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, [your name].
Take it to him and see how he likes it. Most likely the old fool is milling about the Hall of Petitioners.
