The clockwork factory grounds is a small district in itself, a border region between the wharves and even more abandonned parts of the city. It is a complex maze of brick buildings with broken windows and covered in ivy, streets full of walls with iron tubes attached to them, tubes running overhead, and tall chimneys in the distance. Everywhere, there is a faint rattling of metal and wheels. Nobody remembers the purpose of the factory grounds, like the sewers they are as old (or perhaps older) as the city itself.
Some buildings, those nearest to the wharves, are still occupied. They hold simple machinery that the engineers of Harbat have put to good use, for example as a post office and adjacent pigeon coop, or a printing-works, an embroidery and a forge. It is also the home of the ironmonger, prying loose rusted metal here and there. In fact, there's treasure everywhere, if you know what too look for: a mountain of deserted machines (one of them reading: "weather station rain override") inside the various compounds, with iron stairs running up and down countless of stories. At the heart of it all lies the closed ward
There is something peculiar about this district, not exactly strange, not exactly mysterious. Just... peculiar. You take it almost as matter-of-factly that you seem to be in constant observation when strutting around the clockwork, as if a million eyes and ears were peering and listening with intense curiosity - still undecided of what to make of you. Watching you, and waiting, pondering some form of conclusion as to what you are.