"Noted. I'll keep an eye out for mud-resistant materials."

Possibly that's a joke; if so it might be like ...less than the countable fingers on one hand that he has made since he got here. The question is nosier than being in his space even if he doesn't particularly want anyone there, either, but--it's an easy question, even if the answer is sort of multipronged. He tilts his head, messy hair trying uh, some more, to escape. "To save the world, of course. Aren't we all?"

Okay no, that's. Ah, he entertains himself. "More specifically, if you like, some of the Inquisition's publishing suggested - strongly - they were short on craftsmen. And presumably money; one imagines that's the root cause of entropy in any infrastructure. I am one and have the other." He shrugs one lean shoulder, gestures over to a cleared spot in his work space where apparently at some point he was sketching. "The pamphlet's over there somewhere."