink of considerable elegance. The base is a measure of Vanaheim rye whiskey, aged in oak for no less than three years. To this is added a generous pour of elderflower liqueur, a squeeze of fresh citrus, and a splash of sparkling mineral water drawn from the springs outside the city. The whole is finished with a float of deep red berry cordial that sinks slowly through the glass, creating a sunset effect that the bartenders of Nova Aurora have elevated to something approaching performance art.

It is smooth, slightly sweet, faintly floral, and possessed of a quiet authority that creeps up on you after the second glass.

Recipe: The Founding Day

2 parts aged rye whiskey
1 part elderflower liqueur
Half part fresh citrus juice (lemon or a local equivalent)
Splash of sparkling mineral water
Float of dark berry cordial

Build over ice in a tall glass. Add whiskey, elderflower liqueur, and citrus juice. Top with sparkling water and stir gently. Float the berry cordial over the back of a spoon so it settles at the bottom. Garnish with a twist of citrus peel. Do not stir after the float is added; the layered effect is the point, and your bartender will be offended if you ruin it.

FAIRGATE, ARCADIA – The Iron Musket

Arcadia produces some of the finest brandy on Elysium, distilled from the fragrant pear orchards of the Lostgarde valley, and the Iron Musket is its most celebrated application. It was supposedly invented by a Musketeer captain who needed something strong enough to warm him after a winter patrol along the Wickmore border and elegant enough to serve at a royal reception the same evening. Whether the story is true or not, the drink achieves both objectives admirably.

It is a short, serious drink. Pear brandy, a measure of dry vermouth, a dash of aromatic bitters, and a single preserved cherry dropped in with a theatrical flourish. It is served in a wide-mouthed coupe glass and is meant to be consumed slowly, preferably while wearing something with epaulettes.

I had three of them at a salon in the Grand Esplanade and spent the subsequent hour composing what I remain convinced was a masterwork of spontaneous poetry. My notes from the evening are, regrettably, illegible.

Recipe: The Iron Musket

2 parts Arcadian pear brandy
1 part dry vermouth
2 dashes aromatic bitters
1 preserved cherry for garnish

Stir brandy, vermouth, and bitters over ice until well chilled. Strain into a chilled coupe glass. Drop in the cherry. Do not shake; the Arcadians feel strongly about this, and they are correct.

AOUDAGHOST, KALAHARI – The Caliph’s Mercy

Kalahari is a nation where the official religion frowns on strong spirits, which means that Kalahari has developed some of the most inventive workarounds in the world. The Caliph’s Mercy is served in the private rooms of Aoudaghost’s finest establishments, never on the public menu, and is technically a “medicinal tonic” in the official records of every establishment that serves it.

It begins with a base of date wine, which is fermented from the abundant date palms of the desert oases and possesses a rich, honeyed sweetness. To this is added a measure of rose water, a squeeze of pomegranate, a pinch of cardamom, and — here is the key — a small float of arak, the anise-flavored spirit that appears in Kalahari’s markets under various euphemistic names. The arak turns cloudy when it meets the other ingredients, creating a milky, opalescent effect that is quite beautiful.

Sheikh Furkor the Fortunate served me one of these in his barbershop in Aodaghost, between a haircut and a piece of information that I am not at liberty to print. It tasted of desert evenings and comfortable secrets.

Recipe: The Caliph’s Mercy

2 parts date wine
Half part rose water
Half part pomegranate juice
Pinch of ground cardamom
1 part arak (floated on top)

Combine date wine, rose water, pomegranate juice, and cardamom in a glass over ice. Stir to combine. Float the arak gently over the top; it will cloud as it meets the other ingredients. Garnish with a few pomegranate seeds and a small dried rose petal if you are feeling decorative. Serve immediately.

AUDACIA, FREE REPUBLIC OF CONCORDIA – The Blue Vesper

Named for Captain Mireya Valdez’s legendary airship, the Blue Vesper is the unofficial cocktail of Concordia’s pirate community, which means it is consumed in enormous quantities and prepared with the kind of creative improvisation that characterizes everything else in the archipelago. Every bartender in Audacia has their own version, and arguments about the correct recipe have reportedly led to at least two duels.

