The massive creature cleared the tall mercenary with ease. Crom turned and tried to dodge, but was too late. He managed to turn around and put a bit more distance between them, but the werewolf's claw hit him in the side. He felt them piercing through the links in his chainmail and pierce his side. The mercenary leaped backwards, pulling the claws from his body as he did so. Blood ran down his side, falling into the pale white snow at his feet. The beast seemed to be toying with him at this point. The monstrosity was clearly stronger than he was, and every bit as fast, if not faster. There was only one thing the soldier had over the werewolf: his wits. Crom reached up with his offhand, unbuckling his cloak and dropping it to the snow covered ground. The fallen cloak revealed Crom's massive, heavily scarred arms. It was clear he had seen his fair share of combat. Still, he had never faced an opponent like this. He went into a semi crouched stance, and began slowly circling the monster, hilt gripped tightly in his hands. He pointed the blade at his enemy, trying to think of a way to stop the wall of primal rage that loomed over him.