Once upon a time, an old man built a clockwork town

[ There is a loud click coming from the direction of the foyer. The first time you looked, there had been a bar blocking the door. But it is gone now, and light shines in softly through the door’s window. There is a commotion coming from outside the main doors. Just one voice, old and wheezing. He’s yelling, ranting, and there is no reply. ]

How could th- . . . blasted, filching little- . . . how, HOW! Damn th- . . .

[ You do the only narratively sensible thing and open that door. ]

[Stepping through you find yourself in an enourmous town square, sitting in a large octagon around a tall tower with a blue roof and small, distant shutters.

All around are strange faced people locked in mid motion. They had been strolling along side each other. Some with shopping bags or baskets in hand. One little girl stands in the middle of a group, exchanging a bright red flower for a matronly woman's coin.

A young man had paused in sweeping the pristine gutters to look at something in a drainpipe. A busker's fiddle is silent, the jar in front of her painted with coins.

On each side of the square another inn sits, each with brightly colored signposts. Between each of those - four total - four gates sit, all of them closed and guarded on either side by stern faced soldiers.]