Far back in the midst of time, through the mythical times of the Greek Gods, far past the 1000 lives of Ancient Rome, through the dark ages, through the middle ages, to the days of the seven kingdoms, there were tales of a mythical drink.
It was only imbibed by the wealthiest, the wisest, the boldest and those who lived for the night.
A legendary libation so potent, so flavoursome, so deliciously exotic in its nature that it was hidden from view. Whispered in hushed tones by those who dared to drink it and only then drunk in secret, clandestine ceremonies in the cellars, dungeons and dark candlelight halls of Kings, Queens and nobility. From the palaces of Constantinople to the castles of Kandor.
Its name has been legion. Changing throughout the millennia. The Greeks called it Fotiá Neró, the Romans called it Draco Fanguinem and the peoples of Wallachia called it Foc Apa.
For it was a legendary semi sweet but fiery drink. Made by alchemists and craftsmen to unwritten, passed down recipes. Fermented in ancient vats, using wine as a base, it is thought to have been flavoured with the berry of the Juniperus Communis, root of the Iris and seed of the Coriandrum Sativum,
However, it was the drinks mythical heat and fire that has both captivated those who were helplessly drawn to its legend as well as striking them down with fear of its source.
Ancient manuscripts and art depict scenes of sacrifice and death. A dark history tells of peasants dragged in chains up to altars in the clouds, or onto cliff side edges of mountains, or castle walls peeking through the skies. Beckoning. Calling. Tempting a beast so horrid, so powerful, so awe inspiring that those who saw it fell to their knees and prayed to whatever God they believed in.
The unfortunate human offering was forced to stand in front of a huge vat of this Alchemists brew that they had made in sworn secrecy. This mythical liquid’s final touch, its final ingredient was its hushed legend: the fire of the dragon.
The terrifying beast so rabidly tempted to reign down its flames onto the helpless sacrificial lamb knelt helplessly in front of the vat of soon to be fiery alcoholic brew. The dragon appears like a red storm through the clouds, screaming a deafening cry of rage. It swoops down, snapping the helpless offering in its huge, snarling, fire breathing mouth. Its huge teeth as sharp as the sword of Kaleria, gruesomely snap the screaming sacrifice up with horrid glee.
And it departs, its magnificent green, scaling wings soaring into the clouds and its satanic scream leaving those still alive trembling with fear and thankful to be alive.
But mercifully thankful for what the flame of the Dragon has miraculously added to that legendary brew. Now more, much more than the liquid of the seed, of the root and the berry. Now the fire of the dragon has bequeathed its terrible heat into the soul of this drink. Making this demonic, erotic brew the stuff of the ages, the blood pink liquid gold. So revered and so yearned for.
And so it was like this for millennia. A concoction made in secret. Made miraculous by the blood and lives of sacrifice. Until….the dragons stopped coming.
No one knows why. No ancient text exists. No wall painting, no art, no handed down word of mouth. The drink simply vanished from the lives and the lips of those rare people who were lucky enough and whose souls were dark enough to imbibe it.
Legend said it was because the dragons had died out. Others speculated they had simply had their fill of human blood. Others say they had gone to a different world or even back to the world whence they had originally came from back through the mists of time.
Hundreds of years later the drink was reborn.
Nobody knows how. The recipe still a savagely guarded secret. However, a dark lord of modern day drinks making housed in a cathedral of steel, copper and alchemy is thought to have somehow rediscovered the magic formula for this most seductive, erotic, fiery brew.
Did he find an ancient manuscript with the recipe? Maybe. Did he search for years looking for the secret to the heat of this drink? Maybe. Or did he, as some have whispered, conjure up the spirit of the ancient beast, the dragon. Out in the red mountains of Dangelatica, did he trade bottles of his infamous libation: Girl of Stainsby for a mysterious red coloured egg? Did he cover that egg with Assiryan glass cloth, keeping it warm on the long journey back to England? Hiding it from that awful, terrible cabal of taxation: His Majesty’s Satanic Revenue, Customs and Collectors of Souls? Legend has it, when he returned to his castle of alcohol, he placed the egg in a mythical cauldron of Tentika. Where that egg lay for three years and grew and grew and moved and struggled, eventually trembling with captive rage and heat. Until the moment it hatched, in the House of Steel River. And its savage majesty was brought once again to life after a thousand years of dormancy. It’s bellowing rage screaming out over the towns and hills of Middle Teesside.
Maybe. Maybe indeed.
But one thing is certain, the drink, this pink, liquid gold was born again.
And its name was: PINK DRAGON GIN.
So powerful. So seductive. So rampant was this new drink when it launched that it caused an outcry. No pink gin had ever been made this way and with this unique set of ingredients and fiery breathed additions. It was hailed throughout the kingdom. Kings, queens and merchants alike begged to purchase a bottle. Even the people from the lowest levels of society gulped it down, swimming in its exotic magnificence. It was a drink for all. And all that drank it were captivated.
Spoken about in revered hushed tones, its celebrity rising with every bottle sold, it caused debauchery in the street and propelled its imbibers to the dark arts of carnal liquid nature. Soon murmurings of dark intent, of bloody doings and wrong doings, of sacrifice were whispered around the land. People went unaccounted for.
There were nights when the sky went fiery red and orange with smoke billowing through the clouds. At first many thought this sight was the usual Middle Teesside sky, a Smogvillian urban landscape seen throughout the ages. But the agonising screams heard through those night, so horrifying to behold, had the people reckoning for an alternative explanation….a Dragon was loose in Middle Teesside. And this was the source of the heat of this lustful drink that had men and womenfolk trembling with fear all those years ago?
And then, just like a millennia before…it vanished. The Pink Dragon Gin was gone.
The skies became gloomier. The screams got quieter. The streets were quieter. The party was over. The House of Steel River never confirm or deny, they just go about their secretive ways, concocting libations that drive those who intake them wild with alcoholic ecstasy. It was like Pink Dragon Gin had never been.
All has been quiet for years until now. PINK DRAGON GIN IS BACK.
Why? Is it because of the dawning Day of The Valentines? Or is it, as rumours abound….that the fiery Dragon of the House of Steel River……is hungry again. Who knows. However, one thing is clear, this pink, exotic, fiery gem will entice and seduce all those who come near it. And the dark, whispered, fun shall begin again. The dragon will eat again. And those intrepid, sultry, dark souls shall feast on and lust over this fiery pink gin wonder once more.
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