Port Avon

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Port Avon
Portavon ambience.png
Port Avon (Sidebar)
Located in The Reach
Ports Port Avon Dock
The Village Green
The Nowhere Inn
The Cyclopean Ruins
Shops Sharma & Sons

Port Avon is a port in the outer circle of the Reach, located in the same segment as Traitor's Wood.

Log Entries[edit | edit source]

A new smell, behind the coal and the oil: the green, unlikely scent of apples.
Ruins claw the sky, the work of giants.
Today, the sky is as cool and blue as ice in a glass.

The Fatalistic Signalman considers Port Avon. "Never seen so many try so hard to pretend they're not in the sky."
To the dismay of the Eccentric, the useless cat spent an afternoon bringing their pets an assortment of rodent viscera.
"This looks like a blissful idyll," says the Clay Conductor. "I hate it."

Port Avon Dock[edit | edit source]

A bucolic village nestled within looming pre-human ruins. The dock is little more than a farmyard. Port Avon's inhabitants quickly tire of visitors, but you may be able to find ways to increase your welcome here before you venture into the village proper.

A Quiet Day in Port Avon
Clock.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 303714

A Quiet Day in Port Avon[edit | edit source]

A pleasant breeze wafts through the village, making even its pricklier residents relax their guard and welcome guests. Only a little, but enough that even a visiting stranger can enjoy their bonhomie.

Trigger conditions

Calendar icon.png DateClock icon.png An Opportunity in Port Avon,

Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Play a round of cricket
One of the teams is a person down. A rare chance to join the games.
The endless match
Nobody seems to remember how long this game has been going on, just that the score is now almost a formality. You play your part and points are scored, yet by the time you leave, it is no closer to an end. Nobody seems to mind. It is, after all, cricket.
Buy cheap fuel at the Engine Yard
The Sharmas have a surplus of fuel and nowhere to store it.
Loaded up!
The oily-faced girl from the docks helps roll the barrels onto the engine and into the cargo hold, ready for use.

Game note: This will give you two Fuel for 20 Sovereigns.


Get cheap repairs at the Engine Yard
The engineer here has little to do. She could use the distraction.
Ready to fly!
The Engineer works swiftly, hammering the battered hull into shape. "Good as new," she announces, squinting sadly at your engine. "Near as, anyway."
Advanced query needs investigation


Port Avon
Bronzewood.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 269631


Port Avon[edit | edit source]

"Port Avon's Character(PortArrive) "

Game note: Exploring Port Avon will wear down your welcome. Here, you can restore it, allowing you to stay longer.


Trigger conditions

Oraclenewspaper icon.png Port Avon Oracle ≥ 10


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Leave the Poetic Forged Companion here
You will be free of them, at last.
An intriguing arrival
You accompany the Poetic Forged Companion to the Nowhere Inn. The patrons, unsettled by the Companion's strange visage, clutch their pints nervously as the new arrival settles themselves by the fire. However, as soon as the Companion starts to read, their fear turns to awe, and one by one they settle themselves at the Companion's feet, like children. As you turn to leave, you overhear some patrons whispering as they point in your direction. They believe you to be the inspiration for the newcomer's magnificent works.
Drop off a settler
You're here!
Share exotic gossip with the locals
They're always hungry for news; the more trivial, the better.
Making friends
You make for the Nowhere, the local pub, where you can be sure of an audience. Ears bend to overhear your conversation about a London scandal. One resident even buys you a drink – an unquestionable honour.

Game note: Increase your Welcome at Port Avon.


Host a tea-party aboard your locomotive
A taste of London!
The clink of cups
The locals are still essentially British: they cannot resist the smell of tea. They enter nervously, like stray cats approaching an unexpected bowl of milk. As you pour, one attempts tentative conversation about the weather. You express amazement. Soon, he has relaxed enough to risk an actual opinion. You smile into your cup. You're one of them now. For a little while.

Game note: Increase your Welcome at Port Avon.


Host a boozy knees-up aboard your locomotive
Chorister nectar will facilitate the occasion. It lubricates the throat, and greases the affections.
Making friends
Various visitors to the port attend and, crucially, so do the more liberal residents, one of whom brings an accordion. Soon, the cabins resound with a passable chorus of 'The Boy I Love is Up in the Gallery.'

Game note: Increase your Welcome at Port Avon.


