The Homuerto

Named by the first army to ever face them on the field of battle, the Homuerto (or corpse-men), are a stone faced and never ending adversary coming from somewhere in or across the ocean, who seems to only seek the subjugation of the free-thinking nations of the world, at seemingly any cost.
I have seen them on the field of battle myself, and I have never seen men and women pursue their own deaths with such....abandon.
They do not shout or speak at all, other than officers yelling orders. I don't even think that the officers are needed by the Homuerto, just an affectation by them. Their formations always seem to step into motion just too soon before the shouting ends. Their musketeers don't need any order to volley fire, instead simply presenting arms and firing in exact synchronicity. Cavalry maneuvers without bugle, and the horses do not winey, bray, or scream.
Even in combat, they remain firmly silent. Like puppets on strings, they collapse to the ground without a sound, even when you've opened their guts with sword, or severed an arm with halberd, they make no facial motion towards pain or shock.
They just keep the thrice-damned angelic smile upon their face and stare with those piercing white eyes as they press the attack to the very last moment their body can manage to move itself.
What truly haunts me is what they do when they've captured cities and towns. I've spoken to a few windspeakers who have looked at the settlements from a few miles away, at their own personal risk, and learned that the moment their army is no longer under threat they set about clearing the town.
Have you ever seen hornets attack a beehive? When I was a kid, I saw a beekeeper present a section of deep hive to a nearby hornets' nest, and the memory of that is what came to mind when the windspeakers relayed what they saw. Much like hornets clearing out the larva sealed away in their little wax pods, the Homuerto will go door to door, finding every person they can. Men, women, children, are all dragged out of the houses and buildings. Kicking and screaming, usually.
Even the ones that fight back, no matter how many casualties they inflict, are painstakingly subdued and gathered with the others.
Once all are rounded up, they're marched off. Most often to the point where the Misery began, usually on the coast where they are pretty immediately loaded onto boats and sailed away. Rarely seen again.
The work isn't done in the town, however. The now abandoned buildings will be demolished in short order. Sometimes with fire, other times simply pulling them down with ropes and force of numbers, but no matter the method, it's always to the foundation.
Now, I have yet to find a scout, civilian, or windspeaker who has seen the next part with their own two eyes. What we know, however, is that after the destruction the Homuerto start to rebuild. Using a unique sort of white stone, similar to granit, they rebuild the city.
Rebuild a one-to-one copy of everything they just tore down, including marred stone and knots in wood.
The Homuerto then move into their new buildings, stripping out of their armor and uniforms, now walking around in civilian clothing they seemingly make themselves. They pantomime the life that had lived there before. Still with their emotionless eyes and bemused smiles, they walk around, doing the little things that you'd expect in a city. Baking bread and enduring blackberries into, going to work, relaxing when the sun goes down.
Once this has taken place, the Homuerto army that started the process will usually leave, moving on to repeat the process or strike out against nearby armies and leave those that have taken new roles behind without any sort of guard.
The last contract I ever took had us taking back a city captured by the Homuerto. half a mile out, the dirt and tree roots we has been walking through were replaced by that white stone. The cut-off was clean, like it had always been there, melding with the surrounding. We thought that was a sign we were going to run into some sort of resistance so we formed up before continuing our march. Half a mile of practically silent marching, no one truly willing to break the silence with our usual banter or songs.
We came to the edge of town without taking a shot, but that only set the men on edge more. The officers had to coax the pikemen to take the first few steps with shouts, then promises of extra pay, and finally with the end of their guns. Thoughts of ambush made us jump and drove us to complete silence, other than the muted sounds of boots on stone.
Even then it took us awhile to see the 'townsfolk' were going about their business like armed men weren't tromping through. They were a myriad of face shapes and skins, but all of them were dressed head to toe in stark, unblemished, white.
Even as we walked between them, threatened them, but never shouted at them as we somehow dreaded breaking the quiet, the Homuerto around us never made a sound. Their mouths finally broke from the smile I've seen so many times on battlefields, but still soundlessly. making the right mouth shape, as if they were conversing, but no words coming out. We continued on to the center of town, trepidation growing like weeds in our hearts. The man next to me, a particularly cold hearted individual who I will refrain from naming, was sweating so much it was running in rivulets down his chin, and onto the white marble beneath our feet.
When we finally got to the town square, we found still no defenders. Still more Homuerto milled about, but payed us no mind. I even saw two children run through, like they were chasing a beloved pet, laughing silently. The officers convened near where I was standing, discussing what they should do.
Most simply wanted to leave. A few wanted to raze the town. Thankfully the ones who simply wanted to leave won out, the town was clear of enemies, our job was technically done.
That's when I noticed the Homuerto nearby had stopped their strange shadow dance and turned towards us.
I suddenly became aware of a horrible truth.

Culture

Common Dress code

They've only ever been seen in monochromatic white clothing, in both military uniform and 'civilian' clothing. All sort of cuts and styles, some that are unique to the Homuerto and not of any salon I've ever seen.

Scholar's Note It is quite clear that the particular memory causes Senior de la Foren significant anguish, and I do not wish to subject him to it any longer than I already have. 
As such, I shall put this context here:
You can view the two different kinds of Homuerto, the soldiers and the peasants for lack of a better term, as completely different groups. Scholars who have studied the both say that the soldiers should, under no circumstances, be approached by right minded individuals, even if a Misery isn't currently occurring. They are always irrevocably hostile. As such, there is less knowledge gathered upon the Soldiers, as the best that can be done is the far-sight of the windspeakers
The peasants on the other hand are completely docile. Even when threatened, they offer no sort of resistance. They continue about their 'lives' as long as they are not restrained or wounded beyond ability. They will react to outside events, however. If they are injured, they will treat it properly and if one is killed, other's will give them a burial. If fire is set to 'their' city, they will attempt to put it out with spirit and mundane means. 
Perhaps the strangest thing about the peasants is that humans like you and I can speak to and direct them, despite their non-verbal nature. They will act as if they are having a full conversation with you, though what their responses consist of are a mystery, they will almost always complete the task as well as could have been done. It has become common practice in cities formerly occupied by the Homuerto to make use of the Peasants as simple labor. Helping around shops or stables for no expectation of pay, even if the unsettle the populace a great deal, there are few that will turn down such labor.
It is also important to note that purges of the peasant Homuerto are common when a Misery starts. The paranoia drives people into a frenzy.

The only method of identification that has ever been found between the Homuerto is a complex collection of geometric shapes seemingly tattooed over the heart of every individual. The meaning is indecipherable at the current time, if it even is a method of identification.