[center][color=crimson][h1]T H E  C R I M S O N  C O M P A N Y[/h1][/color][/center] 
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[color=silver]	The camp was in chaos as Damion and his inner circle burst through the flaps of the command tent. Men ran in every direction, and officers shouted orders over the chaos. Bodies flew through the air like dolls, as if some unholy being with strength that pushed the limits of human comprehension had idly tossed them aside. "Alexios, William, Catherine, Gavin, Rich! Gather your men and set a counter-offensive - ware beasts. Haljon and John, you're with me!" Damion yelled, striding forward and yanking his sword from its sheathe. "Nell, where the [b]fuck[/b] is my horse?"
	Nell suddenly appeared by his side with his beautiful warhorse, Grendel. Without a moment's pause he vaulted into the saddle. Haljon and John soon followed suit. Nell had brought her horse as well, and rode up beside Damion. He paused, nervous, then nodded. "Stay behind Haljon and I. Do not directly engage." She swallowed, then nodded back. Damion stirred his horse, and the party was off.
	They rode through the camp, Damion shouting orders and directions, gathering loose men around the camp into units. Fortunately most had the sense to have slept in their armor, and long hours of drilling had spared the company of the confusion that usually accompanied such night raids. There was heavy fighting towards the north of the camp, and as Damion and his small party drew closer they heard the din of combat. A bestial roar split the night, sending shivers of fear down all four of their spines. John Redford had turned a pale sheet of white. "They be Werewolves milord!"
	Ser Haljon cursed, drawing his massive greatsword. Nell and Damion readied their blades as well, even as John shakingly notched an arrow to his bow. They broke through a mass of torn tents and destroyed furniture, and suddenly were in the midst of a battle. Fifty or so of the Crimson Company had formed an ordered square, surrounded by their partially collapsed camp. Opposite to them were dozen or so of the beasts; even as Damion watched one of them grew brave and charged, taking down two men in a flurry of blows before being repelled. 
        They charged in. Damion did not hesitate—hesitation led to death, and he would not allow any more of his men to perish to these unholy beasts. He raised his sword high and spurred Grendel forwards, the rest of his party close behind. He saw an arrow strike a werewolf in its shoulder, spinning it halfway around and to the ground. Damion glanced behind him, watched as John Redford nocked another arrow. 
        And then they were on them. Damion swung his sword wide and felt it bite flesh; he wasted no time, and managed to seriously wound another of the beasts before breaking through the pack. He turned, watched as Ser Haljon cleaved a werewolf in twain with his great blade and as Nell lost her sword in another's guts. John Redford had halted up the hill and fired shot after shot into the pack, all of them finding their marks. 
        The company soldiers besides them gave a ragged cheer at their appearance and charged. The werewolves put up a token resistance, managing to cell another half-dozen men, but they had lost their bloodlust and their opponents were no longer cowed. What remained of their number gled back into the night. 
        Damion turned to the officer in charge of the group of soldiers. "Report. What happened?"
        The officer was a grizzled veteran with flecks of grey in his beard. He radiated an attitude of no-nonsense. "Got into our camp somehow sir—must 'ave snuck past our sentries, or killed 'em. Lost four lances worth a'fore I got everyone organized." He said, scrunching his nose in disgust.
        Damion nodded. "Find out what happened, and send a man out to tell Ser Gavin where we are." He paused, then added grimly, "Seems like we got attacked all over. Gods damn them." Damion dismissed the man and turned to his party. "Nell, find your sword! I have a feeling this isn't over yet."[/color]