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Curse my Zvon! How’d a bright spark like you land in this forsaken pit, lad?

No, don’t answer! Baruch knows how to mind his own business!

Baruch knows nothin’ ’bout no hallucinatory "Forest" we’re standin’ in.

Baruch knows nothin’ ’bout no "Red-Haired Girl" you’re seekin’.

Baruch knows absolutely, absolutely nothin’ ’bout no cursed "Whirlpool" ya need to trek to.

Baruch buys. Baruch sells. Business!

Now lay your greedy peepers on this unholy box of wonders, lad!

First things first.

It's clear that you can be trusted with lethal weapons.

It's clear that you can distinguish friends from foes...

The Apparatus! Swap your Zvon for sparks-and-sin bargains! (That’s how real business works, lad.)

You will meet the wisest of this world and be enlightened by their words…

You will wrap yourself in the coziness of sugar-spun fantasies...

Here, fashion is your profession, lad.

Drown yer bones in eye-meltin’ wonders ‘n’ serenity-peaceful trails!

No dangers lurk there...

No hostility along your peaceful path...

No nightmares - swear it...

And absolutely, absolutely no lies.

Mind the word of Baruch! Trust me.