Long have the dead here rested, sleeping, dreaming in unending worlds, eager to rise when the time would come if only as spirits in the night. Those of blood and kin await to dance for those dead eyes, to offer drink and food and shelter for the weary woken dead. And so they come every now and then to see what they left behind, to bless or curse their kin or foe before returning to their graves.
Yet some are eager to forget the past, the ancestors from which they came. Opting instead to spit on the bones and legacy of those that came before. And in that greatest act of disrespect they come to gloat of their new order, with an ignorant smile being unaware of that which they invite.
And when those folk who neglect their dead for the certainty of their future see what it is they have done, they will know it only too late that theirs is a future of loss and destruction. For theirs will be the fate of a dagger plunged deep into the back, and none will help or save them for they have chosen to betray and fight against their folk.
When the dead come walking, they see what has been done. They take the generous offerings given and often warn of things to come. Those who honor their dead upon the harvest are often blessed, as they do not forget from where they came and the value of the cost paid by all that came before.
Those that forget are cursed for they forsake both past and lessons. Theirs is a selfish life to focus upon what is to come alone. When the dead come walking to see what their lives have brought, they will lay no smile upon such a home and will spit back upon its fortunes.