There are several things he'd very much like to do, but being so on display is enough of a deterrent for him to at least appear civil. Not that he's keen to fall into the 'hellspawn are violent urchins' stereotype that is readily abundant in the city. Instead, he bites his tongue and stays on his side of the counter. Rolan has to at least be grateful they were given a burial, not that it changed the fact that many of them had been tortured before they met their end.

He'd rather focus on that than how Zevlor is looking at him, making assumptions about the prominent bruising and scrapes across his face. It galls. This is nothing. This is simply a hardship he has to deal with because it will eventually end, but either way, he's fully capable of handling it.

"Healing, Sleep, or Animal Speaking?" His eyes narrow slightly, assuming what the old paladin is up to. He puts his hands on the counter, leaning forward slightly, his words hissed. "I know what you're trying, don't bother. I've got it under control."

He certainly doesn't need someone else's interfering again, he'll figure something out. So long as Lorroakan sticks to the abuse himself, Rolan knows how to take a punch or a kick. Which will get worse if the wizard notices his work is being undone. Egotistical prick.