The she-fiend seems to shudder pulling one pair of arms in over her breasts--and even the terrible Pit Fiend takes a step back, his spikes deflating, albeit marginally at the Logokron's scathing words. But the 'loth merely smiles. (Who knew that an Ultraloth could smile--if one can even call it that. The thing's mouth is a gaping hole of liquid gloom, its teeth like a pastiche of jagged incisors and blunted ape-teeth. . . and the smell that emanates from its mouth--is like the scent of a thousand year old corpse that has been decaying slowly atom by atom over centuries.<br/><br/>"What have you to trade, little she-devil?" The 'Loth's mind caresses hers like a dead buzzard's tongue.