From the untroubled air, Clotho observed the entire battlefield.  Judging by the profuse incendiaries spouting in bursts from the entrances to the outpost underground, Torrens was doing his job well, and after the inner defenses had been burned to a crisp the subterranean divisions would be able to proceed with their attack.  In only a few moments, the Swarm Queen imagined, there would form the pincer-attack to crush the dwarven outpost from inside and outside simultaneously.  Focusing now on the battle, she spotted a group of Antlions carving away at a section of wall below.  Unfortunately for them, the dwarves stood rigid in defense of their bastion, and took advantage of everything at hand to rain agony on the living siege engines that assaulted them.  Torches, braziers, fireplace embers, forge coals, and more all pelted the Antlions like hail, burning through their armor one chunk at a time.  Before Clotho's eyes, one Antlion fell, its head affixed by an expertly-thrown lance.  With a snarl Clotho descended, striking as a thunderbolt out of the blue, and dealt a kick powerful enough to snap the thrower's neck.  On the way out, the Swarm Queen darted past a pair of dwarves carrying a huge urn of flaming embers, and cut into the back of one's knee.  A cry heralded the downfall of the urn, spilling its contests out onto the walltop and lighting up wooden fortifications.  On cue, part of the wall collapsed, and after the Antlion broke triumphantly through a crew of Myrmidons followed suit, fanning out into a shield formation.

Back in the sky now, Clotho could frankly concede that the dwarves were good.  They knew their architecture, their warfare, and their technologies so thoroughly that any other army on the planet would have found a very tough time, if not undignified defeat, in an attack on this outpost.  Clotho merely boasted the fortune of having a fighting force like no other on the planet.  Beneath her, the event she'd bet on was coming to pass; from the sides and beneath the Horde attacked, leaving the dwarves with only the defenses of their buildings to serve them.  Never one to bask in the thought of victory before it was assured, however, Clotho dove down from her vantage point to join in the struggle.  A barricade set up by dwarves, fashioned of carts, barrels, and crates and fortified by flamethrowers and pikemen, had stalled her bugs' advance down a main street.  Knowing that extended involvement would risk direct aggression and counterattack, Clotho engaged the obstacle by zooming low to the ground, in front of the barricade, and coming up from beneath to throw the flamethrowers out of position.  While the weapons were disabled and the dwarves were distracted, the Myrmidons pressed the advantage and overwhelmed the barricade with a few casualties.  Unfortunately, Clotho hadn't taken into account a third party, and from seemingly nowhere suffered a crossbow bolt in the small of her back from a hidden assailant.  [color=9F8170]”Agh!  Ah, ah, ow!”[/color]  Suddenly every beat of her wings was agony, and Clotho was forced to land on top of a building.  Any dwarf worth his salt would be inbound to her location, hoping to finish off what was obviously a high-value target.  Clotho needed help.