After three days stuck in a dank, smelly dungeon cell with nothing but stale bread and stagnant water for food, a glorified dictionary for company, and a ragged loincloth to preserve his modesty, Tesla determined that prison life was nowhere near as romantic or edgy as some holoshows back in the real world made it out to be. Dangling from a set of manacles chained to a wall may well be iconic to fantasy dungeon lore, but the reality was not only physically uncomfortable but also somewhat mentally disturbing as well. When the manacled detainee was a buff, sweaty dragon dude smeared with dirt... Perhaps certain domineering types of ladies would have gone in for that sort of thing, but the thought that his current state was also ripe for a BL enthusiast's overflowing imagination ensured that Tesla himself was not of the same mindset. Thus it was with a certain sense of relief that he found the hammer fused to the tip of his tail was not just some gaudy ornament, but a fully functional heavy weapon capable of pulverizing the anchor to his manacle chains with a single hit.
"That oughta' do it." As a side note, three days spent chained in a 3' x 4' closet space did wonders to develop one's skills with literary contractions.
Tesla shook the rock dust out of his hair and sneezed. "Thanks, Book." The so-called Hoseki Chronicles was a basic function provided to all players; as a combination of status pages, minimaps, and indexed glossaries, the Chronicles took a different form for every subscriber. Since the official name was a mouthful, Tesla decided to call his "Book." Naturally Book didn't care, but it did helpfully provide all the information it had at its disposal. Through Book, Tesla found out a lot more about the rules of Diamondback and how they both affected the world of Corundum and how he interacted with that world. Most important of all, he got the opportunity to seriously study his status.
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Name: Tesla Stone (Character Lvl: 1)
Race: Dream Eater; Ryujin Variant (Race Lvl: 1)
Job Class: N/A
HP: 225/225 MP: 170/170 NP: 0/0 DP: 0/0 EXP: 115/1,000 (To Next Lvl)
Physical Attributes: (Strength: 150; Dexterity: 125; Stamina: 175)
Mental Attributes: (Intelligence: 205 (3,220); Perception: 115 (2,900); Wits: 190 (2,540))
Social Attributes: (Appearance: 347; Charisma: 155; Manipulation: 140)
Character Skills: N/A
Racial Skills: Claw Strike; Tail Swipe; Nocturne Dust; Sleepwalker; Nightmare Conversion; Dream Conversion
Job Skills: N/A
Unique Traits: Dream Eater; Virstauf's Chosen; Candidate for Consort
...That was the sum total of it. "Hey, Book, explain the difference between character level and race level."
"The Soai? Like Virstauf?"
In that vein Tesla learned his somewhat-higher-than-normal base stats were a result of Virstauf's meddling, the boosted mental stats were just an average output Betas produced once they activated their civilian coprocessors at level one, and that Book really had no idea what "Candidate for Consort" meant, either.
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"-listening? Hey, Spark!" The combination of a rough, shouting voice and rattling bars broke Tesla from his reverie. The light of a thin candle flame filtered through the viewport of a heavy iron cell door, but was barely bright enough to illuminate the single meaty hand that gripped one of the port's bars from the outside. "Yer in luck, rube," the hand withdrew, followed by the clanking sound of an inserted key, "yer issue's gone all the way up to the bishop, himself. He's decided to grant ye a conditional release."
"Conditional release, eh?" Tesla's eyes narrowed as the door swung wide. "I'd like to say "tell me the conditions, first," but just about anything beats getting locked in a storage closet... And you are?"
"Janek Hess; yer babysitter." The temple guard that stood across the doorway from Tesla could only be described as the living epitomy of the term "fantasy dwarf." Three and a half feet tall, nearly three feet wide, with hands and feet that looked like they belonged on a man three times his size, Janek Hess was a dwarf's dwarf. His hair was a chestnut brown, tied into three braids, and hung down below his shoulders. His eyebrows were black and so bushy they completely concealed his eyes. Likewise, his red beard was so full it hid his mouth; Tesla was only able to tell that the dwarf was speaking by tracing Janek's gruff words back to the man's general vicinity. Tiny metallic chimes tied into Janek's braids and beard rang against one another every time he moved. The only visible parts of his face was a pair of ruddy cheeks around a bulbous nose, all of which were reddened by a lifetime's acquaintance with alcohol, and two ears pierced at the top with gold studs. His leather armor appeared well cared for, but even more tattered than that of the previous guards who took Tesla into custody. Janek was unarmed; moreover his left hand was gone, replaced by a four-fingered prosthetic of bronze and treated hide that puffed a small cloud of steam every time he reflexively clenched his fist. A screen popped up at his shoulder declaring the dwarf to in fact be
"Babysitter? You make it sound like I'm some kind of barbarian." Tesla lurched to his feet and stretched.