Commission the Reclusive Carpenter to repair the Magician's equipment
You've been given a letter and several allegedly magical boxes to deliver to him.
The Carpenter squints at the letter, and gives a quiet harrumph. "Another one? Fine. Looks like I'll need Helping the Humiliated Magician(Request)
Purchase a costume for geese
The Oracle is a keen supporter of the local tailor. So is the Clown, it turns out.
She is a tidy, mousy woman with a fiercely strong handshake. "So you're collecting the outfits for the geese? I have the costumes here: a nice little three-piece suit for the gentleman, and a ballroom gown for the lady. They'll be the most precious couple anyone ever saw."
Put up a flyer for the Strongwoman
The residents of Port Avon are very strict about what may be posted where. They're happy to direct you to the appropriate bulletin board.
You post the flyer in the designated spot as the citizenry are waking. By tea time, you overhear snippets of conversation: "Could she lift the printing press?" "I wouldn't wager that anyone could hold my prize winning pumpkin!" "If it's written, it shall be."
Present the Reclusive Carpenter with his materials
It's what he said he needed to fix the Magician's equipment.
The Reclusive Carpenter bids you deliver the material outside his workshop, and return in two days. After the time has passed, just outside your locomotive, you find the Magician's equipment boxed and ready for transport. The Carpenter is nowhere to be seen.
Write a Port Report
The locals are willing to update you on the news; there's not much to share.
Were it not for talk of smugglers and sky-beasts, you could easily confuse this place for a village on the world you left behind. It's quite peaceful here, apart from some fuss over a newspaper delivery. The villagers frown and change the subject when you ask about it.
Investigate the clocks
Listen to the Will Of The People
A delegation has been sent to petition you in your role as Minister.
Endless problems, few solutions
You listen with appropriate amounts of care to each person who begs a moment of your time. The majority are local issues, not worth bringing up in Parliament. Occasionally, inspiration strikes for a new law. You promise with a practised politician's sincerity that even if there is nothing you can do, you will do it to the best of your ability. They seem mollified by that.
Rare event (10%)
Endless problems, few solutions
You listen with appropriate amounts of care to each person who begs a moment of your time. Until the egg hits you in the face. The perpetrators run off giggling. You wipe away the dripping yolk. Someone should make a law against that sort of thing...
Visit the Poetic Forged Companion
How are they faring?
A huge success
The Poetic Forged Companion is reading their work aloud at the Nowhere Inn. While you can hear their familiar drone, it is impossible to see them because the crowd is too dense. Patrons jostle to get closer to them, aggressively shushing anyone who so much as coughs.

"Excuse me," hisses a woman in front of whom you inadvertently step, "if you don't mind, I'm trying to watch the greatest poet of—"

"Will you be quiet!" snaps a tweed-clad man, and the rest of the audience turn on him for his interruption. You extricate yourself from the ensuing scuffle, with nothing to show from your visit but cider-soaked shoes.

Advanced query needs investigation


Arriving at Port Avon
Portavon ambience.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 276737


Arriving at Port Avon[edit | edit source]

Behold: a ruin of giants. Gargantuan blocks jigsaw together, furred with moss and whispering with orchards. A bucolic village nestles amongst them. Smoke coils, daintily, from the chimneys. A leisurely game of cricket unfolds on the village green.

Trigger conditions

Oraclenewspaper icon.png Port Avon Oracle ≤ 0,

Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Disembark
A ramshackle dock juts into the sky beside a farmyard scattered with rusty locomotive parts: plating, piping, a chugging motor with its innards exposed.
An oily-faced, black-haired girl waves your locomotive into position. "Welcome to Port Avon!" she calls, as you disembark. A rich knot of scents greets you: leaves and wood smoke, enriched by an infrequent but pungent intrusion of goat.

Game note: Port Avon welcomes new visitors, but your novelty will wear off the more time you spend there. When you visit in future, you may need to bring something to keep them friendly.


Recruit a Repentant Devil
Repentantdevil.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 302964

Recruit a Repentant Devil[edit | edit source]

"He's looking for passage. He claims to be useful. He doesn't ask where you're headed. "

Game note: Officers require a sign-on fee.


Trigger conditions

Repentantdevil icon.png Repentant Devil's End ≤ 0,
Repentantdevil icon.png Repentant Devil ≤ 0,


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Offer him a berth
He's repentant. There can be no harm.
Accept him
He has very little luggage: a single satchel of books and a folded great-coat appear to be his only personal effects. His manner is calm, almost pedantic, as he negotiates his duties and his pay. But you have a sense that he urgently wants to be out of Port Avon.

Game note: This will give you a Signaller, who will increase your Iron by 2, your Veils by 6 and your Affiliation: Academe by 1.



Mr Menagerie is Passing Through Port Avon
Cagedcatch.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 294833


Mr Menagerie is Passing Through Port Avon[edit | edit source]

A tattered poster by the station advertises the services of a 'Mr Menagerie: Purveyor of Fine Scouts'. An accompanying picture displays a tall cloaked figure, slightly stooped, clutching an array of adorable little beasts close to its long chest.

Trigger conditions

Cagedcatch icon.png Mr Menagerie's Last Voyage ≥ 2 ≤ 2,

Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Visit Mr Menagerie
A pile of cages rests by the village green.

Game note: You can buy scouts from Mr Menagerie, but he will move on after your visit.



A Note from Mr Menagerie at Port Avon
Envelope.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 294842


A Note from Mr Menagerie at Port Avon[edit | edit source]

The poster at the station has been torn down, and there is no sign of Mr Menagerie itself. Cowled figures lurk in the fog, but none have a collection of adorable little beasts The Stationmaster waves you over. Mr Menagerie has left a note for you.

Trigger conditions

Cagedcatch icon.png Mr Menagerie's Last Voyage ≥ 3 ≤ 3,

Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Read the note
It should tell you where Mr Menagerie was headed.
Somewhere old, somewhere new


The Village Green[edit | edit source]

A golden nebula scintillates above Port Avon's apple-trees, allotments, eel-fishers, and steepled church. Here you may, if you choose, immerse yourself in the village's quaint rhythms.

The Village Green
Wind.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 276743


The Village Green[edit | edit source]

"The heart of the village, surrounded by orchards of real apple trees that were shipped through the Avid Horizon as seeds. An endowment of years from Her Renewed Majesty grew them to swift maturity. "

Game note: Actions here will wear out your welcome.


