Fergy sneaks up behind the collector with grace uncommon for a dwarf. Slipping his arms around the thing's waist to work the buckle loose, Fergy finds his face uncomfortably close to the gaping mouth of one of the corpses. He can't help but wonder if the orc is truly dead when its dried tongue lolls out between its tusks to rub roughly against the dwarf's brow. Still, with some luck Fergy works the belt free. He finds, however that his own belt is far too small to wrap around the collector's waist.
OOC:
Two swords, two handaxes, and one very large flail. And the belt!
As Fergy backs away, belt and weapons tucked into his arms, a familiar shriek echoes down the corridors. One of the Hungry, or perhaps more, possibly drawn by the healing. The collector stands. As far as Zenithral and the others can tell, it means them no harm. It makes a beckoning motion with one hand, then turns and stomps off down the hallway.