Montauk
(#23418073)
Level 25 Imperial
Familiar
Spirit Armor
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Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Wind.
Male Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
23.03 m
Wingspan
22.45 m
Weight
6678.4 kg
Genetics
White
Poison
Poison
White
Shimmer
Shimmer
White
Crackle
Crackle
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 25 Imperial
Max Level
STR
6
AGI
9
DEF
6
QCK
57
INT
126
VIT
11
MND
6
Biography
|
DOCTOR MONTAUK
Groangate Hall's esteemed surgeon. The colony's last surviving physician practitioner of medicine. Odd fellow, passionate over his craft and ever curious of the peculiarities his unrestrained medical practice affords him. No matter; the public's perception, fickle and distracted, eludes the confines of his lair, tucked deeply within the Sanctuary's cleric's ward. Hermetically sealed, knee deep in the viscera of his operating chamber, but not without kindness, he salvages the best cuts and specimens for his dear colleagues and associates. Known as Dr Montauk, affectionately called Sawbones, specialises in lobotomies, chemical neutering and most invasive procedures. The messier, the better.
The dread cannibal Dolcett is the only warm, wet meat desensitised enough to serve as assisting nurse and mentor without ending vivisected on the operating table like the fully conscious and paralyzed patients he tends; besides the executioner, that is, which forms an adversarial relationship with the surgeon due to creative differences... Far from the only one with contempt, the good doctor incured the scorn and suspicion of the healer superior, Exorcist Severin, the morning star, healer nurse Lux of Hewn ruins and Sev's other zealous subordinates and underlings within the Archons' ranks and luxite followers. He is known to gibber softly to himself of his past experiences as a fledgling medic hunting the pock marked trenches of the Scarred wasteland's outskirts of impoverished, refugee and POW camps packed with vulnerable, young meat no one would miss, in grave need for medical attention. He could nearly smell it, reminiscing: their filthy, writhing masses, the scent of death clung to them. The all consuming plague, ever present and celebrated. Performing botched, crude hack jobs and carving up the unfortunate meat slabs for their spare parts, his reputation soured as a result. If that was possible for a poacher like him. His creations, the rendered remains of his mutilated spawn, lost him all vestiges of dracane clemency long ago. The children existence tortured and the monsters that tortured existence.  An imperial approaches before the riotous spectacle before him, expression hidden in the plague doctor's mask secured onto his snout like an inhumanely tight muzzle. You looked like an easy target from afar, weak, low strength and your guard's down, distracted with entertaining the revelers. It would be simple, perfunctory almost, to get you alone and stranded. You are proud, lack the humility to turn down a venture in seclusion beyond your depth. No, you'd be insulted by any suggestion otherwise. He could see it, so clearly already. Another blighted cleansed. Purged of taint. Your kind must be exterminated, he bemused to himself in the face of the wyrmwound washed mirroress. Through the fragrant herbs shoved within his mask, he could still taste the unrelenting scent of stale sweat, tainted blood and rotting meat wafting from the folds of her skin. "Mfffrmm," he muttered indistinctly, the muzzle obscured his speech as a direct result. He reeked of the sterile, phenol or iodoform, you could never tell which. The disinfectants to treat the living biomedical wastes the plague flight epitomised. Made no difference, they were all sterilisers, wanton destroyers of aeons worth of natural selection. Your face contorts in an involuntary grimace at the pungent, sickly scent, peculiarly nauseating to the plague kind, before recovering a menacing, gleeful sneer at the smattering of foetid blood his white clad, white scaled coat contrasted dramatically. He eagerly anticipated the probe, study, healing of them all. The purge of their corruption. Yes, it would be beautiful. She could be beautiful. For shame, to possess such hubris as her false goddess, the audacity to challenge the inexorable, inviolable force of Entropy. |
By zurun
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Exalting Montauk to the service of the Windsinger will remove them from your lair forever. They will leave behind a small sum of riches that they have accumulated. This action is irreversible.
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