There's unrestrained ferocity in the way he throws himself against these beasts. Spiders know nothing of tactics or mercy. They're hungry killing machines that won't stop until killed themselves. Driving them off isn't an option. They'll only regroup and come back to attack from stealth again.

Cullen cuts webbing as well as chitinous shell, freeing other fighters or himself, crippling the enemy wherever he can. In no time at all, his limbs are screaming for more air, muscles on fire. His sword and shield grow heavier. It doesn't matter. All he can care about is finishing this.

By the time the last twitching spider flips to its back in a hideous death throe, they've lost three of their warriors, two of them templars, one a guard, their scout, and the mage. Many of them are sickened and groaning, a few limping away a small distance to retch in the bushes. All Cullen can think is there has to be a hole or a den nearby that was hidden well. It's not like any of the scouts to miss such a large gathering like that.

A sing-song voice in the distance has him narrowing his eyes. "Where are my pretties? They should be back by now. Did you find something tasty? Juicy? You should come to mother..."

The other templars immediately drop into battle formation and fan out, signaling the guards to stay but the mages to come. Whoever this is in the darkness is likely a mad apostate or abomination talking like that. They're better equipped to deal with that sort.