Rolayn would visibly grit his teeth as the ogre spoke of the Norscans and their walking corpses, paying little heed to the words of those around him. Instead, he'd turn swiftly, pointing down the corridor they'd come, before snapping out an order towards his servant. "Lorin! Prepare DeLoria, we ride to battle." Shifting his gaze back towards the orge, the knight of Bretonnia would raise a clenched fist, trembling with anger at the mere mention of this development. "The cursed undead cannot be allowed to fester here, as they will grow like a tumor into the land, corrupting all they come into contact with. Their destruction must be swift, and merciless!" Fortunately, if there was one thing Rolayn could say he was bred for, it would be slaying the walking dead. His line had been fostered and grown to battle back to evils of the dreaded Mousillon, being raised with tales of heroism battling that which dwelt in the night. If the infectious reach of the fanged monstrosities of vampires had extended out here, then he would do all in his power to see them destroyed. Thus, he would turn, and begin striding off, shouting off the words of his house, to ward off the evils to come, to invoke the blessings of The Lady, but most of all, to declare his oath to slay these incursion. "In Blackest Night, We Shine Bright!"