Bleeding Steel

[redford]

John breathed a sigh, glad for the understanding between himself and the seated blood mage. He took the short step forward to drop the coin pouch on the countertop. He planted his hands on the wood and glared at Nevin. He didn’t think that the alchemist would betray him, he’d just come in and offered the man enough money to buy half his selection outright, but anyone thinking John Cromwell was easy meat would find themselves very, very surprised.

“I see you’ve heard. The short of it is yes, I am of that line,” He rumbled. Within his shirt, the liquid metal that he’d learned to live with for the last two decades flowed, dense as any good steel and twice as strong, like quicksilver. It poked thin tendrils past his sleeves and neckline which grew to cover his arms to mid-bicep and just above his collar.

“You should know, friend, anyone wanting to do evil things with my blood will meet resistance,”

The armor kept the sheen of polished silver, and shifted with his motion like a second skin. Even the tendrils, which halted their advance at his elbow, moved easily as he clenched a fist, displaying a forearm to Nevin. He continued.

“You will need to take the blood, I did not prepare any.” The alchemist had waved off the promise of retribution, his eyes fastened onto the metal and the forearm. With one hand, he pulled out a thin, sharp scalpel, and started spinning it around his fingers as he stared at the smith’s arm.

“I asked due to coming from that snow-blasted country myself is all. No what’s more interesting is this.” He tapped the scalpel against the metal. “But we can get to that in a moment. For now - I won’t need much of your blood to work with. Would you care to make a small incision, or do you trust me to do it?” He spun the scalpel around in his hand and let it rest on his palm, the handle pointed towards John.

The half-giant pointed at a spot just about halfway between wrist and elbow, palm up.

“There,” he said quickly, “I work with my hands.”