DrowsyPangolin

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Well, that was interesting.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom looked up as his companions came rushing to him. Adrian, now full of his previous vigor again, essentially exiled Soah from the group before coming to his aid. The mercenary could understand the boy's position. Soah was a very dangerous liability, but after fighting him he could also see that having something so fierce on their side could be beneficial, though maybe not worth the risk. Johnathon had run up too. It was obvious the young man was quite shaken up from the fight he'd just witnessed. Crom couldn't blame him, it wasn't every day you saw a seven-foot-tall werewolf. He looked up at his friends and gave a nod and a slight smirk. "Aye, I think I'll manage." He moved his shoulder around. "It hurts like hell, but I don't think I'll be dying today." Crom's voice was back to it's warm and friendly tone, though he still sounded quite gruff. Other than the gaping shoulder wound, one never would've believed he'd just fought a mythical creature.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom maintained his composure even as the wolf clutched his throat tighter and tighter. He continued twisting all the while, until the wolf grabbed his wrist. Soah leaned forward, bearing his teeth at the soldier, as if to show he could still kill him. Crom's cold stare didn't break. As the wolf leaned forward, Crom's free hand fell to his side, gripping the hilt of his knife. Certainly, the wolf was still capable of killing the mercenary, but not before a six inch blade pierced it's eye. The preparation was for naught. Soah pulled himself from the blade and slumped against a nearby tree, slowly returning to his human form. Crom stood for a moment in silence, his bloodied blade still held out in front of him. He looked around. The snow was stained with blood. he threw a disinterested glance at his shoulder. The wound was quite bad, not something to be ignored, but he had no energy left. He fell to his knees, the snow fell into his shaggy, sweat-stained hair. He laid his sword on the ground in front of him. It was stained with the dark red blood of the werewolf. He looked across the clearing to his adversary. He had survived the fight, but only through his lycanthropy. Crom couldn't lie, the fight was harder than anything he'd faced in years, and among the most the dangerous fights he'd ever been in. He looked over to his flask, which lay in the snow beside him. He gripped the wooden container and took a deep drought. He then sighed with disappointment and poured a splash of it into his wound. He didn't even wince at the pain. Honestly, he was more disappointed that he had so little of the alcohol left. He took another sip and corked the flask before falling back into a sitting position, still apparently unable to speak.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom let out the breath he had been holding in as he made his charge. His blade had pierced the monster. The large furry claw pulled itself from his shoulder and wrapped around his throat. Crom stared the wolf coldly in the eyes, even though he was almost certain the monster couldn't see him at this point. Without so much as a sliver of emotion, Crom twisted his blade inside of the wolf, back and forth. He could feel the strength leaving the monster now, it still had a grip on him, but he doubted it could finish him at this point. The twisting of the blade would likely tear Soah's internal organs, a part of his body Crom seriously doubted was as solid as his exterior. Blood poured from Crom's shoulder, but he paid it no mind. The creature seemed to be defeated. He felt warmth on his hand. The wolf's blood was running out down the hilt of the sword. He kept his eyes locked on the monster's blind eyes.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

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.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

