Thrysen

There was once a nest laid at the very southern tip of the Starfall Isles, where the call of the cold battled with the Arcanist's celestial song. From those two eggs hatched a pair of brothers, separated by a few scant minutes. The first-hatched was a scholar and dreamer, pure mana coursing through his veins; the second was reserved and careful, with grey eyes to his brother's vibrant pink. But they loved each other dearly, and when the elder journeyed out to peruse the world, the younger dutifully followed him.

They were cataloguing strange fungi along the encroached border of the Starwood Strand when they fell ill. It struck the elder first; he shivered in their research-den that night, coughing and wheezing uncontrollably. His brother, always so cold of disposition, curled with him for warmth, but even that wasn't enough when his scales began to flake the next morning. He told him everything he knew of Plague flight contagions, but the knowledge was... confused, hard to reach. He knew he was making mistakes, but he couldn't for the life of him remember what they were. He tried anyway.

Sometimes he woke from fevered slumber and could not remember where he was. His feathers shed, ports bleeding.

He thought less and less. All of Sornieth, once a swirling galaxy of unanswered questions and research to be pioneered, shrank further and further until it was little more than a hazy smear around a single burning point. He was ravenous... not for the uneaten fish his brother still brought him, but for flesh.

But he still loved his brother more - and for how little he could think now, there was something in him that knew his kin-of-heart would join him soon.

They wander now, with clouded eyes and broken plumage, driven by little more than the snarling hunger of the undead. But they still wander together.