Dorian smiles back at the demon, but it isn't specifically a nice smile, even if his teeth are very white and symmetrical when he does it. No one likes to know their souls are legible, so there's no reply, save for that, ready and waiting. Imshael's pitch to their chevalier has him speculatively considering the back of Michel's head, but the swarm of hostility surging into the courtyard is a quick attention draw.

He spins, and launches a forest of crackling electrical magic that darts between the giant spiders scuttling over ice-crusted rock, which seems to do little at all hulking Templar horrors gliding closer, red lyrium growths jutting through convulsing, seizing flesh.

The air seems to shimmer with their corrosive version of spirit magic, but spiders are tangible things, and Dorian brings his staff around over his head to slice away reaching legs with another spray of ichor. A ripple of electrical energy dances across the stone, electrifying all hostiles that stray too near.