Pearl Islet/dialogue

Ambient dialogue for Pearl Islet from past Living World releases can be found here.

Ambient dialogue

During The Secret of Southsun Cove

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Okay, I've got settlers, Consortium bureaucrats, and Captain Magnus, all yelling at me.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: The settlers are getting restless. Plus, the local wildlife is getting frisky, and we all know how that ends.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Magnus wants it all sorted out before the upcoming festival begins.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Personally, I'll be happy if we can just keep everyone from killing each other.

Job–o–Tron: Just–a–few–basic–questions. First–question: What–is–your–occupation?

Tergvi: I'm an adventurer. I roam the globe, taking what I can find and living off the land.

Job–o–Tron: Recording–response: "Raider."

Tergvi: I'm no raider. I kill dangerous beasts and those who do evil. I defend the innocent.

Job–o–Tron: Updating–response: "Muderous–raider–with–delusions–of–grandeur."

Job–o–Tron: Next–question: What–is–your–dream–job?

Tergvi: To be a traveler. I've been from the Shiverpeaks to the Sea of Sorrows, but there's so much more to see.

Job–o–Tron: Recording–response: "Hobo." Next–question: What–is–your–greatest–professional–accomplishment?

Tergvi: I'm not answering any more of your questions.

Job–o–Tron: Recording–response: "No–professional–accomplishments." Now–tabulating–results...

Job–o–Tron: Update: We–currently–have–no–opportunities–available. Please–re–apply–when–your–skill–set–has–improved.

Subdirector Noll: This is the least promising batch of refugees I've ever seen. Job-o-Tron! Status report.

Job-o-Tron: Less—than—thirty—percent—of—those—polled—are—currently—gainfully—employed—as—we—define—it.

Subdirector Noll: See? You're all wastrels! Back me up here, Job-o-Tron.

Job-o-Tron: Subdirector—Noll—is—correct. Get—a—job, wastrels.

Aggren Vicegrip: I need out of this place. I hate the food, the water, I hate the air. And the sand? Hate it.

Consortium Agent: You there! Your break's over. Get back to work.

Aggren Vicegrip: And I hate that killing that jerk wouldn't matter. They'll have a new jerk in place by morning.

Aggren Vicegrip: I've been itching to hurt something. You just volunteered.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: You hotheads are only making things worse.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: You can't win. The first thing a Lionguard learns is how to end a brawl.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Right: any more violence and I'll use all of you to chum the waters of Sawtooth Bay.

Aggren Vicegrip: Go ahead. I'd rather be shark bait than a prisoner.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: You're not a prisoner. You signed a Consortium contract to be here.

Aggren Vicegrip: Because there was an emergency. Now the emergency's over, and I want out.

Aggren Vicegrip: And I don't want Consortium mercenaries on my tail for the rest of my life, waving that stupid contract.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: I'm sorry, but my hands are as tied as yours. You signed it, so you have to stick to it.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: In the meantime, quit stirring up trouble, or you're fish food.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Tell me everything. These buildings seem to be the target. What's inside?

Subdirector Noll: That information is strictly on a need-to-know basis. And mind your tone. The Consortium is the victim here.

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Fine. Have fun being trampled and eaten until someone who needs to know shows up.

Subdirector Noll: Wait, wait. Given the circumstances... These are simple storage depots. Tools, supplies, records...

Inspector Ellen Kiel: Why would wild creatures attack caches of tools, supples, and records?

Subdirector Noll: Figuring that out is your job. And just so you understand the stakes–this isn't an isolated incident.

Subdirector Noll: Our Southsun records on the mainland have also been targeted. Destroyed, in fact.

Subdirector Noll: The originals here are all that's left. I'm having them collected so we can protect them, but I want Lionguard assurances.

Subdirector Noll: If the Consortium loses this important asset, the Captain's Council will hear all about your incompetence.

Lord Faren: Is that you, Kas? My dear, dear friend, I haven't seen you in ages. What a coincidence, us both being here!

Lady Kasmeer Meade: You were on the same ship I was, Faren. I saw you trying to hide.

