This ledger in the old bailey is an endless collection of old and dusty books. Scribes have been writing away at it for many, many years, and it has grown to somewhat of a tale. Here, the entire city of Harbat has been documented: what house is where, who lives in what house, everything. Interesting volumes in the ledger are the town registry and the town registry of burgers.
The ledger comprises an entire room of shelves filled with books and paper. Without the proper assistance, it would be almost impossible to retrieve anything here.
THE TOWN CENTRE
The town centre is where all the roads lead, mostly a densely packed area of residential houses with cute chimneys and drainpipes; and large, boring offices; and here and there some cosy quiet corner with cobbled roads with iron grates and houses that have an enclosed garden. Carriages go about their business.
The town centre
The town square
The upper town
The prestigious construct
The forgotten ward
The market is a maze of coiling alleyways around the central market square, filled with innhouses (like the Stool), curiosity shops and stands, and smells and music, and lanterns, and all around, performers, swindlers, beggars, quacks and jugglers looking to make a coin. If the town centre is Harbat's heart, then the market certainly are its bowels - whatever that may mean. One can truly find everything here.
The market square
The brigands's hive
The quieter parts of the market
The Harbat harbour is a very busy place. Ships mooring, crates unloading, barrels rolling, and the harbourmaster inspecting all of it carefully. Carriages stuffed with cargo go to and fro the wharves, dusty miners shuffle home in exhaustion, an ear-pounding racket emerges from the lumberyard.
The clockwork factory grounds
The sewers form a large network of rusted tunnels and warrens under Harbat. Nobody remembers when they were built, or by who, they are as old as the city itself.
Harbat's coast is mainly chalk-cliffs dropping steeply downwards, and coarse grass tormented in the wind. Silence. A winding path leads up from the city to the cartographer's home on a jutting cliff.
Beyond the main island, Harbat exploded into a myriad of tiny islets, and reality slowly lost its coherence. Nearest to the city was the dreary rock with the lighthouse on it, not too far from the weather station. Just at the horizon, one could still make out the Siren's Peak, a mighty stronghold that kept a vigil on the sea.
The weather station
The goblin islands
Harbat - the orchabdboat * (unreferenced)
The eagle's nest