"-Says the man who was prancing around one of the Temple's inner sanctums with a bucket on his crotch." Janek dug a prosthetic finger into one ear in a disinterested fashion, then flicked whatever he discovered away.
"That... was an unfortunate accident; completely out of my control." Tesla held up his hands with a rattle of chains. "Can the cuffs come off, too, or am I still technically a prisoner?"
In response, Janek raised the candle in his natural hand a little higher and waggled his eyebrows. "That crater in the wall yer doing?"
"Maybe."
"Then the cuffs can stay on for now."
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"This temple's detainment cells were originally for cases of possession," Janek remarked conversationally. "That was back during the Shadow Age, though." The ruddy dwarf's boots clomped like a one-man parade as he led Tesla up reams of subterranean staircases. Multiple damp hallways, littered with cell doors just like the one he pulled Tesla from, rang with Janek's enthusiastic hobnailed stomps and the more sinister clicks of Tesla's armored claws. The prisoners behind those doors could be heard shouting out unreasonable demands, liberally peppered with needlessly foul language and empty threats, but both men ignored them as they marched by. Guards were stationed at each intersection and at the top of every flight of stairs. They carried no blades, but the guards wore cestus-like gloves on their dominant hands to deter violence from prisoners that were escorted throughout the prison's interior. "Of course, with the fall of the last dark overlord, demonic possessions became relatively rare. Now we handle overflow from the state prison; they're mostly violent drunkards and pickpockets whose sentences are about up, or lifers about to be transferred to the mines, so we have a lot of turnover."
"You work down here?" Tesla ducked his head under a spider web and shared a nod with a bored guard. The lighting improved the further up they went. Candles were replaced with torches, torches with undoubtedly-magical crystalline orbs that hovered like Book with no obvious supports and, eventually, high-set slit windows that allowed natural light to pour in from above.
"Nah, I'm something of a handyman in the Temple Guard. They set me to deal with issues that don't normally fit the usual scheme."
"Issues... like Sparks?"
"Nope. Normally, Sparks resurrect in the Cathedral of Light; even new rubes like yerself. It's not normal, especially on the rare occasions when it happens during sermons, but the writings say it's supposed to happen. They don't pop out naked as a jackrolled sailor in the ninth ward, though; try explaining that during, say, a wedding or a funeral." Janek directed Tesla up one final staircase and kicked open the inoffensive pine door at the top. "Yer a special case, a cock-up of the Soai that the ecclesiarchy would rather yer average prayerful Ember not know about. At the same time yer a Spark, which means ye can't be conveniently offed or left in a dungeon to rot."
Tesla squinted at the suddence radiance of daylight that rushed through the open door, and set his clawed feet on the open surface of Corundum for the first time. His eyes watered as they struggled to adjust. "Because...?"
"If ye resurrect, ye might not do it here. Ye've already popped up in the wrong place once, who says ye can't do it again? Also, while the Soai regularly use Sparks to solve problems, they also routinely create problems that force an unmotivated Spark off his lazy ass. When ye think about it, how crazy would something have to be to get ye out of that prison if it were left up to the gods?" Janek reached up and slapped his charge on the back, neatly knocking the larger man out of the way so he could emerge as well. "Bishop Lott decided it was better to offer ye freedom in exchange for putting you to work on some "handyman" jobs. "Two birds with one stone," and all that."
"Sounds to me like the bishop's defusing a bomb by trying to lengthen a burning fuse." Tesla straightened from the slouch Janek's blow put him in and examined his surroundings. Sure enough, everything he laid eyes on continued to look like an anime with Hollywood-blockbuster levels of production effort behind it. The exit to the dungeon was nothing more than a plain rock hut in the center of an old courtyard, complete with a grassy floor and moss-strewn stone walls, but each pebble and blade of grass looked like it was painstakingly hand-drawn by master artists. What had to be the main temple towered over to one side like a man-made hill bristling with flying buttresses, statuary, and stained glass. Even the sky above, with its burnished sun and flowing clouds, took his breath away.
