Lord Wishock, like all men, has his weaknesses.  His happens to be a fondness for liquor.  The hypocrisy is astounding.  The trite fool spends his days trying to shut down our little "tavern" while his nights are spent upstairs, running up a bill he never pays.  Well, let's see how Wishock likes this special brew I have prepared for him:  Black Claw stout.  It's got quite a kick, $n.$b$bTake it to him and see how he likes it.  Most likely the old fool is milling about the Hall of Petitioners.