“Urist McLich! Why do you terrorize our humble village with your armies of undead!?” “Four hundred years ago, the bartender of your only inn spat in my drink because I was looking away and he thought I wouldn’t notice.” “Well…did you?” “Of-fucking-course, why else would I come here? Where are his great-grandkids, I’m going to spit in their drinks and see how they like it.”