Janek just shrugged. "What else can he do? Like I said, if we could just rip yer wick off and be done with it we would've already."
"Threatening to kill me, even in the abstract, isn't exactly inspiring any confidence in you guys. And you can leave my wick precisely where it is, thank you very much."
"The Temple doesn't want yer confidence, it wants yer effort." Janek waved Tesla toward a nearby checkpoint, conveniently situated at the only exit from the courtyard. The guards there were sporting genuine weapons and chatting amiably; in the distance, Tesla heard the bustle of many people going about the Temple's business, coupled with the smell of cookfires. The wind blew cold, but he barely noticed.
"Where to, then?"
"First things first: Ye need a bath and a set of clothes before we do anything else."
Luckily, the baths weren't that far away. The Temple Guards' barracks, a rambling collection of long houses, smithies, and practice fields slapped together in the adjoining courtyard, were just a stone's throw away. Unfortunately, the "bath" consisted of a barrel of hot water and a rough bristle brush; it was difficult to scrub out three days of prison funk without scraping off five layers of skin, though none of his scaled regions were bothered at all. "Not exactly the gold standard for bathing in the temples, huh?" Not exactly what I envisioned for my first-ever bath, either.
"Most of the Guard learns magic like "Clean" as quickly as possible as a time saver. It may not be as satisfying as soaking in a big tub with a pair of busty lasses to wash yer back, but it beats boiling water and horsehair brushes by a fair piece." Janek absentmindedly tightened an unseen wrist component in his prosthetic hand with an allen wrench he procured from a belt pouch. "Course, ye don't even have a Job Class yet, let alone learning magic, so be thankful ye have anything at all."
Tesla sighed and closed his eyes while he scrubbed at his hair and horns. Book, what the hell are we doing, anyway?
Pages fluttered in response.
At least we're getting somewhere. Tesla upended the rest of the barrel over his head. "Enough. Where's the clothes?"
Janek tossed him a cheap towel. "They're waiting for ye to dry off, first, rube."
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So this is what "going commando" feels like. In a way, I felt better-covered with just the loincloth. Oh, well, at least he took the chains off.
Stolen novel; please report.
"How the hell did ye do that, anyway? I just handed ye the clothes and "pop!" Ye didn't even put them on, but now yer wearing them! They even fit, even round the tail!" Janek waved his arms as he and Tesla sauntered down a side corridor within the temple's main edifice. "Military gear comes in two sizes: too big and too small. This makes no sense!"
"I guess it's like your "Clean" spell? All Sparks can instantly equip just about anything with a single command; no need to worry about buckles and straps. It'll also automatically tailor such items to fit your body, too." Should I be more careful, Tesla wondered, perhaps players aren't all that common here in... what did he call it? Diatom?
"If that trick's teachable, I want to know it." Janek cut his young charge a sidelong look. Tesla wore the uniform of a Temple Guard well. They may have been a little old, but the black boots and breeches seemed to fit his personality better than sandals and a robe would have. Likewise the blue overshirt topped with a red tabard fit nicely with his broad shoulders, while the plain white belt accentuated his narrow waist. It wasn't unusual for a novitiate priestess or two to stop what they were doing and stare as Tesla walked by. Damn, the dwarf thought, Kid's making me feel old. Eventually, the two men drew up in front of a pair of painted and lacquered double doors that seemed both utilitarian and self-important at the same time. "No fooling around now. This here's the Hall of the Reagan Stone."
"Reagan Stone? The divine tool for Job Class selection?" Tesla lifted an eyebrow. "You want me to be reverent, or something?"
"Nah, it's just that old Father Prymaug's in charge of the Stone. If that geezer thinks yer not taking taking this seriously he'll kick us both out. He won't let ye use the Stone no matter what, bishop or no bishop, so no farting or picking yer nose while we're in the Hall." Janek adjusted his belt, then pushed open the left-hand door to enter.
The Hall was quite large, laden with frescoes and murals, small wooden statuary, and a stone sphere the size of a tank. The polished boulder had to weigh a good twenty tons, but it rested atop a seemingly-delicate pedestal of glass fashioned into the likeness of multiple strands of leafy ivy. Circuit-like formations appeared to have been cut into the stone at some point; they leaked a soft blue-green light from within the sphere. Most of the art on the walls and lesser statuary featured the big rock in some fashion, so Tesla rightly assumed that he was looking at the Reagan Stone itself.