The canonical version, as served at the Howling Market’s most reputable floating tavern, uses sky rum; a Concordian spirit distilled from fermented sugarcane and aged in barrels that have previously held salt air, giving it a faintly briny quality that sounds alarming and tastes magnificent. To this is added blue citrus liqueur made from a local fruit that grows on the western cliffs of Britannia and produces a juice of startling cobalt color. A squeeze of lime, a dash of brine from the harbor (I am not joking; the bartender dips a finger in the sea and stirs), and a garnish of whatever is available.

It is sharp, bracing, slightly salty, and deeply refreshing. It tastes exactly like freedom smells, which is to say: a little dangerous and entirely worth it.

Recipe: The Blue Vesper

2 parts sky rum (or any aged rum with a slightly smoky character)
1 part blue citrus liqueur (blue curaçao works admirably as a substitute)
Half part fresh lime juice
Tiny pinch of sea salt

Shake all ingredients vigorously over ice; the Concordians always shake, they consider stirring a sign of insufficient commitment. Strain into a chilled glass. The salt is non-negotiable; it rounds out the sweetness and adds the maritime character that makes this drink what it is. Garnish with a lime wheel and, if you are feeling theatrical, a small paper flag.

KITEZH, EMPIRE OF RURITANIA – The Winter Triumph

Ruritania does not do anything by half measures, and its cocktail culture reflects this. The Winter Triumph is served at state dinners, officers’ messes, and the private clubs of the imperial capital, and it is a drink that takes itself very seriously. It is also, I must admit, excellent.

The base is Ruritanian vodka, which is triple-distilled from winter wheat and is about as close to pure cold as a liquid can get while still technically being a beverage. To this is added a measure of black currant liqueur, a splash of strong black tea brewed with cloves and star anise, and a squeeze of lemon. It is served in a tall, narrow glass with a single large ice cube and garnished with a sprig of something dark and aromatic that I was told was a local herb but could not identify.

I had one of these in the company of a Ruritanian general who shall remain nameless. He drank three of them and told me things about the imperial succession that I also cannot print. The Winter Triumph is, apparently, a truth serum disguised as a cocktail.

Recipe: The Winter Triumph

2 parts Ruritanian-style vodka (any clean, unflavored vodka)
1 part black currant liqueur (crème de cassis)
Half part strongly brewed spiced black tea, cooled
Squeeze of fresh lemon juice

Build over a single large ice cube in a tall glass. Add vodka, black currant liqueur, and tea. Squeeze in the lemon and stir once. Garnish with a lemon twist and a sprig of fresh thyme or rosemary. Drink with the expression of someone who has endured much and expects to endure more.

TIR NA NOG, MORRIGAN – The Coal and Song

Morrigan’s drinking culture is, like everything else about Morrigan, unpretentious, communal, and considerably more sophisticated than it appears at first glance. The Coal and Song is the drink of choice at the communal halls of Tir Na Nog, where it is consumed in quantity during the folk festivals that fill the long winter evenings.

It is built on forest mead; fermented honey infused with the dark berries and roots of Morrigan’s ancient forests, producing a drink that is sweet, earthy, and faintly smoky. To this is added a measure of peat whiskey, a splash of cold black coffee, and a float of fresh cream. The result is a layered drink of remarkable complexity: sweet at the top, bitter in the middle, smoky at the base, and warming throughout.

I was served one of these by a Leshy named Daisyroot, who had apparently decided that participating in human drinking customs was part of understanding human culture. Daisyroot did not drink theirs; plants, it turns out, have limited enthusiasm for alcohol, but watched me with an expression of polite scientific interest that I found both endearing and slightly unnerving.

Recipe: The Coal and Song

2 parts peat whiskey (any heavily peated Scotch-style whiskey)
1 part dark berry mead (or a dry mead with a splash of blackberry liqueur)
Half part cold-brew coffee
Float of fresh cream

Build without ice in a warmed glass. Combine whiskey, mead, and coffee. Float the cream over the back of a spoon. The layers should be visible: dark at the bottom, cream at the top. Drink by sipping through the cream. Do not stir. Do not rush. This is a drink for long evenings and longer stories.

