“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.”