[The video clicks on. One can see a sunsplashed bed, the stained glass making patterns over the rumpled sheets. A very beautiful woman is smiling at the screen, bare shoulders caressed by blonde waves and the sheet drawn up oh so modestly. Housemates feel free to note a very divine/otherworldly presence on the third floor of house eight.]Oh, good
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Greetings, my lady. I am Jarlaxle. You are in a city called Promenade - some say it is a city of dreams. Our hosts will tell you that you have been here all along and only just woken, but that is likely not the case.
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Such charming manners, Jarlaxle~ And I am quite agreeable to that supposition. I recall the circumstances of my birth, so why should I not recall ever being here?
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[She's the prettiest thing he's ever seen. She could be a goblin and he wouldn't be able to take his eyes off of her.]
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[She better not catch you saying that in her hearing]
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[He would never dare to say such a thing aloud. How could he bear to hurt such a beautiful creature's feelings?]
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Forgive my asking, but does that mean that you are also trapped?
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