The weight of a golden coin rolled from one of Hintiel's knuckles to the next as he stayed in silence as an argument raged on around him. His eyes remained downcast at the wooden table in front of him, decorated with a half-incomplete map of Draenor. With every passing moment, voices grew more heated and aggravated. The impassioned fury of Xeraxus, the cold annoyance of Sendor and the attempted reasons of Fairion surrounded him and he found himself somewhat longing for the quiet nights in his home manor's library, surrounded with naught but books, plans, and a cat. Now he sat in a semi-large and still under construction hall within Frostfire Ridge, a fire stoked in the pit of the center of the room to give it a degree of heat and try to fight the freezing bite of the outside, and he couldn't ever find that kind of silence in these halls if he tried. Everywhere he turned, there was a new problem, a lack of supplies or an annoyance with another person in the Fort.
And for all his annoyance with it, he thrived under the pressure that was laid upon him. Trained and practiced with the problems of people, calm and precise where others would crack from under the pressure. Voices had reached a fever pitch and Hintiel sensed the tell-tale shift upwards in temperature that came from Xeraxus about to conjure flame when he spoke.
"Stand down. All of you."
There was a silence immediately after that and he drug his green eyes upwards towards the group in front of him, a small smirk on his lips. "This bickering does nothin' for us, mates. We've gotta job to do."