MISTRAL, BALTIA – The Storm-Touched

I will be honest with you, my dears: I was not entirely sober when I obtained this recipe, and the circumstances of my visit to Mistral were not what I would describe as planned. Nevertheless, the Storm-Touched is a cocktail that demands documentation, if only as a warning to future travelers.

It is made by the priests and bartenders of Mistral; a distinction that is, in Baltia, somewhat blurred, from ingredients that are entirely local and entirely alarming. The base is stormbrew, Baltia’s notorious kelp-and-rainwater spirit, which tastes like the sea decided to become a beverage and has the warming properties of swallowing a small furnace. To this is added a measure of lightning-flower liqueur, distilled from a local plant that blooms only during electrical storms and produces a spirit of vivid electric blue. A squeeze of some local citrus I cannot name, a dash of something the bartender described as “storm salt,” and a garnish of a single dried storm-flower.

It arrived at the table still faintly steaming, though whether from temperature or something less explicable, I was not in a condition to determine. It tastes of ozone, salt, sweetness, and the specific feeling of standing on a cliff in a gale. It is either the best or worst thing I have ever consumed, and I genuinely cannot decide which.

I was told that the recipe is sacred and not to be shared. I am sharing it anyway, because I am a journalist and that is what we do.

Recipe: The Storm-Touched

2 parts heavily peated or smoky spirit (mezcal makes an excellent substitute for stormbrew)
1 part blue curaçao or any vivid blue citrus liqueur
Half part fresh citrus juice
Pinch of smoked sea salt
Splash of sparkling water

Combine all ingredients except sparkling water over ice and shake briefly. Strain into a glass over a single large ice cube. Top with a small splash of sparkling water. Add the pinch of smoked salt on top. Garnish with a dried flower or a twist of citrus peel charred briefly with a flame. Consume while listening to thunder, if available.

NEO EDO, KOBAYASHI SHOGUNATE – The Moon Blossom

The Kobayashi Shogunate does not encourage outsiders, and obtaining this recipe required a degree of social ingenuity that I am genuinely proud of. It was served to me at the Black Lotus Market in Nakamura by a masked individual who may or may not have been Kenjiro the Fox in one of his more sociable moods. I did not ask. Some questions are better left unasked.

The Moon Blossom is a sake cocktail of extraordinary delicacy. It begins with premium sake; the good kind, served at room temperature, not the warm stuff they give to tourists. To this is added a measure of yuzu liqueur, the fragrant citrus spirit of the Shogunate’s coastal groves, a splash of white plum wine, and a single drop of matcha syrup that colors the drink a pale, ghostly green. It is served in a small ceramic cup with a single cherry blossom petal floating on the surface.

It is the most beautiful drink I have ever been served, and it tasted like moonlight and old secrets. I thought about it for weeks afterward.

Recipe: The Moon Blossom

2 parts premium sake
1 part yuzu liqueur (or limoncello with a few drops of yuzu juice if available)
Half part white plum wine (or dry white wine with a splash of plum juice)
3-4 drops of matcha syrup (dissolve half a teaspoon of matcha powder in a teaspoon of simple syrup)

Combine all ingredients and stir gently over ice; never shake, the Shogunate’s bartenders consider shaking sake a cultural offense. Strain into a small ceramic cup or coupe glass. Float a single cherry blossom petal or a thin slice of cucumber on the surface. Serve immediately. Contemplate the impermanence of all things.

FAVENTIA, BELRIOS – The Coral Tide

Belrios’s cocktail culture is, like everything about Belrios, an exuberant celebration of life, color, and the joy of being alive on a beautiful island. The Coral Tide is served at the Coral Plaza during festival nights, mixed by bartenders who treat the preparation as a performance and the consumption as a communal act.

It is built on a base of tropical fruit wine, fermented from the island’s abundant passion fruit and mango, with a measure of coconut rum, a generous squeeze of lime, a splash of hibiscus syrup that turns the drink a vivid coral pink, and a float of sparkling wine on top. It is served in a wide glass with a paper umbrella, a slice of fresh fruit, and enough garnish to constitute a small bouquet.