Trigger conditions

Oraclenewspaper icon.png Port Avon Oracle ≥ 10

Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
You have worn out your welcome
The stares of the locals have grown sullen. They won't even give you the time of day, anymore.
    • Portavon icon.png Port Avon Welcome ≤ 0 [You are no longer welcome in Port Avon. You may be able to become so again at the dock.]

It is suggested, in firm and explicit terms, that you had best be on your way.

Game note: You may be able to improve your welcome back at the dock.

Amiable Vagabond: Seek out the Court of the Skylarks
The camp has moved since the Vagabond was here last. He stoops to examine a wooden post etched with dozens of signs.
Beneath a bridge
"We call these the Skylark Signals," says the Vagabond. The post has been carved with dozens of crude hieroglyphs. "Top secret! We carve them to tell each other the character of a port." He jabs at a row of zig-zags. "This means 'unfriendly'." He points at a triangle. "But this means that there's a skylark camp nearby."

You follow him past the village's fringe. You hear voices raised in drunken song; then you see a crumbling bridge, beneath which are campfires and tents.

"My loyal subjects!" roars the Vagabond, plunging down the slope.
Take a relaxing stroll around the village
What sort of place is Port Avon, now?
A short walk
Above, a golden nebula is fierce in the sky. Amber light dapples the curving lanes. Port Avon's Character(Stroll)
Advanced alteration value probably needs examination.


Watch a cricket match
The crack of willow on leather. A hesitant smattering of applause.
Howzat!
The game could charitably be described as 'stately', but there is a moment of excitement when the batsman hits a six and the ball whizzes over the thatched roofs, off the edge of the port, and is lost forever in the starry deeps. The audience groans. Play stops while someone goes to get another ball.
Rare event (30%)
The great game
Is there a more restful way to spend an afternoon? You sink into the glacial rhythm of overs and innings. You enjoy the parabolic descent of the ball into a fielder's waiting hands. You admire the gnomic pronouncements of the umpire...
Sit with the eel-fishers
They line the straight, stony edge of a block that juts into the sky, their rods hanging over the edge. Colonies of pardoner-eels – smoky as sardines – breed on the underside of the port.
A peaceful morning
You watch as the fishers snag their wriggling prey, heave them onto the rock, and put an end to their thrashing with eel-mallets. The catches are infrequent, though, and aside from those occasional struggles (always swiftly ended by a meaty thwack) you can sit back, enjoy the starlight, and make conversation.
Rare event (25%)
A lucky catch!
A whiskered eel-fisher asks you to hold his rod for him while he pops home for his tobacco-pouch. No sooner is he out of earshot than you get a bite! You wrestle with the eel – it's a beast! A furious five-footer! Eventually, you manage to heave it over the lip of the stone, and your fellow fishers spring on it, deploying their eel-mallets. When he returns, the man you were replacing insists you keep half the catch for yourself.
Attend a service at the church
It's a small church, with whitewashed walls. From within you hear the slow drone of a Sunday sermon.
The congregation
Rare event (50%)
A sermon
Visit the allotments
In fenced plots across Port Avon, grizzled horticulturalists tame the rampant vegetation of the Reach.
Failed event
A disturbing specimen
Here, a goat grazes on a bush whose leaves spiral like corkscrews. A harassed gardener hacks at weeds that look like a knot of melting snakes. Another gardener hurries over and presses a bulbous cutting, in a clay pot, into your hands. "Here, you have it," he mutters. "I can't abide its singing." The plant – green; noduled – trills mournfully.
Successful event
An intriguing specimen
The contents of the allotments are unlike familiar vegetables, but it helps to look for the similarities. That bulbous squash is too lumpen, too spotty, too purple to be a marrow; but it is more like a marrow than it is like a cucumber. The little fruits clumped on the serpentine vines are certainly not cherries. Cherries are not hairy. But they are closer to cherries than they are to, say, kiwi fruit. Or otters. Call it a marrow, then. Call them cherries. It helps, somehow. The gardener, mistaking your cognitive reshuffle for hunger, offers you a handful of freshly-dug, tapered, tiger-striped roots. Let's call them carrots.
The Fatalistic Signalman: on the Trail of the Quixotic Squire
Fatalisticsignalman.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 297233

The Signalman: on the Trail of the Quixotic Squire[edit | edit source]

The Signalman's search for the Quixotic Squire, patron of the defunct Isambard Line, has led you to Port Avon. The Squire's House clings to a lonely sky-rock drifting above the village. But it is in obvious disuse, its roof caved and its windows boarded. The Signalman tuts. "Typical." You are not so easily deterred. Someone here will know what became of the Squire.

Trigger conditions

Fatalisticsignalman icon.png Learning about the Fatalistic Signalman ≥ 45 ≤ 45,


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Speak to the vicar
He ushers you into the vicarage and offers you tea, which he perhaps hopes will ameliorate his news.
The sad fate of the Quixotic Squire
"I'm sorry," the vicar says. "The Squire passed away several years ago."

The Signalman frowns. "He were younger than me."

