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"It's about time I got some recognition," Gisburne mumbled into his wine goblet. Although he was already in an advanced state of intoxication, he was still conscious of the peril carelessly spoken words could pose to him.
He wouldn’t have spoken at all — even though he wasn’t known for refraining from expressing his thoughts — if he hadn’t been alone in his chamber.
"This town should recognize my efforts," the knight complained to his goblet before raising it to his lips. He immediately noticed, however, that it was empty, which he could not tolerate.
His gaze wandered the chamber until he spotted the jug he’d brought back from the Great Hall. It wasn’t the first jug he’d emptied that evening, however. He’d taken advantage of the Sheriff’s absence and generously helped himself to de Rainault’s supplies. At some point, though, he felt as though his head were about to burst — surely due to the terrible smoke from the nearby fireplace — so he grabbed a full jug of wine and staggered up the stairs to his quarters, paying more attention to the vessel in his hands than to his own safety.
"Recognition!" he declared to the jug when he finally reached it. But when he went to fill his goblet from it, he stared in confusion at his empty hand.
Slowly and cautiously, he turned around and spotted the goblet next to his bed. Gisburne couldn’t decide what to do for a moment, then poured the wine directly into his mouth.
The next moment, the jug slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor. However, the knight didn’t notice this, for he, too, collapsed in a heap.
The wine had defeated him.