It tastes like a festival feels: bright, sweet, slightly intoxicating, and impossible to consume without smiling. I had four of them during the Moonlit Carnival and danced with a catfolk musician named Hemi Teva until my paws gave out. I regret nothing.

Recipe: The Coral Tide

1 part coconut rum
1 part tropical fruit wine (or passion fruit juice with a splash of white rum)
Half part fresh lime juice
Half part hibiscus syrup (steep dried hibiscus flowers in simple syrup, strain)
Splash of sparkling wine to top

Shake rum, fruit wine, lime juice, and hibiscus syrup over ice. Strain into a wide glass over fresh ice. Top with sparkling wine. Garnish with a slice of fresh mango, a lime wheel, and whatever else makes you happy. The paper umbrella is not optional.

ISOLENE, MEROPIS – The Pearl Diver

The Azarketi of Meropis have a complicated relationship with alcohol; their amphibious physiology processes certain compounds differently than baseline humans, but they have developed a cocktail culture that accommodates both their own preferences and those of their land-dwelling visitors. The Pearl Diver is Meropis’s gift to the world, and it is magnificent.

It is based on a spirit distilled from sea grapes, a local aquatic plant that produces a small, intensely flavored fruit, with notes of brine, sweetness, and something faintly mineral that is impossible to describe but immediately recognizable. To this is added coconut water, a squeeze of sea lime, a measure of elderflower liqueur, and a single pearl onion that sits at the bottom of the glass like its namesake. It is served in a tall, narrow glass and is the color of clear ocean water.

Elder Saphira Dasgupta served me one of these at the Pearl Spire while explaining Meropis’s trade policies with a diplomatic patience that I found admirable. The cocktail helped considerably with my concentration.

Recipe: The Pearl Diver

2 parts light white rum or any clean, slightly sweet spirit
1 part fresh coconut water
Half part elderflower liqueur
Squeeze of fresh lime juice
Pinch of sea salt
1 cocktail onion or small white grape for garnish

Combine all liquid ingredients over ice and stir gently. Strain into a tall, narrow glass over fresh ice. Drop the cocktail onion or grape to the bottom; this is the pearl. Add a pinch of sea salt on top. Garnish with a sprig of fresh mint and a thin slice of cucumber. Serve with a view of the ocean if at all possible.

GILEAD, OLAM HA-BA – The Desert Star

The halflings of Olam Ha-Ba are, among their many other virtues, exceptional hosts, and the Desert Star is what they serve when they want you to feel genuinely welcome. It is prepared at the evening gatherings around the oasis fires, mixed by the eldest member of the group as a mark of honor to their guests.

It is built on a base of date spirit, a strong, clear distillate from the fermented dates of the Gilead oasis that has a warmth and sweetness quite unlike anything else in the world. To this is added pomegranate molasses, a squeeze of preserved lemon, a measure of rosewater, and cold mint tea brewed from the desert mint that grows around the oasis springs. It is served without ice; the halflings of Olam Ha-Ba consider ice a luxury too precious to put in a drink, in a small, ornate cup that is refilled without being asked.

I drank three of these around a fire with Elder Miriam Shalem and Jabir al-Ajalon, who told me stories about the desert that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. The Desert Star tastes like belonging somewhere.

Recipe: The Desert Star

2 parts date spirit (or any clear, lightly sweet spirit such as white rum or pisco)
1 part strong cold-brewed mint tea
Half part pomegranate molasses (diluted slightly with water)
Quarter part rosewater
Squeeze of preserved lemon (or fresh lemon with a pinch of salt)

Combine all ingredients and stir well. Serve in a small cup at room temperature; no ice. Garnish with a few fresh mint leaves and a single pomegranate seed. Refill your guest’s cup before they ask. This is the custom, and it is a good one.

AGARTHA, SECTOR 1, EREBUS – The Directorate

And now, my dears, we descend. Literally.