"Sad circumstances. His wife had contracted an unusual illness—" here, he taps the glass lens of his spectacles. "There was no recovery. The Squire had an hour-loom constructed in his cellar and spent the remainder of his wealth on hours, which he used to draw out the last of their time together. While months passed for us and for her, years passed for him at her sickbed. When she passed, he had used up what was left of his own time, too."
Sip your tea
A small gesture, but one that provides the Signalman with at least a pretence of privacy.
The Signalman puts his cup down. "We're none of us good at letting go, are we vicar?"

The vicar offers him a biscuit. "No. It's not surprising, I suppose. Is there any question more terrible than 'what comes next?'"

You depart. The Signalman is wrapped in thought.
Appropriate a biscuit
They are golden and crisp and delicious. And you've been making do with mealy, drooping fungal crackers for weeks.
The Signalman puts his tea down. "We're none of us good at letting go, are we vicar?"

The vicar goes to offer him a biscuit, but you have just devoured the last one. "No. It's not surprising, I suppose. Is there any question more terrifying than 'what comes next?'"

You depart. The Signalman is wrapped in thought.
Tut, sympathetically
In the mouth of a Briton, a tut can be scathing or sympathetic. This one, you hope, is mournful. It says "the world is a terrible place, and we do what we must to endure it."
The vicar gives you a bolstering smile.

The Signalman puts his tea down. "We're none of us good at letting go, are we vicar?"

"No," the vicar answers. "It's not surprising. After all, is there any question more terrifying than 'what comes next?'"

You depart. The Signalman is wrapped in thought.
Attempt to speak to the vicar
He fixes you with a suspicious glare.
    • Portavon icon.png Port Avon Welcome ≤ 0 [You are no longer welcome in Port Avon. You may be able to become so again at the dock.]

"Why do you want to know? We keep to ourselves, here."

Game note: You will need to be Welcome in Port Avon in order to get answers from the vicar.



The Auroral Sommelier
Affiliationbohemia.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 315793

The Auroral Sommelier[edit | edit source]

Someone has grafted brass wheels to the carcass of an old armoire, and impaled its top with a jaunty, damasked umbrella. A man stands behind it, flesh and finery the colours of the dawn, shepherding customers through their sampling of wines.

"Sweet wines, sour wines, subtle wines and sinful! Spirits of every vintage! Save, of course, the Hesperidean cider." He gives a small, sad laugh. "I know because I looked. This is the only place with real apples, but even here that cider eludes me."

He beckons you with a gloved hand.


Trigger conditions

Chiropteroushoarder icon.png Chiropterous Hoarder ≤ 0,
Chiropteroushoarder icon.png Multiplicitous Hoarder ≤ 0,
Chiropteroushoarder icon.png Immutable Hoarder ≤ 0,
Chiropteroushoarder icon.png Hoarder Recruited ≤ 0,
Chiropteroushoarder icon.png Learning about the Chiropterous Hoarder ≤ 0,
Pastmentor icon.png Searching for Hesperidean Cider ≤ 0,


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Ask him about the Hesperidean cider.
A rare vintage, unheard of and unseen since London. This merits investigation.
"Closer, closer, come listen."
"Come here. Come close and listen, you effervescent thing. I have a story. An associate of mine, he once gave me a sip of it. One golden drop to place under my tongue. And my life was changed." A carnivorous pleasure steeps in his voice as he speaks. "I went back to the store immediately, of course. But the price was too much.

"And then eventually the dreams drained away and now I'm here, serving wine to drunks."

His laughter is black and bitter. But the Auroral Sommelier gives you the address, nonetheless. Just in case.

"If you decide to risk the same grief, savour it for me."
You have worn out your welcome
The stares of the locals have grown sullen. They won't even give you the time of day, anymore.
    • Portavon icon.png Port Avon Welcome ≤ 0 [You are no longer welcome in Port Avon. You may be able to become so again at the dock.]

It is suggested, in firm and explicit terms, that you had best be on your way.

Game note: You may be able to improve your welcome back at the dock.

    Triggers event: Bronzewood.png Port Avon



The Nowhere Inn[edit | edit source]

Botheridge's 'A Tour of Heaven' described Port Avon's single public house as 'a welcome respite, justly famed for its authentic, Old Earth cider. The locals can be welcoming, for a while.' You may be able to recruit more crew, here.

The Nowhere Inn
Drink.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 276756


The Nowhere Inn[edit | edit source]

"Port Avon's first public house stands amidst a nodding copse of apple trees. Inside, brass gleams cosily on the beams: window-latches, doorknobs, and other fittings retrieved from the first locomotives that carried people here. A great, polished wheel hangs on one wall. "

Game note: Actions here will wear out your welcome.


