They wasted no time. That very night, Alaric was tested. A guttural roar split the silence of the woods. From the shadows crawled creatures twisted and foul, their bodies a mix of wolf and man, their claws dripping venom.
"Werebeasts," the dwarf spat, hefting an axe.
Alaric raised his shield, his instincts honed by countless battles. The creatures lunged, faster than any foe he had known. His sword flashed, striking one down with holy light that burst from the blade like fire.
The others recoiled. The elf loosed arrows that sang through the night, piercing skulls. The dwarf split another beast in half, roaring a war cry.
Alaric moved as though guided by unseen hands, each strike righteous, each block perfect. For the first time in his life, he felt more than mortal. The power of his faith had followed him here, manifesting in his blade.
When the last beast fell, hissing and melting into black ichor, the mage studied him with wide eyes.
"You… you are more than summoned. You are blessed."
Alaric only crossed himself, whispering, "Deus vult."