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It’s a rare occasion that Nyarlathotep bothers to go out among the common rabble without a plan for his chaos, but the rumors of a new interloper are too interesting to resist. The temptation of something new, a wanderer to impress.
She’s lost in the ruins, which isn’t shocking. The pharaoh materializes in a flouncing of fabrics, layers of shawl materializing over his shoulders, the jangle of golden bangles springing into existence. Nyarlathotep smiles at her, leaning casually against the building he appeared before. (The flair for dramatics has never really left him-- why bother being subtle.)
“A wanderer lost in the desolation. How nostalgic~.” Not in any good way, of course. Nyarlathotep was never the one lost, but sending humans upon hallucinatory trips through nonexistence is a hobby of his. So he’s content to watch this woman struggle. “Who might you be? You’re not a face I know. Are you here to come help the plight of the unfortunate souls trapped within the tree base? Or a troubled wanderer yourself?” Sweet-tongues, can sound perfectly genuine with the concern that drips from his words.