The building was tall, but slender. A few meters both in length and in width. The walls inside were a drab beige, though the years haven’t been kind to the paint job. It started peeling, giving way to the mortar and bricks it tried to conceal. A spiral staircase a couple of stories tall went all the way to the top, where a large (and rusted) brass bell waited patiently to be rung. I wasn’t scared of heights, but you’d have to pay me a lot of bits to escalate all the way up there. Not only were the stairs barely larger than my barrel, but a couple of planks had fallen off over the years, replaced by a colony of spiderwebs. Not to mention, the guardrail had all but collapsed at various spots. I don’t think this clocktower passed any kind of building regulations.