Lord Faren: Not from you, dear lady. Perish the thought. No, I was merely...assuming a low profile.

Lord Faren: My exploits drew some unduly harsh reaction back in ol' DR. I felt it was time for a sabbatical.

Lord Faren: So I am traveling incognito to enjoy a temporary separation from my established social circle.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: What a marvelous idea. I was attempting that very thing.

Lord Faren: I never "fled to Southsun Cove." I...came to secure my reservations for the upcoming festival.

Lord Faren: But what about you? What brings you to this fair island?

Lady Kasmeer Meade: Business and pleasure. I'm fact-finding for Jory, and I heard this was a one-of-a-kind resort.

Lord Faren: It is that. One with a reputation for dangerous fun...well, danger, anyway.

Lord Faren: Truth be told, I was rather counting on that to discourage any other visitors from DR.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you're here. If I did, I wouldn't have you all to myself.

Lord Faren: So you and Jory don't do bodyguard work. Too bad. My body could definitely use some guarding.

Lord Faren: I was trained in single combat, of course, but I'm currently facing a much less fortuitous ratio.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: Right, you were Swordmaster Bongo's prize student. Your parents paid extra for the title.

Lord Faren: Well I don't like to brag...wait, what?

Lady Kasmeer Meade: Sorry, I meant "training." They paid extra for the special training that made you so formidable.

Lord Faren: I'd be an excellent pirate. "Captain Faren, Scourge of the High Seas." And of the high-end taverns.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: I can definitely see you with a cutlass and a corsair's hat, swashbuckling the day away.

Lord Faren: I like the sound of that! That is to say, "Har! Yar! Avast!" and so forth.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: I suggest calling yourself Faren the Tongueless and remaining silent until you've mastered the lingo.

Lord Faren: I've built us a house with my own two hands. You're not the only noble who works, you know.

Lord Faren: Now we can stay here together forever, rent-free!

Lady Kasmeer Meade: That's sweet, but are you sure it's finished?

Lady Kasmeer Meade: It looks more like a foundation. For a hovel that's designed to lower property values.

Lord Faren: I'm a trend-setter, my dear. Soon all our friends will have beach homes like this one.

Lord Faren: Why not? You're here, I'm here, the waves are crashing romantically upon the shore.

Lord Faren: It's not like we've never kissed before.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: We were eight.

Lord Faren: And I've carried a torch for you ever since. Surely proof that my love is no mere schoolboy's trifle.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: Yes, well...not to change the subject, but I think you need to wax again. Your stubble is showing.

Lord Faren: Have you heard the scuttlebutt? The Captain's Council is simple riven over the upcoming festival.

Lord Faren: Half want to honor tradition and make the traditional profit.

Lord Faren: The rest think it's bad form to have a dragon festival in the middle of a dragon war.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: I understand it's a delicate subject, but isn't the council always at each other's throats?

Lord Faren: Only when they're not trying to stick knives in each other's backs.

During Last Stand at Southsun

Aggren Vicegrip: How much longer do we have to do this scrapper work?

Tergvi: Until we're done. We need shelter, and the Consortium needs labor.

Aggren Vicegrip: I knew you norn would just take this. You're used to being run out of your homes.

Job-o-Tron: Departure—of—the—settlers—diminishes—my—ability—to—perform—my—primary—function.

Job-o-Tron: I—will—miss—my—quota—and—be—downsized. They—may—even—replace—me—with—a—non-golem.

Job-o-Tron: Tertiary—objective—activated. Step—one: Acquire—object—designated—"hobo—bindle."

Job-o-Tron: Step—two: Proceed—with—new—career—as—a—wastrel—and/or—vagrant.

Lord Faren: Such a lovely scene–you, me...and the stampeding karka, screeching and spitting their caustic goo.

Lady Kasmeer Meade: Indeed. We should probably take shelter. I'm heading back to Lion's Arch soon, and I need to pack.

Lord Faren: I don't suppose there's room in your luggage for a lord on the lam?

Lord Faren: If you hang me up after you unpack me, I swear I won't wrinkle.