Greta
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Notes Edit
Lore & Dialog Edit
First Introduction
- Greta tells you, "A Drudge Gut Sausage is the whole point of this exchange. No sausage, no magic. You're going to have to find one before we can get creative!"
- Greta tells you, "Unless, perhaps, you would like to try your hand at becoming my Apprentice? I could use someone of your fine calibre!"
- Greta tells you, "Bring me the appropriate Bestower's Guild certification and we could begin."
Giving Completed Cooking Skill Puzzle
- Ah, so you can cook, or at least you think you can. We'll i'm always in need of an apprentice with more enthusiasm than sense.
- She tucks the piece into her apron and gives you a once-over.
- Very well. You're hired. Don't make me regret it.
- She gestures toward her counter stacked high with sausages.
- Your first task: cut one hundred sausages cleanly in half. Perfectly, mind you. None of that jagged hackery I see from amateurs.
- She holds up a carving knife.
- Take one of these and use it properly. Knife, sausage. Simple. Try not to invent a new disaster before lunch.
Giving Completed Advanced Cooking Skill Puzzle
- An Advanced Cooking Skill Puzzle Piece? Hah! So you can tell one end of a skillet from the other. That's a start.
- She snorts softly and pockets it.
- Alright then, apprentice. Let's see what you're made of.
- She gestures toward a table loaded with sausages.
- Your first assignment: cut one hundred sausages. Perfectly in half. Not shredded, not smushed, not whatever 'creative' nonsense you think counts as cooking.
- She leans closer voice low and serious.
- Use a carving knife on a sausage. If you can't manage that, we'll just skip ahead to digging ditches.
Giving 1st Sausage Lump
- I give you one simple task. One! Cut them in half, I said. In half! And you've delivered... this!
- She holds up a mangled lump.
- I see. You've reinvented the sausage. Into something I never wanted to exist.
- She mutters under her breath.
- Greta, you said. Take on an apprentice, you said. What could go wrong, you said...
Giving Sausage Lumps
- You again. And... oh look, more Lumps.
- She stares at the sausage like it personally offended her.
- You've already got your apron! You've already got your title! What more do you want? An award for most crimes against cuisine?
- She sighs.
- Put that thing away before the sausages form a union.
- Ah, the Royal Cook returns... bearing yet another lump.
- She folds her arms.
- I see nothing has changed. The crown may shine, but the sausages still suffer.
- You're still making these, aren't you?
- She rubs her temples.
- You've transcended cooking. You're not a chef anymore, you're a philospher of lumps.
- A pause.
- Fine. Leave it there. The drudges can have it. They'll eat anything.
- You know, most cooks would stop once they've achieved greatness. But not you!
- She gestures dramatically.
- No, you pushed the boundaries of failure! You've made 'lumpy' your legacy!
- She smirks.
- Remind me never to eat anything you serve at the royal banquet.
- Do you hate sausages? Is that it? Because this is what hatred looks like.
- Maybe I'll serve these at the next festival. 'Greta's Lumpy Surprise.' The surprise is disappointment!
- If I had a pyreal for every ruined sausage, I could buy my own castle and never cook again.
- Well... at least you're consistent. Terrible, but consistent.
- One more 'lump,' and I'm apprenticing you to the compost heap instead.
- How do you even do this? A sausage has two ends! Pick one and cut, not annihilate!
- If I served this in Holtburg, I'd be run out of town by lunchtime!
- This isn't a sausage, this is a warning to future apprentices.
- You've invented a new dish: The Regret Roll. It's terrible. I love it.
- If I wanted meat paste, I'd have thrown the sausages in the grinder myself!
- Ah, more lumps. Wonderful. I'll just add them to the pile of culinary disasters.
- You're improving! Last time it was unrecognizable. This time I can at least tell it used to be food.
- The goal was 'half' not 'exploded.' But I admire your... enthusiasm.
- You've got spirit, I'll give you that. Technique? No. But spirit.
- I didn't know sausages could cry until I saw what you did to these.
- What in the world is this? That's not a sausage half, that's a crime scene!
- Did you hit the sausage with a rock? Because that's what this looks like.
- I asked you to cut them in half, not obliterate them.
- Oh lovely, Sausage Lumps. I suppose we can sell these to the drudges.
- You've managed to create something that's neither sausage nor art. Congratulations.
Giving 100th Sausage Lump
- One hundred. One hundred Sausage Lumps. You've truly done it. I didn't think anyone could make this many culinary crimes in one lifetime.
- She exhales through her nose, half a laugh, half despair.
- And yet... you never gave up. You kept mangling those sausages like a champion.
- She tosses you an apron.
- Take It! You've officially ascended beyond failure. You're a Royal Cook now! May the gods have mercy on our taste buds.
- You have been awarded the title of "Royal Cook"