The spiderwolves lurk in the lonely desert, haunting the tiny, insular, peculiar communities that cling to existence at the periphery of the civilized lands. They dwell in the shadowed valleys, and partake of the most discommodious attributes of the lupine and arachnid races - eight scrabbling, setaceous legs matched with eight glaring, blood-mad citrine eyes. Their peculiarly extensible chelicerae-jaws are fulminant with noxious and novel toxins. The daemonical vocalizations and ululations that ring from the beasts' non-Euclidean throats, shrill and insensible, speak to their doomed prey: and the sentiment intrinsic to that baleful, monstrous cantata is understood thus - "Good night, listener; good night." Instinct: to feast on the unwary

• Appear without warning
• Inject a paralyzing poison