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Read a work of speculative fiction
In the nook by the fireplace is a shelf of magazines. Each contains a story by the local author: the Turbulent Fabulist.
Paid by the word
The Fabulist's work has been accepted in a number of publications, including Murgatroyd's Miscellany, Hearth & Heaven, and The Seasonal. He is prodigious. Which story catches your eye?
The Eyes of Heaven
'Being a thrilling tale of discovery and danger in a sky heretofore unknown.'
'They burned the charts, for what use were they now? The Incorrigible thundered through an empty, unnamed heaven, blown with a frost-wind. Ahead, a new sun blazed, the size of a penny through the forward windows. There was a long way to go.'
Bones in the Well
'Being a macabre tale of one soul's descent into solitude and madness.'
'On the third day, it rained. The sky was a grey, drizzly circle in the well's mouth, far above. The rubble underfoot darkened, then swam with mud. Perhaps he would drown today, Joseph thought. "A slow way to die," he remarked to the skeleton that shared the well with him. Raindrops tip-tapped on its skull. 'The skeleton was a good listener. Joseph had already shared all his secrets with it. All, that is, except one. Now, holding onto that last secret seemed pointless. After all, he was likely to drown before dinnertime. He cleared his throat. "It was I who pushed you," he confessed.
The Devil's Confession
'Being a satirical tale of infernal ambition and mortal folly.'
'His companion's hooves thumped on the crimson carpet. The corridor was long and lined with doors, each with a brass knob. He opened one. The room behind was filled from floor to ceiling with bottled souls. He tried another: the same. "We've never found a use for them," the devil admitted.'
The Vacant Throne
'Being a tale of political inevitability, from the perspective of empire.'
'Another silent century passed. Upon the throne, the king's corpse withered and sagged, mould devouring the incarnadine robes. Then, a sound. The doors opened. A woman entered: young, scarred, a sword in her hand. Behind her were more men. More swords. "About time," thought the throne.'
A Corpse at the Window
'Being a sinister tale of familial duty and intimate horror.'
'Amelia looked through the glass. Her sister had returned. In one hand she held a necklace of muddy diamonds, dug from a doyenne's grave. From the other dangled the corpse of a doe. Around Katherine's stretched throat, Amelia could still see the rope-marks; white and neat as a vicar's collar.'
The Parson's Cookpot
'Being a darkly comic tale of domestic misbehaviour and unusual appetites.'
'The ladle steamed. "Another portion?" asked the Parson's wife. "Why not?" Constance replied, and raised her bowl. The Parson's crockery was old and pretty. His chair was comfortable. His house needed only modest improvements, mostly in the area of the curtains. Perhaps he would be missed, but no one would ever find his remains. As long as Constance finished the stew.'
Recruit a likely lass or lad
They are young, inquisitive, and sick to the back teeth of Port Avon. Perhaps they can be encouraged to sign on.

Game note: The less traditional Port Avon is, the easier this will be.

Failed event

Special is calculated as follows: 50-(Port Avon's Character*5) * 1.67

Advanced query needs investigation

No luck
What's wrong with the youngsters in this place? Have they no drive? No courage? No vinegar?
Successful event
A new recruit
They don't even ask for an advance. They sneak from their home that night with a bag of personal effects, and meet you aboard your engine. You put them to work.
Partial success event (5%)
They're wavering
They're interested, but afraid to take that last step into the reeling sky.
Don't press them
Let it go. You don't want them changing their mind when you're halfway to New Winchester.

Game note: You will not lose any Welcome.

They leave the Nowhere with a last, uncertain look over their shoulder. Perhaps, in days to come, they will wonder if they made the right choice.
Offer them an advance
A handful of sovereigns will tip the scales.
The coins gleam on the table. Your newest crewman snatches them up, and attempts an experimental salute. They'll do.
Unwelcome
Conversation stills. The clientele stare at you, balefully. "Last orders just closed," the barman grunts.
    • Portavon icon.png Port Avon Welcome ≤ 0 [You are no longer welcome in Port Avon. You may be able to become so again at the dock.]

Cast out
You leave the stuffy, silent pub, and return to the dock.

Game note: You may be able to improve your welcome back at the Port Avon Dock.

    Triggers event: Bronzewood.png Port Avon

Appreciate an amount of cider
Made from real apples, from the world you left behind! "Careful, now," a local warns you, placidly.
Failed event Advanced alteration value probably needs examination.


Oh dear
It tastes of golden sun and the fields left behind. Another! You must have another! The second tastes even better. The third— Well, you don't remember the third one very well. Perhaps, in addition, there was a fourth, and a fifth.

You awake beneath one of the trees in the orchard, its hard bark against your cheek. You dimly remember singing something inappropriate, and dark looks from the other patrons. Perhaps you remember climbing on a table – but to what end?

Goodness, the stars are very bright, aren't they? Very bright indeed. Like bright little needles. Ouch.
Successful event
Memories
The taste is so sweet, so appley, so heart-twangingly, breath-catchingly nostalgic that it would be easy to miss the kick. What a dangerous little beverage! You drink judiciously, and only allow yourself one more mug. Every sip reminds you of a world that is lost, somewhere at the far end of the universe.
Speak to a Short-Sighted Cryptozoologist
She perches on a stool in the corner, staring at a map of the Reach. "I could have... no. Must have taken a wrong connection at New Winchester."
Intercede in a mushroomy matter
The pub is out of scrumpy. The barman blames a creature – a cross between a mushroom and a jellyfish. It sways in its seat at the bar.
Head upstairs
The New Somerset Hunting Club has exclusive rights to the rooms above the pub, as well as its finest brandies.
Recruit the Rat Brigade
"Oi! Down here." Three rats glower up at you from below a table, where spilt beer has trickled down to form a rat-reachable puddle.
A new beginning
The smallest, most scarred rat is called Cinders. She introduces her companions. "This—" she indicates the rat wearing goggles "—is my second, Petronella: our mechanic." She gestures towards a rat with glossy fur. "And this is our agent provocateur, Albrecht." The rat inclines his head. "We need a locomotive." These battle-hardened rats are all that remain of the Rat Regiment: a mercenary company active in the early days of the Winchester War. "Used to be a dozen of us – the best sappers around," says Cinders. "Now look at us." Her whiskers twitch. "Time for that later. We'll pay, Addressed As(SpeechInformal)."




