I had intended to name my domicile the “Palace of Decadence.” However, the size of my space could hardly be considered a palace. I opted instead for the humble title, “The Studio Apartment of Excessively Opulent Immodesty and Grandiose Things That are Certainly Not a Feeble Attempt to Compensate for Size.” It rolls off the tongue.
Of course, the centerpiece is the Lounging Throne of Bacchus, on which I rest. I consider myself an integral part of the decoration. After all, nothing says decadence like a half-naked cat boy lazily reclining behind an egregiously full bowl of fruit.
Near the entrance, in the corner, are the Magnificent Bound Volumes of Boundless Literary Delights and Illicitly Explicit Sharlayan Lithographs. Men from all over the realm come to peruse their contents—for the educational value, I’m sure.
On the wall in the back rests a ridiculously expensive Belah’dian Crystal Lantern. The legend goes that, centuries ago, the crystals were part of a necklace worn by the Sultan of Ul’Dah’s fiancé, who was decapitated during a conflict with the Belah’dians. Her upper class pedigree was said to be so pure that the crystals of her necklace were literally stained blue after being drenched in her blood. The story, of course, is absolute rubbish. The truth is, the crystals are smeared with the poop of the rare Northwest Burrowing Octopus, whose feces emits a luminous cyan glow and has the pleasant smell of lavender.
Beneath the crystals is the Wholly Satisfying Bath of Unwholesome Pleasures. I once had it tested by a hedonistic Lalafell named Creepy McCreep-Pants: a hot tub connoisseur and all around disturbing fellow. He described a dip in the Bath as, “like a massage by the warm wet fingers of a dozen attractively effeminate eunuchs.” Yes, I know what you’re thinking; even I found that weird. I had the bath thoroughly bleached before using it again.
Finally, in this corner is the Aqueous Manor of Indescribable Beauty. A fish tank that must be seen to be believed, that unfortunately cannot be seen because it is being repaired. It’s not that I’m poor and can’t afford an irresponsibly expensive fish tank. Definitely not. Don’t spread rumors.
The Goblet, Subward 4, Room 10







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