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

[As the sky ticks over to morning, you only get a few moments before an earth shaking rumble overtakes the whole city, tumbling the contents of the small inn.

As it subsides, those of you who made it outside, or simply slept there, may be treated to the sight of the sky turning and... lifted away. Above, an enormous pair of hands holding a marionette's cross set both tools down to the side, somewhere out of sight. Above you see a giant's workshop, rafters and stone walls bigger than cities and greying out into the sheer distance of the structures.

Suddenly you feel... somehow a bit lighter, a bit stronger for it.]


[The doll from earlier, still missing one arm, and one eye stares upwards at the display.]



Why this experiment is ending so soon? Did they find what they needed?


[She walks over to one of the gates. It opens at her touch, leading to darkness. Her smile ticks a few notches higher.]

Would you like to go home?

[Something begins to tick, coming from all around you at once. It gains in volume slowly, first something just at the edge of your hearing and then rises up above even the conversations.

A first, awkward, off-key note is struck, and then another. The tone is delicate and disjointed, as if a melody was torn out of the middle and played on just the few last keys...




You begin to feel tired. In fact, some of you might begin to feel really, really tired.]


((OOC: goodnight groddle Lullaby posting! The super sleepy is up to you whether you want to play out or not, it is otherwise random and doesn't happen with the same severity ever night, unless you want it to.))

[ 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.]