"the third era was a damn farce!" the madman raves. "high an' mighty so-called lords dishing out punishment for unspoken reasons, in a rigged trail."

the lunatic spits, a fat glob of blood-red spittle lands on the bar, quickly wiped away by the unseen hands of the non-existent bartender "Sure the bitch was spiteful, but it's hard to blame her given the scenario. Her house got done burnt down it did! and they branded her -all burning irons an' everything- seared SATIRE into her flesh. put her in penal labour too, makin' her get views for some stewpid royal care or summat."

The psycho raises her glass to cracked and stained lips pouring the amber spirits down her throat like they were water. "'course that doesnae excuse the shite she pulled after, holdin' a mock trial o' 'er own throwin anybody on the stand for treason or adultery, bull shit crimes even if she wasnae fakin the evidence, which like any judge gettin' paid, she was. even two of her supporters, one Sleepy Red and one bread goddess were declared guilty as sin"

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

the [Deranged Nutcase] slams her glass onto the bar and yells out to void behind it "REFILL, err as I was saying, after her declarations of guilt the little tyrant, lying like a politician she said she'd forgive everyone all whilst setting up a vote to choose which two among the masses would be spared her wrath."

she sips at the new clear water filling her glass with a distaste for the pure fluid evident on her face. "I wanted a refill, not damn hot ice" she mutters. "Course, poll didn't matter. It got overridden by those prissy lord wannabes I mentioned before. She went on to found some revolutionary force or some such waste of effort, bunch of zealous no funs who should drink more."