"I heard that, Janek Hess." Standing within the shadow of the Stone was a delicate-looking young man in silvery robes. He was pale skinned, with hair the color of green grass and eyes the deep brown of old wood. As Tesla stepped closer, he noticed the man's pupils were actually squared off as opposed to being rounded. A pair of long, thin, sharply-pointed ears projected outwards from the sides of his head, completing the image of an elven mage. "It was not that long ago when you were but a mere stripling yourself. You tripped over your own two feet, twice, the first time you approached the Reagan Stone. Did I throw you out then?"
"I was nervous! Why do ye have to dredge up hundred-year-old memories, anyway, Prymaug?" Janek crossed his arms and tapped a foot impatiently. "At least try to act the part, or what good is the setup for?"
Father Prymaug merely laughed and shook his youthful head. "I am acting the part. The Reagan Stones may be fundamentally necessary to all the intelligent races of Corundum, but by that token they are also meant to be fully accessible to those people in their daily lives. Do you have any idea how many walk through those doors to consult the Stone? There is no time to stand on ritual or argue precedence when there is work to be done."
"Hmph." Janek crossed his arms with a sour grunt. A gout of steam from his prosthetic hand hovered over the dwarf's head like the universal symbol for annoyance before fading away.
"Sounds good enough to me. How does it work; physical contact?"
"No, all you need do is look into the Stone. For we Embers, the Job Class comes naturally as the best possible fit for us. However, I have heard that you Sparks actually have the option to choose of your own free will."
Of course, Tesla thought, the game wouldn't be as entertaining if the right to choose was stripped from us. Book?
Book obediently slipped into Tesla's field of view and flipped itself open to a new page.
"...Well, that's disappointing." Tesla stood as still as the stones he took his name from, arms crossed, and frowned.
"Oh?" Father Prymaug leaned forward. "Is something wrong?"
"It appears my choices are limited to one. What's a "Golemeister" supposed to be?"
Janek shrugged. "Never heard of it."
"Hmm, let me see." Prymaug drifted to a nearby lectern and began to peruse a small stack of books and scrolls balanced atop it. "Golemeister, golemeister... um, not here, perhaps it is second-tier?" The elf dropped to his knees and opened a small cabinet in the body of the book stand. Even more written materials fell out, and he leafed through them. "Not many calls for second-tier information amongst humans; most do not live long enough to elevate that high."
"Job Classes have tiers?"
"Three, to be precise. First-tier Job Classes are, of course, the common Jobs. Crafting Jobs like Smithing, Carpentry, Masonry, Tailoring, and Alchemy fit there. Basic combat Jobs like Swordsman, Bowman, Healer, or Mage do as well." Prymaug crawled halway into the lectern in a small avalanche of rolled or bound paper. "Second-tier Jobs are typically fusions of first-tier Jobs. For instance, a Magic Swordsman is a combination of both the Swordsman and the Mage Jobs, giving you the skills of both coupled with improved status boosts. Third-tier Jobs, on the other hand, are extremely specialized and potent. I believe they are all combat oriented, as well."
"How many Jobs can you have?"
Janek snorted. "As many as ye want. Ye can switch back and forth between them, too. Ye don't even need the Stone for that, but ye can only level up whichever one's set as yer primary."
"True, but also untrue at the same time. Having too many can be detrimental, because you can only access all the skills a Job Class gives you based on the law of averages. Let us say you have four Job Classes, and their levels are 52, 31, 19, and one maximum at 100. Now, you can utilize all the skills available for that maximum level Job Class so long as you have it set as your primary Job, but what if you want to level up your other Jobs? Your average level for all four Jobs is actually 50, which means two of your four Job Classes cannot support you at their full capacity when you do not have them set as your primary. Of course a fusion type second-tier Job will automatically overwrite one, or both if you have them, of its component Jobs once you master it to level 100, but that is the only way to rid yourself of a Job that you do not want."
Tesla scratched at his chin. "But won't your average go up as you level the Jobs?"
"No, the average has to be re-assessed by the Reagan Stone. This is not difficult if you live in or near a town with an established Temple presence, but if you live in one of the rural villages or are gone on some adventure... Ha! Found it!" Father Prymaug dragged himself free of the lectern and waved a small scroll around while he read its contents. "I thought so: The "Golemeister" is a second-tier Job, a fusion of the "Golem Engineer" and "Golem Puppeteer" Job Classes."
