Chronologica

The Pocket Watch of Magister Tick

The Pocket Watch of Magister Tick is a perfectly made
pocket watch, wrought in gold and brass, and with a tick
so pure one can listen to it as one listens to an orchestral
symphony. Of course, it’s in the possession of Mr Fugit, so
it’s pretty hard to get hold of…

The Pocket Watch of Magister Tick
It’s a tiny thing, just a pocket watch. At first glance, it seems
unremarkable. Only after minutes of careful study does the
magnificence of the craftsmanship reveal itself: the intricate
golden filigree, the precision with which the hands have
been fashioned, the immaculate time it keeps. As well it
should; it is, after all, the pocket watch of a god. Magister
Tick, as he is known in this part of the world, is the god
of time (and also of carpet slippers, oddly enough). Aeons
ago, he dropped his pocket watch on Chronologica, and
the perfection of its craft, and its power, seeped into the
soil, bled into the air, turning the island into a clockwork
paradise. That is until Mr Fugit arrived who claimed the
pocket watch for himself. He assumed mastery of the
island and began to shape it to his own particular vision.
No longer a paradise, the island is a ruthlessly disciplined
manufacturing plant, and much of its beauty gone,
subsumed to the ambitions of Mr Fugit. And thanks to the
whirring cogs that protect the island, no one gets in or out
unless he says so. And so it remains, until some heroic soul
can snatch the pocket watch from his person, of course.
Should a hero manage this remarkable feat, then the pocket
watch confers the following benefits:

• They increase their Wisdom by 1.
  
• They immediately learn and may use the mend cantrip.
  
• Once per day, they may send a message to themselves
  in the past, warning of an upcoming danger. This grants
  advantage on their first attack in any combat, and they
  cannot be surprised.
  

These benefits persist for as long as a player character
possesses the pocket watch. Should they set it aside, or lose
it, these benefits immediately cease.

An island of absolute discipline, everything is regimented,
everything ordered, everything proceeds to the tick of
the clock. There is no room for disobedience here or
for individuality or thought. What matters is the correct
observance of time and the productivity of the factories. Not
every island can be fun!

Time Management. While time is strictly managed
on Chronologica, there’s also a bit more of it about, if
you know how to use it. Once per short rest, a player
character may suffer 3 hit points of damage to make a
third action during their turn, as they draw on a little of
this leftover time energy.

No Running! Running is forbidden on Chronologica. If
you need to run, you’ve set out too late! You cannot take
the Dash action while on Chronologica.

Machines Take Heart. Characters with construct traits
or artificial humanoid or clockwork ancestry increase
their speed by 5 feet while on Chronologica. They also
regain a number of hit points equal to their Constitution
bonus when taking a short rest (which is in addition to
any the character gains through spending Hit Dice).

Upon taking control of Chronologica, Mr Fugit’s first move
was to render the island virtually unreachable, save through
very specific channels. Channels he could control. What’s
the point of taking over an island, controlling time itself, and
then letting a load of adventurers and heroes queue up to
try and take it off you? Mr Fugit is many things—including
fairly evil—but he isn’t stupid.

The rocks, shells, pebbles, and even some of the fish
swimming off the coast of Chronologica have been turned
into cogs and gears by their long exposure to the powers
of the Pocket Watch. Using this power, Mr Fugit forces
them to spin endlessly, churning the waters around
Chronologica into a gleaming white foam. The cogs
generate an invisible, impenetrable barrier that prevent folks
from teleporting onto or away from the island. Spellcasters
can use teleportation magic inside this dome and can even
translocate themselves right up to its very inside edge, but
nothing happens when a spell is cast with an intended
destination outside of the sphere.

This network of rotating cogs is known, to those on Flotsam
at least, as the Buzzing Bay on account of the unmistakeable
sound, audible from the floating town as soon as the island
comes into view. Ships trying to slip through the impassable
network of gears are shredded in seconds, their hulls
crunched into matchwood. The crews are always rescued
but forced to pay for their lives by toiling in the Great
Factory. Nothing Mr Fugit does is ever impulsive —or for
free—and those who fall into his grip seldom escape. Those
who don’t wish their ship to be broken to pieces must be
‘clock wise’ and approach the island’s sole port. There
they’ll be signed in and must agree to always follow the
ERA code of the City of Clocks or risk imprisonment.

