In its first years, the cult mostly warned workers about unstable boilers, unsafe lifts, and spells that had not been tested outside a private workshop. A warning before a pressure-vessel rupture saved several lives, earning the group a grudging reputation among laborers. Their watershed moment came during the Sootfall Compact: a district-wide test of magically heated furnaces went wrong, filling three streets with choking smoke. Kett led an evacuation through the foundry drains, while members cut power to the furnaces using improvised wedges and ropes. The city survived the night, but an artisan died when a sabotaged safety latch snapped under strain. The cult was blamed for the death and praised for the rescue, sometimes by the same people. Since then, its members have been divided between public reformers and those convinced that only direct interference can stop the next catastrophe. They now number fewer than thirty, relying on sympathy among workers and a few quiet contacts in the council. They have never agreed whether the Sootfall Compact proved their methods work or proved that their methods can kill.

A disused dye cellar under a row of shuttered workshops. Its brick walls are stained blue-black, and its floor is threaded with narrow tunnels made by the faction's smaller members. A low chamber holds the scratched brass plates, a kettle of medicinal tea, and a strict no-tools meeting circle. The cellar is cramped, damp, and easy to overlook, but a hidden drain provides an escape route.