“Say anything confidently enough and it becomes true”
Meryl sat with furrowed brow on a splintery and highly uncomfortable stool at the far end of a rarely-if-ever cleaned bar, stewing in her thoughts in the rundown tavern called the Sowing Sow. She was ruminating on what kind of absolute dullard the owner would have to be to christen his bar with name so utterly idiotic. She sat hunched over a myriad of empty tankards, her long auburn braid draping over her shoulder and dangling from her breast.
She had been at her ruminations for the better part of an hour when it occurred to her that she had not been in a bar fight in at least three months. This, in her opinion, was two months and thirty days too long. Besides, she needed to see the inside of Ironsson’s prison and she could think of no better way to get inside – or at least no other way she would enjoy half as much. Her mood had been foul for weeks now and it was only growing worse as the days dragged on.