The Short-Sighted Cryptozoologist
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 296563


The Short-Sighted Cryptozoologist[edit | edit source]

A tiny figure weighed down by two backpacks and a heavy duffel coat looks through thick glasses at her map and then up at you. "Excuse me, I need passage. I don't suppose you could help me? I'm on the trail of unusual beasts. I can pay you for your time."


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Welcome her on board
Where does she need to go?
On the hunt
"Lustrum!" beams the Short-Sighted Cryptozoologist. She leans in conspiratorially. Then, realising that she's whispering to one of the inn's wooden beams, leans over to where you actually are. "I hear there's a Curator who lives there, with the people. Mr Pennies. I've always wanted to meet a Curator – just... safely."
Welcome her on board
Where does she need to go?
On the hunt
"Traitor's Wood!" beams the Short-Sighted Cryptozoologist. She leans in conspiratorially, as it turns out, to the wrong person. "They say there's all sorts living in that place, and— oh. Sorry." She turns to you. "There's all sorts living in that place. Possibly even an ape-man! Won't it be fun to find out?"
Welcome her aboard
Where does she need to go?
On the hunt
"Hybras!" beams the Short-Sighted Cryptozoologist. She leans in conspiratorially, knocking over every glass on the table. "They say there's a colony of singing blemmigans there. You know – the little mushrooms with teeth? I'm a huge fan of their poetry. I'd love to hear what they sing about."
Leave her to her maps
She can find someone else to escort her.



An Inebriated Blemmigan
Blemmigan.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 300252

An Inebriated Blemmigan[edit | edit source]

"Who does this creature belong to?" bellows a man, fuchsia with rage. The Blemmigan he points at is a grizzled member of its species, most of whom were left behind in the Neath. The fuchsia gentleman roars in fury. Between bellows, the truth emerges. The Blemmigan is no one's pet. And – far worse – no one will admit responsibility for its tab. The Blemmigan is unconcerned with the tumult. It nods its cap at you with grim respect, then flops a tendril into a mug of stout. It stares, bleakly, through the window.


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Settle its bar tab
The Blemmigan is looking to sign on for one last journey. If you settle its bill, it'll join you on your locomotive.
Kindred spirits
As the fuchsia gentleman inflates for a particularly prolonged diatribe about ill-mannered captains and their disorderly pets, the Blemmigan climbs to the bar top to consider your face. It likes what it sees. With a sound like a shoe being pulled from a swamp, the Blemmigan finishes its drink. It clambers up your arm until it reaches your shoulder, from where it directs you to the door. It is experienced in surviving the cold of the heavens and the heat of those too cowardly to traverse them. It respects you; it will serve you well.

Game note: This will give you a Mascot that raises your Iron by 2 and your Mirrors by 1.


Leave the matter well alone
The creature does emit a rather apply aroma. It must have consumed an orchard's worth of scrumpy. It would be unduly charitable to pay its bar tab.
A farce
The Blemmigan drinks serenely while squabbles continue above it. This is, of course, a problem for someone else. You can always drink cider.


The New Somerset Hunting Club
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 296530


The New Somerset Hunting Club[edit | edit source]

Thick cigar smoke curls through the air, filling this private chamber with premium grade fog. Bloated gentlemen in well-worn military uniforms sit at mahogany tables, sipping port. They chunter of the old days and how very much better they were.


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Request membership of the Club
It was a famous club in Old London, home to not just nobles and distinguished soldiers, but ex-ministers, royal courtiers, and other members of high society.
Our sort of people...
A Stout Veteran gives you a polite once-over. "Hmm. I suppose we could countenance an application. Of course, membership is not a matter of mere money! No, no."

He directs your attention to the trophies. Most are old and musty; Neath creatures, deer, foxes and a bear, all hunted in the members' now long-distant youth.

"Perhaps if you could help decorate our walls with some impressive local fauna, we can talk matters of first payment, and then membership. Of course, we could hunt the beasties ourselves, and we will – by thunder, we will! But the fire is so warm, and there is port left in the bottle."
Deliver a Cantankeri Trophy
The club will pay to hang this on their wall.
Mounted and delivered
The Stout Veteran pokes it. "What a horrible creature." He twiddles his bushy moustache. "A perfect centrepiece! Jenkins, fetch the hoist."
Deliver a Chorister Bee Trophy
The glassy, multifaceted stare will reflect the firelight prettily.
Mounted and delivered
The Stout Veteran looks deep into its eyes. "Not so tough now, are we?" he crows. "Jenkins, fetch the nails."
Deliver a Scrive-Spinster Trophy
They may need to clear some extra space on the wall.
Mounted and delivered
The Stout Veteran refuses to touch it. "In my day, we never had nonsense like this, you know. It was all marsh-wolves and ambulatory fungus: good sensible hunting! I mean what even is this? I feel like it's watching me, and it doesn't even have any eyes. Jenkins! Put it somewhere I won't see it."
Ask about your membership
You've filled their wall. Now to talk about your membership.
Policies and Such
"Ah, yes." The Stout Veteran twiddles his bushy moustache. "Of course, you will be most welcome, once a spot opens up. Dead men's shoes, I'm afraid, and our chaps do rather cling to their place at the bar. But do come and meet everyone. I'm certain they will be thrilled to hear your stories, and slip your name to the right kind of people."


