Following the attack on the dwarven outpost, Clotho dwelt exclusively in the region of the dungeon converted into hive.  The hatcheries worked around the clock of replenish and then surpass the raid's casualties, reinforcing the Overlord's army.  Her alchemist worked to the best of his ability, aided by his assistant and even his captor, and in exchange for his labor enjoyed short hours and real food.  When not overseeing her troops, practicing swordplay, or reading, Clotho experimented with new chemicals to try and tease a greater ability to manipulate life out of her stinger.  One by one she incorporated new toxins, serums, and mutagens into her venom system, and just as quickly the flawed ones were expunged.  Several of her insects gave samples for study, which Cloth broke down into their constituent components with acids before examining under a looking glass.  Clotho's chief aim was to improve, be it her forces, her self, or her allies.  The attitude of her alchemist and assistant gradually improved thanks to a steady dosage of special chemicals hidden in their food.  Slight physical changes accompanied them, but they did not seem to notice.  Progress was good.

The grotesque rituals occurring elsewhere did not phase her or her horde.  Practically a dungeon in and of itself, the hive's activity continued until its queen was summoned.  Upon hearing the call, Clotho flitted into the lab.  [color=9F8170]”I am called for,”[/color] she announced.  [color=9F8170]”Proceed without me.  By my estimation, we should be able to fabricate a type-IV mutagen this very day.”[/color]  She noticed with smug satisfaction that the assistant girl appeared to have unknowingly grown mandibles.

She zoomed into the gathering chamber and awaited the Overlord's appearance.  To his announcements she listened attentively, believing his plan to crush both enemies to be plausible now that her own insect forces would be bolstered by the ranks of demonic warriors newly summoned.  Dutifully she hovered above his scrying spell, examining in only a few seconds the significance of the image shown to her.  All the while, she considered all she knew of ogres.  Unlike the orcs, blindly aggressive and strong, and the trolls, renowned for their ability to wreck havoc not only physically but psychologically, the ogres always struck her as a surprisingly complex breed.  Each individual had layers, the first one most often that of a brainless brute.  An ogre as the commander of a rival horde of evil did not bode well in her mind.  

Scheming and strategizing already, Clotho made a beeline back to her hive to begin preparations.