It's eerie to Cullen, how the snarling and baying gives way to whimpering and yelps. No matter how much he knows the war dogs are a threat, he can't help but to feel a small pang of regret that they were brought into this by bad people. He's Fereldan to the core in that respect. It doesn't stop him from keeping his head in his own battle.

That maul comes down on his shield hard enough to jar him all the way down through his shoulder and into his lower back. He tilts and deflects some of the blow, leaving himself an opening to plunge his sword tip up and through exposed lower jaw. The leader is done.

Most of the raiders are scattering, screaming and yelling only to get cut down by the archers watching for them. A few make the mistake of going for the cages and triggering the mines. It's chaos, blood and destruction, and a good example of how discipline in attack will almost always prevail, no matter how good any individual fighter may be.

It's over surprisingly quickly. "Kill the dogs," Cullen gives the order as soon as it's obvious the raiders are gone or soon to be finished where they lie. The fully trained hounds are no good to any of them, loyal to dead masters and a liability. Some of the guards are already stepping forward to secure the camp and check for valuables or anything of use on further raids that night.

This first foray hasn't cost them anyone and only minor injuries. They're fresh and were spoiling for the fight. Cullen knows it will get harder as the night goes on, when fatigue becomes a factor and word has chance to spread. All it will take is one escapee.