Though undoubtedly useful, bugs did have their faults. Clotho, as much as she liked her various minions, could not help bemoan their general degree of intelligence when she was forced to stop in the middle of a street and sort out a remarkably expansive bout of in-fighting among her troops. The Myrmidons, most obedient of the lot, generally disentangled themselves from the brawl when she hailed them, standing at rapt attention should whatever wounds they sustained allow it. Some of the bugs had, after all, lost limbs, antennae, eyes, and more to dwarven rifles, crossbows, firebombs, and sears. All the Lambent required to get the picture was a quick shove, but the Antlions, of course, proved the most obstinate. One, blind to reason and authority, even attempted to charger her down, forcing Clotho to duck out of the way, grab a mandible by the root, and rip it out with her bare but fury-empowered hands. Following that, the insects seemed more capable of listening to her.
After a few moments, the cause of the squabble became apparent. A rich dwarf, holed up in a safe place during the invasion, had attempted to make a run for it with his retinue a number of chests, only to be pursued, caught, and killed by a patrol. The contents of the chests, from the choicest of foods to the most resplendent of jewels, tickled the greed and gluttony of every insect who came near, enough so to turn them on one another. Even Clotho, upon curiously plucking a ruby from the stony ground, felt her heart throb in lust for the entrancing jewel. Reflexively, like vomiting ingested poison, the swarm queen flung the jewel away. ”Don't touch this, any of this. It's cursed for sure. Find something else to keep you busy.” A round of slaps to any hesitant bugs helped speed the entire group on their way, their instincts overshadowing any resentment.
Her attention flew to the enormous demon when it arrived. She watched it with a degree of hope despite how uncontrollable and evil it looked, and wondered if she was becoming jaded when it turned on her allies. Flexing her wings and finding them serviceable, though uncomfortably akin to being jabbed with a stuff thumb along the spine, she detached her rapier and took to the skies. Before her eyes the behemoth belched forth a pyroclastic flow of magma, raising the cavern's ambient temperature by a noteworthy margin and filling it with the echoes of his mighty voice. Knowing that her wings and carapace wouldn't tolerate direct heat for long, Clotho put some distance between herself and the oversized fiend, considering plans of attack. Contemplative, she observed both Torrens and Emily attack the demon with white fire, which Clotho imagined wouldn't do much. It seemed that this demon sported some kind of flesh, meaning that beneath its magical hide lay organs ripe for the penetrating. Though fortunate to Clotho, this meant a new problem: that of making an entrance. Her eyes alighted on D.Artagnan below, taking in his blood-splattered blade. Perhaps the two sword-users of the Horde could cooperate.
Clotho dove down to hover in front of the rabbit warrior. ”Greetings, furred warrior,” she intoned in her usual, oddly-pitched hum, fairly deadpan considering the circumstances. ”If we work together, we may be able to strike down this foe. I can keep you safe and on the move as you attack it, and when you tear its hide, I can get inside it and attack critical points. Would you agree to this?”
