In another rush of air, Korlaheim found himself in the shade of tall buildings; his gills flushed red on his neck as his blood yearned for oxygen. Merfolk were certainly capable of great feats of agility, but machines were unrelenting. Heâ€™d teleported away in the nick of time.<br/><br/>His practice of such a rare magic was neither familial nor common among his associates. No, it had begun as a hobby, and had evolved into a perfected art that marked him as quite a young person to have seen so many things.<br/><br/>The wind was damper than he had expected, initially bound for Goldsands, but out on his tiled balcony in the heart of one of the wealthiest districts of Rez Lagoon he examined the tattoo on his forearm. Rez Lagoon it was; he mustâ€™ve misread it as heâ€™d been running for his life.<br/><br/>Rez was hardly a place popular to most merfolk, and stood testament (in the opinion of most of the other species) to the inherent drive to consume that dominated humanity. Koralheim tended to think differently; his clients took him from traveling caravans to stormy forests, back up to the tundras, and even here to this cursed place. Still, being a merfolk in the city was somewhat of note. Amongst all the humans, elves, and scattered drakefolk, he wouldâ€™ve stood out. But living in such opulence, coming and going so mysteriously?<br/><br/>Koralheim Bronzefinn was a known name in these parts, and with his satchel heavy with a new powerstone he wasnâ€™t sure that was a good thing at the moment. He returned a wave to one of his bewildered neighbors, a dashing elf woman who leaned over her balcony from the building nearby to get a better look.<br/><br/>Opening the door to his apartment he checked to make sure no one was inside before heading back onto the terrace, noting that the elf woman was gone. She was a notorious gossip, and news of his presence would spread quickly. No resident of this city scared him, and as he stares at the brilliant spires of the churchâ€™s main place of influence in this city, he found impolite pleasure in being so close, but just quite untouchable for the overzealous bunch. In truth, despite the kings and dukes that claimed to rule the human cities in their entirely peaceful but disjointed commercial connections, the church was the absolute power behind decision making across the city-states.<br/><br/>Koralheim could say this with certainty after particularly tense personal experiences. In fact, he and the current Father Regent of the church, Jameson Brass had a long and storied history involving a climb to power based on a passion for artifice. Indeed, the most politically powerful human in the world persecuted artificers daily, strung them up, and tried to do the same to Koralheim. Fortunately, despite the moniker â€œThe Toymakerâ€ amongst the well-known artificers of the world, the young merfolkâ€™s skill was legendary.<br/><br/>Legendary enough that he bought his life from an ambitious priest who craved the knowledge of artifice that Koralheim possessed and certainly prolific enough to have parted with a few machines that were much more complex and lethal than toys. He wondered what all had happened to his automatons, the custom models heâ€™d made.<br/><br/>Though it was a strange thought, he wondered if he ever crossed Father Brassâ€™ mind as often as the vile man crossed his. Koralheim had been as busy as that vindictive human in the time since theyâ€™d met, and had learned a great deal more. He would set the world right soon enough, and theyâ€™d all finally see the truth, that the Fifth Swordsman was coming back.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, Koralheim was perhaps the only person alive who understood what that meant besides Father Brass. And though Brass had spent his life positioning himself to take advantage of it, Koralheim was much keener on stopping it from happening at all.<br/><br/>His bony hands retrieved the powerstone he had stolen, observing the cracks running through that. Even with his vast experience, he had never encountered a fresh powerstone. The ingredients were unknown to all but a few, and those few were entirely certain that some of the most crucial components were entirely unobtainable.<br/><br/>And yet, this stone was certainly fresh. To have fractured so easily, it must not have set properly. This meant that someone, somewhere had found a way to make them again. The implications were vast and terrifying, and certainly required that Koralheim accelerate his plans. While in Rez, he had some business he could probably tend to. He intended to leave it for later, but he would see.<br/><br/>As he turned the stone over in his hands, a small, spidery automaton climbed up his leg and perched on his shoulder like a bird, extending a sharp tendril-arm towards the stone. With a soft telepathic command, the thing retreated, remaining perched motionlessly on his shoulder. The merfolkâ€™s eyes turned towards a rustling noise as a large bat-mount flew between the buildings, a decorated elf on its back. Kin-hunters werenâ€™t uncommon anymore, but plainly on the hunt even here in Rez? A novel sight, certainly.<br/><br/>Koralheim moved back across his terrace and into his apartment, letting the automaton stow the powerstone away in his satchel as he freshened up.<br/><br/>He wondered how long it would take for word of his arrival to get around.<br/><br/>~~<br/><br/>â€œWhat do you mean â€˜the stone was stolenâ€™? Do you have any idea what kind of mess this could cause?â€ An old man, wearing the traditional robes of a prelate of the church, scolded another, much younger figure. â€œIf a scrapper got a hold of it, he wouldnâ€™t have been able to get away from the wurm engine in time. This one had to be very good to get the damn thing out without frying himself.â€<br/><br/>The younger human grumbled in annoyance. â€œWell no shit, Father. Iâ€™m so certain I spent a good portion of our budget just to get the fucking thing stolen by some goddamn merfolk. Itâ€™s a Gods-damned-wonder that I was able to stay hidden for so long. At least he didnâ€™t get both stones.â€<br/><br/>The older man grumbled sternly, lashing out with the back of his hand and striking the younger prelate hard enough to actually shatter his skull, splattering blood and brains onto the white walls of the balcony as the man slumped, dead.<br/><br/>Two boys came in and grabbed the corpses arms, dragging him away, but not before the elder man spoke. â€œTell Father Kehan to set loose a hunter on my orders.â€<br/><br/>Both boys nodded in unison, seemingly unbothered by the blood befouling their white robes. â€œYes, Father Regent. Which hunter shall he send?â€<br/><br/>â€œI think acolyte Bruin will do splendidly. In the meantime, excuse me, my sons. Someone tried to summon a demon, and the angels have been sniffing around all the great cities. I need to discourage them.â€ he muttered, walking past slowly and silently, his walking staff not even clanking on the floor.<br/><br/>â€œBut father, thereâ€™s more news, murmurs of Koralheim here, in the city proper."<br/><br/>Father Brass tensed and flexed his hands around the knobby end of his walking staff. "More business for me, then. Father Bruin will not have to travel far."