"Not bad," Janek whistled, "I would've figured ye for some kind of front line fighter, given yer build, but a second-tier Job right out of the starting gate's nothing to sneeze at."
"What does it do? Keep in mind that, like I said before, it's my only option."
Prymaug frowned. "As your only option, well, for now that is not a bad thing; especially if you consider that you ordinarily would have had to master either the Engineer or Puppeteer Jobs before you could access this one. Worry about leveling up what you have before you try broadening your horizons. As to the Job itself, a Golemeister has the capacity to not only craft and repair your own unique golems, but also to wield superior control over any golem you own. At higher levels you will gain the ability to independently control dozens of golems at once and even upgrade the specifications of golems that mere Engineers would say were impossible to change."
Tesla's tail twitched back and forth unhappily. "Doesn't this mean I'm just a big target in a tactical sense? A Golemeister doesn't exactly sound like your typical Spark's Job."
"Yer not a typical Spark." Janek hooked the thumb of his mechanical hand behind his belt and waved his flesh-and-blood hand in a dismissive fashion. "Yer also a Ryujin; even bare-handed, a swordsman would have to be an idiot to take ye on unless he was five times yer class."
"I'm a Dream Eater, Janek. I don't know how well I stack up to ordinary Ryujin."
"Probably better. God-touched mutants like yerself are usually the result of one of the Soai saying "Hey, guys! Look what I can do!" before they remember they're not supposed to be upsetting the balance of the world."
"An irreverent and impious statement, one which I should report you to do penance for, but unfortunately it is not without a certain grain of truth." Prymaug shook his head at Janek, then turned back to Tesla. "I will provide you a copy of this scroll by tomorrow. It will tell you all you need to know about the basics of being a Golemeister." The elf wagged a finger at the younger Ryujin. "Remember, though you may be a Spark, that this world does not necessarily revolve around tales of the battlefield; some of the greatest heroes of Corundum are not so much remembered for who they fought as they are for what they built."
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"Control type," Janek muttered, "control type."
"Say again?" Tesla dutifully followed the dwarf through yet more labyrinthine temple hallways, but was having a harder time following his thoughts.
"Tactics; despite what Prymaug said Sparks don't waste their time at a desk job, if you know what I mean. Most of the problems yer kind are said to be called on to solve are like nails in need of a hammer, and that typically means combat. This first job the bishop's called ye for is, most likely, the same kind." Janek put his hands behind his back in a contemplative fashion. "What I'm trying to figure is how ye handle a fight if yer not on the sharp end."
"I'll figure something out."
"Ye'd better figure it out quick; the Temple won't wait to stick you in the thick of it." Janek stopped again, this time at a narrow and spiralling staircase. "One last time, and this time's no joke. We're reporting yer status to his excellency the bishop's chamberlain. Deacon Arledge is a whole other bag of worms compared to Father Prymaug; the man's big on appearances and position. Don't for a second think that Gothen Arledge is going to treat you like an equal. The nobility think differently from us common folk."
"How bad is he?"
"He's not the worst blue-blooded jackass I've ever met, if that's what yer asking, but he's no saint either. This here staircase leads up to the man's tower, which is where the deacon lives and works when he's not advising Bishop Lott. You know what that means?"
"He's avoiding everyone else?"
"Exactly. At the same time, Arledge maintains no less than four orphanages out of his private funding. The kids from those facilities are well-educated, and most all of them wind up working for the Temple. What does that tell you?"
"He isn't interacting with commoners, who are technically beneath him, but he believes in noblesse oblige?"
"Just so. That's why we'll be on our best behavior. I'll report that yer ready for assignment, the deacon will fill out a ticket to get ye equipped, then we get the hell out."
The doorway at the top of the spiralling staircase led directly into the chamberlain's office space, thus neatly cutting off any view into the man's private life with a figurative wall of desk work. Still, even though the office was designed with function in mind, there was no doubt that its owner preferred the finer things in life. Where simple pine furniture would suffice, walnut was employed instead. Rather than cotton, the fabrics were fashioned from silk. Anything made of metal was precious, and typically studded with a gemstone or two. Neither candles nor torches were employed, only higher quality versions of the magic lights Tesla previously saw back in the prison.