Enormous in size and scale, the City of Clocks dominates
the entirety of Chronologica. It sprawls everywhere,
a behemoth of brick and mortar. It clambers up the
mountains, destroyed the ticking forests, and filled in the
pendulum lakes. It, driven forward by Mr Fugit, took over
the once-paradisiacal island and turned it into a smog-filled
world of narrow streets, of gas-lit ginnels, and of looming
factories, constantly working. Clocks can be found at every
street corner in the city, their glowering faces reminding
the inhabitants of the time and of their duties. Most of the
clocks are more than simply faces telling time. Nearly every
one has a mouth, barking orders at those moving too slowly,
too quickly, or not moving at all. Above the city hangs the
Great Phantom Clock. Made from the smoke and factory
fumes belched into the air from a thousand chimneys, it is
suspended in the air, a grim, grey god. There is nowhere on
the island it can’t be seen from, a constant reminder of the
jobs you should be doing!

There are inns, hotels, theatres, and gambling dens in
Chronologica, just as there are in every city. But they do
not operate freely, and each is really a front for collecting
information on citizens who breach the thousands of
laws contained in the Edicts of Righteous Actions (ERA),
penned by Mr Fugit himself. Those citizens who do breach
the ERA code are summarily arrested and dispatched to
work off their sentences in the Great Factory. Mr Fugit’s
police forces consist chiefly of modrons, of various castes.
Their love for order drew them to the City of Clocks, and
they were only too happy to follow the orders of Mr Fugit.
Orders bring order, after all.

There are scores of factories in the City of Clocks and
spread across Chronologica. Each manufacture different
things, trading them with other cities and nations from far
away. It’s not entirely clear how Mr Fugit manages such
transactions given the island is so often surrounded by an
impassable storm and how few ships ever dock at the port.
Nevertheless, one of the reasons Mr Fugit’s aggressive
requisitioning of those who stray into his waters or break
the often-ludicrous laws of his city is tolerated by so many
is because of his wealth, and the degree to which other local
powers rely on the goods he produces. But all of this is as
nothing to the size, and importance, of the Great Factory.
It stands at the centre of the City of Clocks, dwarfing
everything else around it. With at least a hundred chimneys
lining its roof and a dozen floors, it stretches for over three
miles. Those who are unfortunate enough to become
indebted to Mr Fugit in any way end up here. Some are
released, having served their time, though none are ever
after able to say what it was they did in there, what they
worked to create. Their memory of their time inside its walls
is carefully wiped. Some occasionally try to escape, but none
make it. They’re stopped by Mr Fugit’s specially trained
guards. While the modrons might work inside the Great
Factory, they aren’t trusted to guard it. Instead, the place
is watched over by a force of drop bears. These strange,
aggressive creatures work as mercenaries, loyal to the
highest bidder, and none bid higher than Mr Fugit. Anyone
trying to break in through a window or bust through a door,
is certain to be taken down by the backside of a brutal drop
bear. It doesn’t stop many trying, driven to such desperation
by the question: what’s Mr Fugit building in there?

Those who wander the smog-occluded streets of the City
of Clocks are likely to encounter an array of its strange
denizens. Some are entirely innocent, simply citizens unable
to get away, employed for nugatory wages in the endless
factories, and resigned to their lives of drudgery. Others are
the agents of Mr Fugit, seeking to press anyone they can
into service at the Great Factory, for an impingement of the
law, or simply because they can…

D10 Roll Random Encounter
1 1d8 monodrones
2 1d8 exhausted goblins, wanting to go to bed
3 1d6 drunken thugs, spoiling for a fight
4 2 bugbears, accompanied by a guard of
4 tridrones
5 1d6 + 1 factory overseers
(use guard statistics), looking for new workers
6 1d6 duodrones
7 1d4 + 2 drop bears
8 1d3 scared-looking factory workers
(use commoner statistics)
9 1d10 + 2 drop bears, searching for anyone
they can rough up
10 Mr Tempus Fugit, accompanied by
6 drop bears and 4 pentadrones