The Cyclopean Ruins[edit | edit source]

What palace was this? What giant-king made his home, here? And why did he abandon the vast stores of souls that the locals still quarry from beneath the stones? Perhaps you might risk a furtive excavation of your own.

The Ruins
Sigil6.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 276765


The Ruins[edit | edit source]

"Not one of the looming stones is quite square, yet they all slot together immaculately. What were these ruins, before their fall? Even their bones are tall and stately as the finest cathedrals of old France. What purpose did they serve in the past, plentiful days when their sun still shone? "

Game note: Actions here will wear out your welcome.


Trigger conditions

Oraclenewspaper icon.png Port Avon Oracle ≥ 10

Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
You have worn out your welcome
A couple of the brawnier MacDonald boys are watching the ruins, truncheons in hand.
    • Portavon icon.png Port Avon Welcome ≤ 0 [You are no longer welcome in Port Avon. You may be able to become so again at the dock.]

"Best keep out. Dangerous place."
    Triggers event: Bronzewood.png Port Avon

Game note: You may be able to improve your welcome back at the dock.


Conduct a nocturnal excavation
Port Avon's chief export is souls, quarried from vast stores entombed within the ruins. You'll need assistants, luck and discretion; the locals would not approve.
Failed event
Empty-handed
All night, you dig, prying up vast stones and peering into the dusty cracks for any sign of souls. There is nothing. Perhaps they were crushed. Perhaps other miners got here first.
Successful event
Quietly does it
Your spades are muffled. Your voices are low. Furtive hours pass. Hard labour is harder still when it must be done in silence. Eventually, your crew heave on a steel rod, prying a gap between two stones. Something glints within: souls, trapped in lenses the size of soup-plates, and stirring irritably in the light.
Partial success event (5%)
An interruption
You wait until the lights in the cottages have all gone out before you begin your starlit work. Your crew quietly clear the mossy rubble and set to prying one of the vast stones from its setting. Suddenly, your lookout hisses a warning. Someone is coming.
Capture them, and continue your plunder
You dispatch your burliest stokers to overwhelm the wanderer.
It is a villager on a midnight stroll, quickly dealt with. He didn't see your face, but suspicion will inevitably fall on visitors. You finish your work, retrieving a set of gleaming lenses, each holding a soul, from the ruins.
Flee
Abandon your work.
Swiftly, you gather your tools and hurry back to your engine, no richer except for a tale of a narrow escape. The villagers will notice someone was digging at the ruins, but they have no reason to be more suspicious of you than usual.
Hurry!
The entrance you've made is narrow and unbraced. But perhaps a nimbler member of your crew could squeeze through.
They squirm in, and roll out a dozen lenses of smoke glass, in which ancient souls shimmer. Then a rope snaps, the stone collapses, sealing or crushing your crewmate. You escape, richer and lonelier.
Investigate the rumours of Tacketies in the ruins
Tackety men have been seen entering the ruins in the dead of night, armed with shovels and lanterns.
Into the gloom
You wait until the sky is dark and the distant stars have dimmed before making your way to the ruins. You go alone, bearing only a shuttered lantern. Dust rises underfoot as you tread along shadowed halls, greater and gloomier than the manors of Old London; through gaps between stones, narrower than the inside of a coffin. Voices grow near; voices and a rich, resplendent light.
Enjoy the picturesque surroundings
How they soar! How tragic! How solemn! Like the most rampant visions of Turner.
Failed event

Game note: Success will gain you a Vision of the Heavens.

undefined
A milky mist billows across the sky. The stones pour cold shadows over you. They loom like stooping giants. You are so tiny. So fleeting. So easily squashed. You hurry from their choking immensity, seeking the smaller, familiar shapes of cottages, of trees, of locals leaning on their painted gates.
Successful event
The house of giants
How vast were the beings that resided here? Were they kings? Was this their palace? You sit in the monumental shadow of a stone, and watch the stars wheel above. What must they think, those stars, to see such grand ruins become the abode of such tiny, brief things?
Partial success event (5%)
Not alone
Your peace is interrupted by a whistling: a popular tune, appallingly executed. A painter is here. He has set his back to a towering arch, and is painting its reflection from a mirror set beside his easel. The mirror's glass is black, dulling the vibrant green of the moss and the scintillating hues of the sky. "The truly picturesque requires a certain restraint," he explains, frowning irritably over his shoulder at the splendid view. "This is trying rather too hard, don't you think?" His presence has ruined the atmosphere, but your walk is not unpleasant.
Enjoy the picturesque surroundings
How they soar! How tragic! How solemn! Like the most rampant visions of Turner.
Failed event
undefined
A milky mist billows across the sky. The stones pour cold shadows over you. They loom like stooping giants. You are so tiny. So fleeting. You hurry from their choking immensity, seeking the smaller, familiar shapes of cottages, of trees, of locals leaning on their painted gates.
Successful event
The house of giants
How vast were the beings that resided here? Were they kings? Was this their palace? You sit in the monumental shadow of a stone, and watch the stars wheel above. What must they think, those stars, to see such grand ruins become the abode of such tiny, brief things?
Partial success event (5%)
You are observed
Your peace is interrupted by a tuneless whistling. A painter is here, meticulously recreating the ruins in oils on his tall canvas. He has made an addition: on a jut of stone he has painted a rag-clad child sitting on the ground, its knees drawn up. Its skin is chalky white. It's back is to you, but its head is turned, one milky eye catching yours. You examine the ruins. There is no child there. Only the tumbled stone, the moss, and the wind that whistles through the ruin. You leave quickly. The walk has not been as soothing as you hoped.


