Drowned Man’s Mercy

Drowned Man’s Mercy is not for the faint-hearted—it’s a bitter, pale blue liqueur that looks like seawater wrung from a corpse’s sleeve and tastes twice as haunted. Traditionally served in a hollowed-out ballista bolt, depending on the tavern—it’s the drink of choice for oathbreakers, revenants, and those with nothing left to lose. Some say it was first poured into the mouth of a man left for dead in the surf, and that it woke him up screaming. Others claim it was brewed by widows who cursed the sea itself.   The first note is sharp, almost metallic, like biting down on a lie. That gives way to an icy citrus tang from the ghostlime, followed by a cold, herbal burn from the sea fennel that creeps up the throat like regret. The frostflower syrup softens the finish, but not by much—it leaves a lingering coolness on the tongue that borders on unnatural. There’s a faint aftertaste of salt and old smoke, like a fire long drowned and still smoldering beneath the waves. Vengeance, in liquid form.   Tradition: Always taken in silence. If you speak before it’s downed, it’s said the sea hears your voice—and remembers.