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.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom cursed at his ineffective slash as the monster turned. For a moment Crom froze. He had never seen anything like the abomination that stood before him now. All of Soah's human features had deteriorated into the feral characteristics of the snarling nightmare inches away from the soldier. He shook off the fear. Dying was not an option. he would not be bested, especially not by an animal, not until he had done something, anything, to repair his failures. Soah swung one of his great claws towards Crom's face. The Esterlian leaned away, bending his back to avoid the danger. He misjudged the length of the claws, and he felt one of them nick his face as it passed. Blood dripped from the scratch. Crom jutted his blade forward towards Soah's chest with extreme speed, and pulled it back just as quickly. The attack wasn't as strong as the last few, but it was far too quick to be grabbed. Crom moved his feet quickly, moving from side to side. He threw another sharp jab at the wolfman's stomach. He didn't know if wearing the creature down would win the fight for him. Crom knew he had to make some sort of definitive headway quickly or he would almost surely die. he threw another stab towards the werewolf's knee.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom's eyes widened when the creature caught his blade. As an instinct, he wrapped his sword hand around the crossguard of the weapon and squeezed, his knuckles white, and the guard digging deep into his hand. He had no intention of losing his weapon. Having no time to take any other precaution, the soldier held his breath, flexing his diaphragm as Soah's fist slammed into his sternum. He felt the breath being knocked from his lungs and gritted his teeth. He could've sworn he heard a crack as the fist connected, but in the heat of the moment he barely felt the actual pain from the strike. What he did feel was the tremendous force, which knocked him to his knees. He kept his hands firmly wrapped around the hilt of his weapon, even as the growing monster in front of him tugged at it. He was almost certain the jolt had torn something in his arm, but gritted his teeth, enduring the pain. The fiery pride in Crom's eyes turned to a frigid glare. Any idea of competition or sport had been flung from his mind. He would have to kill this creature, or at least do his best to incapacitate him. He pulled down on the hilt of the sword with all of his might. Even in comparison to the monster that now towered above him, the Esterlian's strength was nothing to scoff it. Again, he pulled his blade from Soah's clutches. As soon as his weapon was free he dove forward between Soah's legs, immediately turning as he put himself behind the monstrosity. He made a quick horizontal swipe at the back of Soah's knees with tremendous force. The razor sharp blade swept through the cold air towards the werewolf's hamstrings.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Soah's form became more monstrous after Crom landed the stab. He was now looking up to his opponent as he grew. Blood fell from the monster's mouth as he spoke, dotting Crom's tan face with streaks of red. The werewolf swung his arm at Crom with extreme force. The Esterlian ducked downward, with all the agility of a diving falcon. He felt the beast's swing touch his hair, narrowly missing a solid connection with his head. As the former knight ducked, he pulled his weapon from the wolfman's torso. His mind raced. He had never fought a creature like Soah before, but his training in fighting cavalry came to mind. A horse had a solid chest, and it was extremely difficult to pierce. However, horses were more vulnerable around their neck, and like Soah, they were taller than your average man. Crom sprung upwards with a sudden ferocity, plunging his blade upwards towards the werewolf's throat, which was now above him. He gripped the hilt of his weapon tightly with both hands and aimed his blade towards just below the werewolf's jaw, were he suspected the thick hide might be weaker. Still, Soah was proving to be quite sturdy, and it seemed unlikely that even such a vulnerable area would be soft.

Fire in the West (Freeroam)

Crom cursed to himself as the blade buried itself in the werewolf's arm. The pain didn't seem to even phase the werewolf, and he used the weapon being lodged in his flesh to his advantage. The creature brought the blade down and away, leaving Crom undefended. Before he could thick, Soah had thrown a punch towards his nose. There was no time to dodge. Crom turned his face to the side and gritted his teeth, taking the punch directly to the cheek. Soah's fist struck Crom firmly. The mercenary felt his cheek dig into his teeth, and felt warm blood fill his mouth. For a moment he was dazed, but he quickly shook the feeling away. Soah hit like a charging bull, but the old soldier had taken hundreds of hard hits in his life. He looked up at the beast before him, his hair hanging in front of his eyes. He smirked, and blood trickled from the side of his mouth. The soldier's blue eyes flared with a sense of pride. He seemed to be enjoying the fight, maybe as much as the feral creature in front of him. There was a reason Crom had been famous in Esterl, and he had no intention of going down without a fight. "You hit like a fucking bitch, mate." The soldier mocked his opponent, tearing his blade free of his flesh and leaping back. He used the blade's length and threw a thrust towards his opponent's abdomen. The entire motion of leaping back and striking happened in roughly a second. Crom was extremely fast with a blade.