A few of the younger, more hotblooded gods immediately shout out that they are willing to take that risk, but Moradin holds up a hand to silence them, not looking away from Draiss. "An' whaddya think makes you so special, lad? All your power, with none o' the responsibility? Or is it because yer young and recently mortal, an' you got all these 'brilliant' ideas, an' think you're better'n yer s'periors? Or is it because yer touched in the 'ead, an' ye been peerin' too 'ard inta th' Outside, an' been lettin' their ideas fester inside of--"<br/><br/>"That will be enough," a simple voice says, from across the room, cutting off Moradin mid-sentence; a voice with no true power behind it. No need for it, in fact, as everyone in the room seems to recognize it immediately, and turn towards the source, backing away, slightly. The figure is, to outward appearances, an ordinary, male gnome, though he walks with the confidence of being a hundred feet tall. "Leave us. I will speak with this whelp, alone."<br/><br/>In moments, the room is empty, once more, except for Draiss, the gnome, and Aviendha. He turns his gaze to the solar, imploring her to leave as well, though she glances towards Draiss, unsure, apparently not recognizing this figure. Whoever he is, though, he masks his aura impeccably; Draiss can't even tell that he's divine.