Deep beneath of Rhydin, down below the sewers, past the natural caverns and into the darker places even Dwarves dare not delve the last son of Oblodra sat on a throne of ilithid skulls. Elegantly savage hands steeple in contemplation as he smiles cruelly, watching Braegan D'arthe soldiers load the last of his "charity donation" onto a wagon. Kimmuriel scoffs and gets to his feet, the laden cart is given a withering glare.

"Let me know when the last gift is delivered." The soldiers left to their task are out of his thoughts before Kimmuriel turns his back. Surrounded by earthen walls, he takes solace in the silence that follows leaving the others behind.

His steps come to a stop halfway down an adjacent hall where he looks forward and back to ensure none are coming. Satisfied none are trailing, he pushes a wall hanging aside and ducks through the hidden passage. "How vain those who let their emotions dictate every nuance of their lives can be. Constantly torn with each crest and pitfall. I hope some of them at least appreciate the pains I've taken to ease their inner turmoil. Really, the things I'm forced to do for others."

A flippant hand brushes lint from his piwafwi as Kimmuriel vanishes into the Rhydinian Underdark.