Bathroom Monologue: The Restless Dead

“There’s a group of triclopes, The Restless Dead. I don’t know what you’d call them – a denomination? They used to be all over the north, during all the foot-wars. Miserable opponents. They’re a head taller than us, and half a head than a satyr, and quick as either of us. In the few times they were overrun and truly losing battles and with few members left to a regimen, The Restless Dead were trained to collapse in battlefields, near piles of fallen soldiers. They were trained to lie there, unflinching, breathing so slowly they were one with the deceased. Sometimes they catch a horseman, trip down his ride and all. Sometimes they waited until the whole battle was over, for the medics or scavengers from the victory’s army, and would slaughter them. It was last year that eleven-or-so Restless Dead got up the night after their army of two hundred were routed, waited for the camp to be drunk, and let them wake up to find all their captains with their eyes slit and a third hole driven into their skulls. Might be a tall tale, but it can stick with you.”