This time, however, I’d learned my lesson. There was another time that played out in a similar fashion. I found my corpse, looted my dead body, chopped up the rest of old dead me, collected my decaying flesh, ate my own cold dead remains-and got food poisoning from consuming uncooked me. I retraced my steps, running back to where those barbarians had jumped me. So, naturally, I died, then respawned back at my fiber bedroll, my spawn point, back at home base. One of my arms ended up over here, one of my legs over there. Though I was crouching in the underbrush, they came after me. One swung a stone axe, the other swung a stone pick. There was that time I was attacked by a couple barbarians staring into a campfire. I’ve witnessed-and partaken in-more than one horrifying scenario in Conan Exiles.