Erebus does not have a cocktail culture in the way that Elysium does. It has ration allocations, sanctioned recreational beverages, and a small number of establishments in the upper sectors where the corporate elite consume drinks that are technically legal and practically indistinguishable from a quiet form of defiance against the relentless grey of their existence.

The Directorate is the drink of Shambhala and the executive floors of Agartha Prime. It is served in the private lounges of the Crystal Gardens and the skybridge bars of the executive towers, and it is the closest thing Erebus has to a luxury cocktail. It is made from synthetic grain spirit, the best available on a planet that grows almost nothing, infused with imported Elysian botanicals that arrive in the food shipments and are redistributed through channels that the official manifest does not fully document. To this is added a measure of crystallized Etherium-infused bitters, a uniquely Erebian product that produces a faint blue luminescence in the glass, a splash of imported citrus cordial, and cold filtered water that is, on Erebus, itself a luxury.

It is cold, clean, faintly bitter, and glows blue in the dark. It tastes like power and the anxiety of losing it.

Recipe: The Directorate

2 parts clean grain vodka or gin
Quarter part blue curaçao (to approximate the Etherium luminescence)
2 dashes aromatic bitters
Splash of citrus cordial (lemon or grapefruit)
Topped with cold sparkling water

Stir vodka or gin, curaçao, bitters, and citrus cordial over ice until very cold. Strain into a chilled, narrow glass. Top with a small splash of sparkling water. The drink should be pale blue and faintly luminescent under dim lighting; adjust the curaçao quantity accordingly. Garnish with nothing. Garnish is frivolous, and frivolity is not the Astraea way.

SHEOL, SECTOR 4, EREBUS – The Gutter Shine

Now we leave the executive lounges and go somewhere considerably more honest.

The Gutter Shine is not served in any establishment with a license. It is mixed in the lower blocks of Sheol, in the Gutter Zones, in the back rooms of the Greenlight block’s informal markets, and in every corner of Erebus where people have decided that the official ration allocation is insufficient for the life they are living. It is, technically, illegal. It is, practically, everywhere.

The base is tunnel brew, a fermented grain mash produced in improvised stills hidden in the maintenance corridors, of variable quality and considerable potency. To this is added whatever flavoring is available: synthetic fruit essence from the Rationworks, a measure of the sweet protein supplement that the ration system distributes to children and which adults have discovered makes a surprisingly effective mixer, and occasionally a dash of something that the brewer describes as “spice” and that I did not ask further about.

It is served in whatever container is available, at whatever temperature the tunnel provides, with no garnish and no ceremony. It tastes like determination and the stubborn refusal to stop living like a human being, regardless of what the system says.

I had one in Sheol in a cup that had previously contained machine lubricant, offered to me by a woman named Anya Lebedev, who was explaining the maintenance guild’s latest grievance petition. It was the most honest drink I have ever consumed.

Recipe: The Gutter Shine

2 parts any rough, unaged grain spirit (white whiskey or raw vodka)
1 part sweet fruit cordial or any available fruit-flavored syrup
Splash of something sweet, simple syrup, honey dissolved in water, or similar
Optional: a dash of any available bitters or spice tincture

Combine in whatever vessel is available. Stir with whatever is to hand. Drink with the knowledge that you made something good out of almost nothing, which is more than most people manage. No garnish. No glass. No apologies.

A FINAL TOAST

From the polished bars of Fairgate to the improvised cups of Sheol’s Gutter Zones, the drinks of the Victoria system tell the story of the people who make them: their resources, their ingenuity, their culture, and their capacity for joy in whatever circumstances they find themselves.

Every cocktail is a small act of civilization, a declaration that life is worth making pleasant, that flavor matters, that the act of sharing a drink with another person is one of the oldest and most reliable forms of trust.

So here is my toast, wherever you are reading this, whatever is in your glass:

To the sky above us, the earth beneath us, and the drink between us. May it always be worth the telling.

Sláinte, salud, kampai, and whatever they say in the Gutter Zones when they think no one is listening.

– Milosh Cheshire, Catfolk Chronicler and Reluctant Connoisseur, Nova Aurora Daily News (Currently recovering from research-related exhaustion at an undisclosed location with excellent room service)