The plague doctor unintentionally mimicked a bird as he divebombed the chaotic jumble of scrolls. Beings from more contemporary worlds would have classified these movements as "trash bag flailing in the wind". Sieve began to sift through the information with the intent of preserving his facade of being human. 

Of course, like any good steampunk lad, he had the literacy level of a goat. The kingdom's war generals only taught necroorganic soldiers their own names, the names of royalty and cheeky stick figures. As such, Sieve couldn't write half a sentence but could skillfully churn out even the most atrocious, pompous names created by more-is-more nobility. While the rest of the party exchanged banter on terraforming and who could despise cooperation the most, Sieve frantically unfurled scroll after scroll, basing himself off of the pretty pictures contained within.

[i]Curses! This is some type of soldier! What sort of musket is that, I reckon.[/i]

[i]I've not a foxes' tail, so this can't be me.[/i]

[i]I've a beak but no wings. Or claws. Or tail. Come to think of it I'm nothing at all like this.[/i]

Sieve unfurled a very large scroll that would have honestly probably killed him if he knew how to read. 

[i]The indecent exposure machine man![/i]

At last, the reanimated set of bones opened up the smallest scroll. It had to have been his, considering the austere nature of his physical characteristics. [i]If this were to depict my three sizes, I-I'd be very angry![/i] With one hand subconsciously pressed against his flat chest, Sieve readied himself for whatever was inside. A familiar image of a humanoid in a plague doctor uniform. After being relieved of his worries while conveniently ignoring all the text describing his bones, the magician quickly scampered away from the others, now brainstorming on what to do with the paper.