It has been a long time since Rhea'li has seen such an expression on Emet-Selch's face. That look of condescension, that overbearing disdain, as if he and his were naught but an vilekin found unpleasantly splattered across the sole of a boot.

The gleam catches Rhea'li's eyes, but his expression doesn't change at all. What is that...?

"And rob them of the time for aid to arrive?" Rhea'li shakes his head, the wings of the bursterfly upon his back flickering once. "You need to stop." He gestures with a hand, seemingly calm. "Help me find the source of this unnatural storm."