Fragments of something larger? Whatever. If it was supposed to make sense to you, you’d understand it…

Forever glaring down from four stories over the private gardens of the Chorus, the Coragutenk continues turning with a precision to credit its builders. An unseen manifest offers a perpetual pace, and allows that generations after its construction the monumental timepiece remains the standard for the whole city. Often machines that continue on, designed by tenkers who’s bones are long since turned to dust, allows superstition and fanciful thoughts grow thick upon their stone supports like so much unwanted grass. There are rumors, claim some, that when the great clock runs down, so will the walls of the city crumble.