Koralheim did not mind is traveling companions being eccentric, but there was certainly a part of him that wished Edric would hurry up; a cool, jaded, sarcastic, and most of all professional presence would be quite welcome and, in some ways, helped keep Koralheimâ€™s tendency to get into trouble in check.<br/><br/>There were, of course, times where polite procedure could be a hindrance, like in an attempt to get the attention of a group, but he would simply have to make due. He shifted the small bundle f scrap material he had purchased and simply started walking towards his home, expecting that if they intended to, others would follow. Edric certainly knew where it was, and Koralheim had a weapon to build.<br/><br/>Though Koralheim oftentimes charged hefty sums for â€˜toysâ€™ of a lesser quality than the one heâ€™d conceptualized, Edricâ€™s services and reliability warranted something of a bonus. An apparatus for his friend ought to be elegant, simple, and effective. Of course, Koralheim couldnâ€™t spare all luxury; heâ€™d spent the extra coin on a small share of gold. At least he could convince Edric that it made a superior conductor of powerstone energy, and that wasnâ€™t entirely untrue.<br/><br/>For a moment, Koralheimâ€™s gaze settled on the automaton that was oftentimes clamped dutifully to his wrist; perhaps a good base, indeed.<br/><br/>â€œCome if you wish, and inform the others of that option as well. You might learn something from Pete if you stay, yes? If weâ€™re to be fighting together, a bit of shared knowledge is useful. I have a weapon to make for Edric. I donâ€™t tend to work with an audience, but if you wish to continue your conversation in my home feel free.â€ Koralheim thought into Kalaâ€™s mind gently.<br/><br/>His mind, however, returned to the task at hand. Edric was more than capable of getting in a lethal strike at close range, certainly, so Koralheimâ€™s priority would have to be range. He already had some ideas.<br/><br/>He recalled one of Edric and his earlier â€˜adventuresâ€™ where theyâ€™d taken a trip to the undercity, which mandated a visit to Sven. The decrepit old fungus-farmer had inoculated them against disease with to elegant little automatons, spidery little things that delivered their does of medicine of their own accord.<br/><br/>Based on the craftsmanship, Koralheim was reasonable certain that they were late-war derivatives of the automaton clamped to his arm. So, as he proceeded into his home with his mind too full of plans to notice if heâ€™d actually been followed, he went straight to work.<br/><br/>Though merfolk telekinesis was limited in its strength for those who did not specifically train it, it was plenty useful for manipulating fine, small components required for exquisite artifice. However, Koralheim needed to start with something somewhat larger. With the scrap deposited on a worn, old table that looked out of place compared to the fine furniture that was placed throughout the home, Koralheim moved to a large armoire and pulled open the double doors.<br/><br/>Inside, neatly arranged on rows of shelves were at least a hundred slightly varied models of the automaton that so often traveled attached to his arm. He consulted a small, leather-bound booklet, an index of the armoireâ€™s contents, before finding the one that he found appropriate: third series, fifth shelf, third from the left, second from the front. He carefully removed it from its place, watching its insect-like legs spring into action once it was moved by its creator, unfurling and feeling for a solid surface. With a directed thought, the little metal creature gently slowed and finally ceased its movement, soon ending up placed on the table along with all the purchased materials which, as Koralheim began to pry open the small automaton, began levitating idly around him, floating into outstretched, webbed hands when needed.<br/><br/>Koralheim, the brilliant toymaker, had a theory that could perhaps use some testing.<br/><br/>Powerstones were curious artifacts of the old times. Not only were they supposed to be impossible to create in modern times, a fact that had been changed, but they exhibited properties which didnâ€™t make sense to someone without a comprehension of how magic behaved when forced to adhere to physical laws. Stones tended to acquire unusual traits with age; the fresh one heâ€™d recovered was soft, but not quite malleable. Somewhat like obsidian, it could easily be fractured into thin, sharp pieces. The difference, of course, was that a powerstone crackled with energy whenever fractured, and when exposed to blood even a small piece got a sizeable burst of energy going.<br/><br/>Angels were a peculiar species. They were remnants of fallen warrior souls molded and fused with pure, unfiltered magic. Therefore, Koralheim surmised, that a dose of wild, unstable magic could potentially destabilize their whole form.<br/><br/>Or it could make them much, much stronger. Koralheim wasnâ€™t quite sure, hence his decision to pick up some obsidian as well. Best offer a more reliable alternative in case he made things worse.<br/><br/>So far, the device had a simple enough mechanism; a small bolt that was drawn back against a spring to load in a cylinder into a short barrel. The bolt could then be released with a flick of the wrist, letting lose the cylinderâ€™s contents, either a sliver of powerstone, freshly shaved from one of the new ones, or a sliver of obsidian for more standard lacerating damage. Both were strong enough to survive firing, but could shatter on impact to cause rather violent damage if need be. Each one of the cylinders was finely crafted, small and almost seemless, with a glass end and a body of dark steel. The barrel mechanism was dark, almost black steel, with a trace of intricate, gold scrollwork down the five inch metal tube. Beyond the sound of a small mechanism in the base of each cylinder designed to amplify the striking of the bolt as it released its payload, the device was mostly silent.<br/><br/>Most usefully, Koralheim thought, was that the spider-automaton heâ€™d selected acted as a proper base. The sliver-shooter would fasten easily to Edricâ€™s arm, and once he arrived, could be tuned to his thoughts. It could walk free, wait, move itself around, and even fire itself as long as Edric had loaded it first.<br/><br/>The only downside was that in a stealthy situation, the cartridges had to be removed by hand after each shot. If time was of the essence, flicking the case out with a shake of his arm would be possible.<br/><br/>Of course, Edric might not like it, so Koralheim started arranging other supplied heâ€™d purchased into a mock of another possible alternative. Perhaps something more akin to a crossbow? The toymaker was so lost in his work that he forgot his troubles, he forgot the world around him, and even why he was building such a device. He merely built, lithe hands moving with practiced grace, metal sections and wires clinking lightly as his mind put together what his hands could not hold and sometimes, as he surveyed his work, took it all back apart, only to put it back together again.<br/><br/>Koralheim absently noted that if anything, his work had been worth living for. With any luck, this wouldnâ€™t be his final piece.