Alayre puts on a scowl when the elf asks if he's squeamish. Why shouldn't he be a tad repulsed right now? They're collecting the rotting organs of the undead. Of course he can feel the bile at his throat every time they hack open the dead. This is nothing short of hellish for dear Alayre. The poor man has a strong respect for the dead and he feels sick now.

"No, of course not!" He nearly yells in prime indignation. The Templar takes a deep breath to cool his nerves a little. "...Despite my allegiance with the Order, death is nothing us Templars take lightly." Alayre says as he tries to calm down.

"I-I can kill your demons, blood mages, dragons and even darkspawn but I always been mildly squeamish regarding the Undead."