He's been here for quite a while. He doesn't know how long, exactly, but long enough for him to forget when he had his last meal. Opening his dry mouth to try and remember, he is only greeted with the taste of arid pestilence. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. It's been like this since, since... he couldn't remember.

But that's okay. With a devious grin on his face the wanderer persists through the Abiding Boneyard as he had been for so long. He walks and walks, passing by the familiar sight of bones and carcasses which decorate the flesh-toned wasteland. He may as well have been going in circles, but he didn't stop to consider the possibility of being lost nor where he was even headed. He simply continued forth with a low hum vibrating in his throat.

Occasionally he'll come across a well preserved dragon carcass. Not one to waste such resources, he'll make a lovely collection of instruments out of the deceased's bones. A skill he picked up from his Wind Flight mother, not that he remembered her, anyway. Playing and singing as he continues his journey, he'll sing to the yellow-painted sky. Just because he couldn't remember a thing didn't mean he couldn't enjoy himself on his travels. Song has become a solemn comfort. Whenever he does see rugged wanderers in his pathway he'll softly regale old tales whose origins have long faded from his memory, ones his Plague father once told him. Mixed reception has become the norm. It turns out not many favor such musical nonsense when in such deadly lands. Some find solace in these grand songs dedicated to the Plague deity, others seem put off, but that's okay. It's still a comfort.

He enjoys performing for the deceased the most. He'll sing a soft song on his harp for the ones he comes across. He'll walk slowly around them with an odd rhythm to his movement. What he enjoys most is to mock them, though. He's come to learn that surviving is the true source of comfort. As much as he adores his music, there's no denying that he's the last one standing in this boneyard despite his unconventional interests. With heavy breath he leaves his silent audience, cackling to himself at the thought of his own victory and ready to continue his journey. What he doesn't know is that he'll never make it to his destination, whatever it is. He's forever trapped in the Abiding Boneyard, and once he's laughed and sung his last he'll be the next one to fall.