Donovan hadn't so much been chosen as he'd been created, for a singular purpose and no sense of deviating too much from his duties. Never dared hope for anything else, no alternative career paths beyond the endless cycle of shepherding the dead. No retirement plans. That didn't mean he didn't sometimes stop and smell the roses, found beauty in the world that humanity was so desperate to leave their imprint on in forms of music and art and the great structures, even if most individuals held little interest to him as a whole they could be mildly entertaining.
He watched contently as the runes were drawn, with appreciation for the level of dedication and precision that went into ritual. Far showier than anything performed by himself.
Politics and religion, things only the living worried so much about, held no significance other than the body count they created. He took the lives of kings and priests alike without any special consideration. But he was often amused by how humans chose to comfort themselves, prepare for the inevitable by creating unrealities about what waited for them or used the fear for control. Nobody denied his existence, in some form, but most did not understand his nature. Only cared about delaying his arrival or bring it more swiftly upon others, or trying to achieve what paradise they believed came after and damning others for their differing ideals. Everyone was too blinded to actually ever see him for what he was. And that never bothered Donovan, could imagine how much more of a hassle his job would be to deal with the mourning.
His calm smile at the cleric's recognition of his presence was mostly hidden by the heavy shadow of the hood hanging over his face. Around as long as he'd been, incapable of actually counting it in however humans measured time, there was very little capable of actually surprising him. He'd check behind him to confirm the cleric hadn't been talking to anybody else, but he knew there was nobody.
The first question he dignified with nothing more than a dark chuckle. "I'm not," he denied in barely over a whisper, unused to speaking at conversational levels. "I'm not here for the body. The mortuary can do whatever it wishes with what remains." He stepped nearer with no hesitation and no sound to match his footfall, radiating every right to be there.