Clockwork Titan

Grizburg's Iron Guardian

When ye first see that monstrosity towerin' over th' Ward, all brass and steam an' gleamin' gears, ye might think it's just some grand mechanical statue. *mechanical eye whirs darkly* But I've seen it move in the dead of night, when nobody's watchin'. Them eyes follow ye, trackin' yer every step like some great predator waitin' to strike.

Slazgar Two-Eyes

Rising seven stories above the smog-choked streets of the Iron Ward, the Clockwork Titan stands as Grizburg's most enigmatic marvel. Its brass-plated form bears the hallmarks of multiple eras of goblin engineering, suggesting continuous modification and enhancement since its initial construction during the early Years of the Black Fire War.
The Titan's origins trace back to the master artificer Grax Steamfist, whose obsession with melding divine essence into machinery drove him to increasingly dangerous experiments. Historical records suggest he discovered a cache of artifacts deep beneath Grizburg, their power still resonating with echoes of fallen gods.

Brass giant in perpetual rust
Guardian of secrets ground to dust
In thy gears our fate is wound
Till ancient powers again are found

The Brass Prophecies, Verse VII

The construct's surface bristles with baroque ornamentation - spinning gears, hissing steam vents, and intricate patterns that seem to shift when viewed too long. Most striking are its eyes, massive brass and crystal constructs that emit an unsettling orange glow visible even through the district's thickest smog.

The Titan watches. Not just the streets - it watches time. Those brass eyes see paths that mortal minds can't comprehend. The Rust Barons think they control it, but they're like children playing with a sleeping dragon.

Kurgan Weinrich

Deep within the Titan's chest cavity lies its true heart - a chamber that the Rust Barons keep under constant guard. Those who've glimpsed inside speak of a crystalline core shot through with veins of black metal, pulsing with energies that make their teeth ache and their dreams turn dark.
Maintenance of the colossus falls to the Cog Priests, a secretive order of artificers who've developed their own quasi-religious practices around its upkeep. Their rituals blend industrial precision with mystical reverence, treating each repair as a sacred act of communion with ancient powers.

Every night we hear the chanting from inside - prayer mixed with the sound of wrenches on bolts. Those priests think they're serving some grand machine-god, but I've seen what leaks from the joints when it rains. That ain't oil staining the cobblestones black.

Dockmaster Grizzlek Chainspike

The Titan's influence extends beyond mere physical presence. Traders report strange malfunctions in mechanical devices brought too close to its base. Chronometers spin wildly, steam gauges register impossible pressures, and more complex machines often cease functioning entirely.
Local legend holds that the construct moves when unobserved, though none have witnessed such movement directly. Yet each morning, the pattern of wear on the plaza stones around its feet appears slightly different, and nearby buildings bear inexplicable stress marks high on their walls.

In dreams of brass and whispered steam
The ancient war-form starts to rise
When gears of gods begin to turn
And darkness fills mechanical eyes

Graffiti found in abandoned forge-temple

The Brinkburn family maintains nominal control over the Titan through ancient rights of manufacture, though their authority is increasingly challenged by rival houses. Recent decades have seen multiple attempts to access its internal chambers, each ending in suspicious accidents that left would-be infiltrators twisted into impossible shapes.
Foreign observers approach the construct with mixed awe and dread. The Reclaimers view it as an abomination, while agents of distant powers offer astronomical sums for even small components allegedly salvaged from its periodic maintenance.

We cannot allow this mockery of divine form to continue standing. Its very existence speaks of hubris that the gods themselves punished in ages past. Mark my words - when the next great conflict comes, that thing will wake fully, and what awakens will not serve its makers.

Anonymous Reclaimer Document

Prophetic visions concerning the Titan grow increasingly dark. The Cog Priests speak of changes in its core's resonance, while those sensitive to magical energies report a growing sense of anticipation centered on the construct, as if it waits for some crucial moment yet to come.
Every Year, during the Festival of Burning Gears, the Rust Barons conduct elaborate ceremonies at the Titan's feet. These rituals involve the sacrifice of precious machinery and the burning of rare alchemical substances, their smoke rising to wreath the colossus in iridescent clouds that seem to absorb into its metallic skin.

The divinations are clear - the Titan ain't just some grand machine. It's a cage, a lock, and a key all at once. The real question ain't what it's meant to keep out, but what it's meant to keep in. An' whatever that something is, it's starting to wake up.

Yarza the Harborwitch

Type

Monument / Statue, Large