As Crom circled, he tried to think of anything that would help him in the fight. The closest thing to Soah he had ever met was a wolf... or perhaps a dog. The Lord of Esterl had kept a large kennel of hounds for many years. Usually they were used for sport, fox hunting and the like, but occasionally they were used to track down fugitives. Crom remembered one such incident. He and another member of the Lord's Guard had been pursuing a thief, a man who had stolen priceless jewels from the Lord's wife. They had pursued the man into the countryside, using the hounds to track him. At one point, the hounds had acted quite strangely. They stopped following the trail and whimpered, pawing at their noses. At the time, the two Guardsmen had no idea what was causing it. When they finally caught the man a few days later, they learned. He had left strong spices on his trail to render the dogs useless. Not only had they done that, but the spices had also put the hounds in a great deal of pain. That was his chance. The nightmarish creature rushed forward towards Crom. In a lightning fast motion, the mercenary pulled his flask from his belt with his offhand, popping the cork from it with his teeth. As Soah closed in, he raised the flask, splashing a large portion of the fiery liquid out directly into the werewolf's face. The liquor was incredibly strong, and Crom was betting the wolfman had a powerful sense of smell, something that now worked against him. If the liquid happened to get in the beast's eyes, as it likely would, it would also temporarily blind him. As he doused the creature in alcohol, Crom raised his blade, gripping it tightly in his hand. He dropped the flask after he made his move, bracing the weapon with his off hand and charging the coming monstrosity. He would use the monster's own momentum against him and drive the blade through his chest. He couldn't slow down even a bit. The soldier ducked down as he ran, dodging the wolf's teeth, but taking a claw deep into his shoulder. He ignored the searing pain as blood spurted from his wound, losing no speed as he aimed the tip of his blade towards the behemoth's heart. To an onlooker, it might seem reminiscent of the tales of old, where brave knights charged forward valiantly to bury their lances in the hearts of dragons.