Port Avon's Character

 is considered a WARNINGWARNING in Sunless Skies.

Circumstance description
"What is the little village like?"

Quality status
 has different statuses according to your actions, defined by the comment in front of the quality.

Journal description

 * [ 1 ] Preserved like a fly in amber
 * [ 2 ] Thoroughly Radical
 * [ 3 ] Staunchly traditional
 * [ 4 ] Quietly conservative
 * [ 5 ] Unsettled
 * [ 6 ] Libertine tendencies
 * [ 7 ] Unexpectedly Metropolitan
 * [ 8 ] Boldly Radical
 * [ 9 ] Revolutionary

Variable Interaction description
These desciptions appear when a specific group is called for text.

PortArrive

 * [ 0 ] Port Avon nestles, quietly, among ruins wrought by giants. The breeze nudges the apple trees. Locals watch you pass. Their nods are polite. Their eyes are wary.
 * [ 4 ] Port Avon spills, prettily, across sections of colossal, drifting ruins. Its orchards bask in the evening-gold light of a distant nebula.
 * [ 7 ] Port Avon's picture-box cottages, each painted a different colour, tuck amidst the great stone ruins. The dock bustles; the lanes throng with visitors."

Stroll

 * [ 0 ] Stroll
 * [ 1 ] As far as you can tell, you're Port Avon's solitary visitor. The locals ignore you, occupied as they are with their claustrophobic family rivalries, half-pagan traditions, and comically formal manners.
 * [ 2 ] A sleepy hush smothers the village, broken only by the bickering of a trio of elderly gentlemen on a bench. A 'Vacancies' sign hangs in the window of the widow Campbell's guest-house.
 * [ 3 ] Cottages gleam in fresh coats of whitewash. The hedges are neatly pruned. The lawns have been cut to an exact inch and a half. The village council has been throwing its weight around, lately.
 * [ 4 ] Children are egg-rolling on Port Avon's single, modest hill. A few teenagers lounge under an apple tree, bored out of their skulls.
 * [ 5 ] Locals nod to you, cautiously, as you pass. A light drizzle of silver rain brushes the village. Its beads are bright and tiny as pin heads.
 * [ 6 ] You pass a group of youths in bright scarves. One of the girls is wearing trousers, and an elderly verger sat on a bench averts his eyes.
 * [ 7 ] This cottage is painted a buttery yellow; that one, a pale mint green; the next a warm orange. You hear the persistent ring of pickaxes from the soul-miners, busy in the ruins.
 * [ 8 ] The lanes bustle with visitors. The widow Campbell's guest house is turning people away. The Nowhere inn glows with bright lamps, and thumps with the sound of music-hall songs.
 * [ 9 ] A poet gives a reading under one of the trees, raising his voice to be heard over the chatter of hopeful workers queuing to be picked for the mining-teams. Trees are being felled to make room for new homes."

Sermon

 * [ 0 ] Today, the vicar expounds upon Ephesians 6:1-4, and Exodus 20:12. \"Honour your father and mother...\" Children sit, stiff-backed, in the pews. Their hair is neatly combed. Their buttons are fastened to the collar. Their parents shoot them meaningful looks.
 * [ 4 ] The vicar's voice rises and falls like a tide. His parishioners struggle to stay awake. Today, his sermon concerns Matthew, chapter four, and the devil tempting Christ in the wilderness.
 * [ 7 ] The vicar delivers an unusually animated sermon on the virtues of artists. \"Them hath he filled with wisdom of heart, to work all manner of work, of the engraver, and of the cunning workman, and of the embroiderer, in blue, and in purple, in scarlet, and in fine linen.\""

Sermon2

 * [ 0 ] The pews are crowded with Port Avon locals, stiff in their Sunday bests. They embark upon a hymn: \"Christian children all must be; mild, obedient, good as he...\" The younger parts of the congregation appear unenthused.
 * [ 4 ] The congregation is a mix of attentive locals, sitting primly at the front, and visitors perched at the back. The accordionist coaxes them into an attempt at 'Judge Eternal, Throned in Splendour'.
 * [ 7 ] The congregation is colourful. A crowd of artists and visiting traders outnumber a small clump of top-hatted locals. Together, they belt out 'Thy Kingdom Come, O God': \"O'er heathen lands afar, thick darkness broodeth yet; Arise o morning star, arise and never set. Break with thine iron rod, the Tyrannies of sin.\""

Pub

 * [ 0 ] Locals line the bar. Your entrance appears to have disturbed their conversation. They examine you, critically.
 * [ 4 ] The taproom's stools are full: a noisy mix of overcoated skyfarers and tweedy locals.
 * [ 7 ] A group of Bohemians laugh around a table crammed with empty glasses. A throng of thirsty skyfarers, their boots still white with the frost of the Wilderness, jostle at the bar. A single local casts a mournful look at his favourite stool. It is presently occupied by a foul-mouthed captain, his moustache damp with cider.

Interactions in Brief
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Interactions in Detail
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