With every thought in a varying shades of panic and aggression, the dwarves of this ill-fated outpost had sensibly chosen to leave behind their civilian buildings and focus all their attention and might on their noble but futile defense.  This, Clotho thought, must have been the reason why she encountered nobody in the storehouse, even as she discovered objects of immense worth inside.  A central partition, floor to ceiling, divided the storehouse into two halves: a granary and an apothecary.  After determining with her acute senses there to be no enemy in proximity, Cloth sidled into the former section, reached down, and reached into a barrel.  Its squishy contents were tightly-packed, unmolested by air, and with plentiful salt for preservation.  She plucked a slab of pork and took a dainty bite, pleasing her with both the cultured taste and the significance of the act as one of domination.  Outside the battle raged still, and yet already the Swarm Queen sampled the spoils of war.  

She replaced the barrel's lid, checking its security, before strolling over to the other side.  Organized, well-labeled jars, urns, bottles, and vials lay quietly in separate cabinets, while the walls' remainder was lined with a great variety of ingredients and papers with procedures.  Clotho's eyes glittered; this was the jackpot she sought.  While she could appreciate the art of combat as much as some of her allies, it did not constitute an ultimate pleasure for Clotho.  For her, it was to possess, power and things alike.  She craved the sophistication and position such things would bring her, those things that symbolized her own skill and ability.  The Swarm Queen whistled loudly, and in a span of moments the floor ruptured to reveal an Antlion, though at a glance this particular specimen could be seen as much more than its brethren.  Its mottled carapace sported deep red stripes, the hallmark of Clotho's Honor Guard, chosen not just for their strength in battle but their ability to heed Clotho's commands.  Working quickly, she gathered up as many manuscripts, bottles, and ingredients as she could carry, bundled them together, and gave them to the Antlion to take away.  Ignoring the continued fight, even to the point of fiery explosions licking at the storehouse's door, Clotho acquired and made ready for transport everything of value to her, for she despised waste.

Once all was prepared for the Antlions to remove, Clotho made her exit from the building.  She beheld a dwarven city sans its defenders, the doomed warriors driven back into a few surviving bastions.  The forces of the Master had done their work, slaying to their insipid hearts' desires.  [i]Just like them to not see the bigger picture.[/i]  One grimace later at the residual pain in her wings, Clotho began to walk toward the nearest concentration of the Horde, her rapier out and ready for action should the need arise.