Rex crouched beside the dead Shydrym cultist who was slumping awkwardly against the base of the cliff.
Haha, and yes. This was the same guy he'd impaled mid-air with the Primseal spear during their mad dash yesterday.
"Crazy people..." Rex muttered, leaning over the stiff corpse. "Your own cult didn't even bother to bury you or check for your dead body."
"Okay, let me see how you can be useful for me…" Rex paused, glancing down at his own current state.
He was wearing nothing but his dark, torn Academy tuxedo pants. No shoes, no shirt, covered in a mix of dried sweat, dirt, and faint traces of old blood. "Alright, you got your usefulness."
He planted the Primseal spear tip-first into the dirt, wiped his hands on his trousers, and got straight to work looting the dead man.
First came the outer layer— a long, heavy dark cultist robe.
Rex unbuttoned the brass clasps and peeled it off the body. He held it up, inspecting the heavy fabric with a nod. "Good for a blanket."
