Rhodorian

Rhodorian's dedication to not dying is impressive, though some might question if he can truly be called 'alive' any more. This clockwork horror is far more machine than dragon at this late date, a grotesque patchwork of cogs and gears and necrotic flesh, failing muscles replaced by pistons and hydraulics, but every time the signs of sickness spread or crops up in another part of the body he cuts it away and replaces the parts. He stinks of rot and seared meat and ozone; the soft tissue of his eyes and mouth are crusted with the telltale flaking red of Pharma's 'Red Rust' strain of plague; he leaves a dripping trail of tainted fluid wherever he goes...but go he does, long after others would have fallen.

It is this dedication to his personal survival at all costs, rather than any overcoming of the plague, which has earned him a place in the clan. As long as he cannot overcome the plague, however, it is questionable how long even his hard work and effort will keep him alive to enjoy the honor. That he has done so for so long is a testament, he believes, to the power of hard work and ingenuity. Fewer question this dogma every day he remains on.

In spite of his incredible accomplishments, Rhodorian is not charged with overseeing the clan's non-medical research, but is instead subordinate to Kejutan. His resentment over this fact is secret to no one, but when the younger dragon's work turns up destroyed he consistently suggests that perhaps they and their projects are simply too small to safely work in proximity with himself and the similarly large Drift and Quintus.

He is aware of the betting pool on how long it will take for Kejutan themself to show up in a similar state.