Manfred is curious, you guys.
But you knew that, didn’t you?
Our slightly unnerving skeleson is made from a Wisp of Curiosity. It’s literally in the name.
He has always been that way.
“Oh, hello,” says Emmrich, with slightly more black in his hair.
Manfred, who is not yet Manfred, preens like a cat at the attention, bringing his shimmering, star of a body closer.
“I’m examining this burial site for possible signs of an earlier Storm Age internment.” Emmrich says, and Manfred, who is not yet Manfred, has the impression Emmrich talks to himself out loud whether or not someone is listening.
These parts of the Necropolis are largely empty and must get boring for someone who stays in one fixed point of reality like a body.
Manfred, who is not yet Manfred, wonders what that is like.
He shines his light obligingly on the dark sarcophagus where Emmrich is brushing at a tarnished bit of metal.
“Oh! Thank you. It is beastly difficult to read these. You’d think they’d want to label the remains of their loved ones more carefully. “
Manfred, who is not yet Manfred, twinkles and chitters in agreement. He likes the way the Mourn Watcher explains things. It is as though he can hear Manfred’s questions.
Perhaps he will stick around a bit longer and indulge his curiosity.
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