An Unauthorised Dig in Port Avon
Lantern.png
Category Story Event
Type Story
Data ID 295658


An Unauthorised Dig in Port Avon[edit | edit source]

The luminous glow of brilliant souls, mined from the ruins, infects this hidden habitation with radiance. A group of heavy-set men and women in hobnail boots are just ahead. They are intent not on the deposits of souls but on the hollows amidst the stones, where they are busy burying caches of munitions. A crunch of stone behind you. A beam of lantern-light. The burly MacDonald brothers have followed you in.


Interactions

Actions Requirements Effects Notes
Warn the Tacketies
If they're discovered, they'll be booted off Port Avon.
Whispers in the dark
You rush in to the breach, startling the illegal miners. A chorus of surprise and alarm greets your sudden entrance, but there's no time for questions. You convince the leader, a hard-bitten ex-prospector, to lead her men out through an alternate escape route blasted into the ruins.

You cut an expensive deal and stay behind to tell the MacDonalds you were on a night-time stroll when you stumbled on a cave-in. They're more than happy to believe in the stupidity of outsiders.

The Tacketies will be back for their weapons in the future, but next time, they'll be more careful about it.
Assist the MacDonalds
Tacketies engaged in unauthorised mining of hours? No good can come of it.
A healthy pummelling
You fall back to stand clearly in the lamplight. Surprised grunts from the MacDonalds; hasty whispering from you. You make the situation plain, and advise a rapid ambush. The MacDonalds do not need telling twice.

Ten minutes later, you are assisting with the removal of the unconscious Tacketies from the ruins. "We'll make it look like a pub dust up. No one'll be suspicious if I say Angus got a bit lairy."

The MacDonalds leave you with an assurance the village will be on guard for ne'er-do-wells.



Shops[edit | edit source]

Sharma & Sons

A well-stocked provisioners, crammed with high shelves. If you can find the right corner, you can also find displays of the riches unearthed from the local ruins.

Item Buy Sell
Fuel square icon.png Fuel Sovereigns icon.png 20 Sovereigns Sovereigns icon.png 10 Sovereigns
Supplies square icon.png Supplies Sovereigns icon.png 40 Sovereigns Sovereigns icon.png 20 Sovereigns
Undistinguishedsouls square icon.png Jumble of Undistinguished Souls Sovereigns icon.png 70 Sovereigns
Locations
Region Hub Ports Discoveries / Spectacles
The Reach Newwinchester icon.png New Winchester Carillon icon.png Carillon

Hybras icon.png Hybras
Naturereserve icon.png Leadbeater & Stainrod's Nature Reserve
Lustrum icon.png Lustrum
Magdalenes icon.png Magdalene's
Circus icon.png Polmear & Plenty's Inconceivable Circus
Portavon icon.png Port Avon
Portprosper icon.png Port Prosper
Titania icon.png Titania
Traitorswood icon.png Traitor's Wood
Transitrelay icon.png Transit Relays

Signalbox icon.png An Abandoned Signal Box

Default icon.png Faith's Fall
Well green icon.png Old Tom's Well
Regentsgrave icon.png Regent's Grave
Rose icon.png The Flowerfields
Default icon.png The Regent's Tears
Wreckgeneric icon.png The Silent Saint
Reach icon.png The War of Fossils
Wreckgeneric icon.png Wreck of the Parzifal

Albion London icon.png London Avidhorizon icon.png Avid Horizon (The Stair to the Sea)

Perdurance icon.png Perdurance
Brabazon icon.png The Brabazon Workworld
Clockworksun icon.png The Clockwork Sun
Floatingparliament icon.png The Floating Parliament
Serenemausoleum icon.png The Most Serene Mausoleum
Royalsociety icon.png The Royal Society
Transitrelay icon.png Transit Relays
Worlebury icon.png Worlebury-juxta-Mare

Default icon.png Skyhenge

Lantern icon.png St Anthony's Lighthouse
Avidhorizon icon.png The Avid Horizon
Well purple icon.png Well of the Wolf
Wreckgeneric icon.png Wreck of the Boatman

Eleutheria Pan icon.png Pan Achlys icon.png Achlys

Caduceus icon.png Caduceus
Eaglesempyrean icon.png Eagle's Empyrean
Langleyhall icon.png Langley Hall
Piranesi icon.png Piranesi
Houseofrodsandchains icon.png The House of Rods and Chains
Transitrelay icon.png Transit Relays

Default icon.png The Xanthous Moon

Well yellow icon.png The Well of Wonders
Wreckgeneric icon.png Wreck of the Berrenger

The Blue Kingdom Tolltower icon.png Sky Barnet Deathsdoorstep icon.png Death's Door (The Shadow of the Sun)

Forgeofsouls icon.png The Forge of Souls
Whitewell icon.png The White Well (Wellmouth)
Transitrelay icon.png Transit Relay

Deathsdoorstep icon.png Horologion