Orlando had an oddly voluminous, baritone voice. It was one of the many things about him that was unmistakable; even when his voice was quiet, when it was heard, it was heard very clearly. He eyed them all in a way that was more about his absorption of knowledge than anything else, though his glittering black eyes were known among those who had worked with him before to be extremely unsettling in battle, warm and kind as they were while out of it. "Should anything happen that would leave us with no other means, let it be known that I am more than willing to put forth my own effort in stopping your creation, Sir Benedict. The vast majority of my martial practices are focused defensively, including things such as drawing ire to myself instead of my allies, or retarding movement. One of my favorites is a stance known as Thicket of Blades." He then gave Benedict a look that was one of self-confidence and the best of intentions, but also of a certain graveness and dread; it was through his eyes that he said he was more than willing and able, but it would be very troubling for him. "I sincerely hope it does not come to such."<br/><br/>From there Orlando did not say anything as he finished his tea and biscuits; the very idea, it seemed, of striking down a comrade, even if necessary, was making him feel unwell.<div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>