"So, this is the man." Arledge himself gave off an air of privilege tempered with a solid work ethic. His dark hair was slicked back into a widow's peak, the combined pencil mustache and sharply pointed goatee gave him a passing resemblance to the popular image of Mephistopholes, and the cloth he employed was too high in quality to be used for the simple cut of a priest's robe. At the same time, slicked back hair wouldn't obscure his vision when he's leaning over his desk, those expensive clothes were dotted with ink stains and, last but not least, at least the deacon's facial hair was trimmed enough to be presentable; Janek always looked like someone dragged him through a hedge backwards. Book tossed up a screen over his shoulder declaring him to be
A small chime rang in the back of Tesla's mind, coupled with a short proclamation from Book.
Janek bobbed in place and saluted. "Shall I billet him, Yer Excellency?"
Arledge sighed and rubbed his forehead. "We do not have time. Three days have already passed. He has, what, nine and a half days remaining? No, we need to kit him out right away and see if we cannot charter an airship."
"Begging yer pardon, Deacon Arledge, but if this is about what I think it is..."
"It is. The Sisterhood of Aurora's Caul; there's not enough time for an overland route, and the rivers are already beginning to ice over."
Janek's beard bristled, and his cheeks shifted to a deeper red. "With all due respect, Yer Excellency, those were my fellow Bricoleurs out there. The Taskmaster requested a full "chimney sweep" when we lost the "paper route," and ye said ye were in agreement."
"I was, and I still am," Arledge nodded in Tesla's direction and continued, "there is your "sweeper," Janek."
A strangled snort forced its way past the dwarf's big nose. "He's too green to "sweep" out an entire convent; weren't we going to season him up with a few odd jobs first? Next thing I hear, ye'll be wanting him to "find lost cats," "deliver groceries," or, gods help me, "prune the hedges." The kid's not ready to be called a Bricoleur."
Tesla lashed his heavy tail with an audible snap. "All euphemisms aside, what's the job, and why is there a time limit?"
"The time limit is due to your nature as a Spark. I have never heard of one of your kind staying in this world for more than twelve and a half days before you leave. Some of the works we have on the subject indicate that you have no choice but to leave within that time frame. To make matters worse, you will not return for nearly a year. We cannot leave Aurora's Caul unresolved for that long, and we are not willing to sacrifice more painstakingly-trained Bricoleurs attempting to solve it in the interim."
"Let me think on this." Book?
"There is nothing to think on. Taking care of the situation at Aurora's Caul is part and parcel to acquiring your freedom."
Ah. Tesla wondered if he should be worried, then gave up. It wasn't as if time meant a great deal to him before he abandoned reality for the virtual, anyway. "Deacon Arledge, you needn't worry about time restraints. There are a rare few of my kind who come to this world as permanent residents, and I am one of them. The overland route is feasible."
"-So you say, but I would rather guarantee that you arrive within the time limit."
"Your choice, Your Excellency. Regardless, what am I supposed to do when I get there?"
Arledge removed a pair of fashionable spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Right, the mission parameters: The Sisterhood of Aurora's Caul is headquartered in a profitably large convent on the coastline of the Kraken Gulf." The deacon spread a map across his desk and weighed its corners down with bric-a-brac worth a small fortune. "This curving peninsula, here, is the Wolf's Tail; the Kingdom of Diatom claims all its territory. The city of Diatom is here." Arledge's finger traced a landmass that curved south, then west, and stabbed down onto a small dark blot close to the peninsula's tip on the southern edge. "The convent is here." The deacon's finger shifted to a significantly smaller dot to the northeast and on the peninsula's inner edge. "Days if done overland; an hour or two, at most, by airship."
Janek stared up at the ceiling. "Hmph."
Arledge narrowed his eyes at the dwarf, then contained himself with visible effort. Tesla silently wished Janek would follow his own advice. "What's the likelihood of obtaining transport in this short a period of time?"
"Slim, in all honesty." The deacon turned back to Tesla. "Still, it is necessary. The convent has gone silent."
"How long?"
"Over a month. A small team of Bricoleurs were sent north to "reestablish the paper route," if you will, but they promptly disappeared. I fear that whatever has brought down the convent also made short work of our investigative unit."
"My mission?"
"Sweep the chimney." Arledge arched an eyebrow in a meaningful fashion, then slipped the spectacles back on his face. "A month is too long to go without any contact whatsoever. Take care of the situation; use any means necessary. Both The Taskmaster and I have chosen to place our faith in the abilities of an untried Spark, and that is precisely because your kind seems to exist for these purposes."