Melchior

MELCHIOR
Trust me, I’m doctor

His voice soothe you. In this vile place you seek salvation from the pain in your mind and body, fearing the worst outcome. He is here to save you.
Or give you the fate worst then death, if he sees your red plague-bounded gaze.

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Unstable Serthis Concoction

Organics

This is probably just lime juice. Go on, drink it. Nah, don't worry about it.

26

Grouse Basilisk Field Notes

Dragonmade

Someone was very dedicated.

22

Ferberus Skull

Organics

Surely some weirdo in your lair will want to collect this?

53

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Immediate thought is that he's lurking somewhere in the Rotrock Rim, just beside the boiling cauldron of the Wyrmwound. He fronts himself as someone trying to find a cure for the plague that ravages the Wastelands, and perhaps even immortality... by utilizing the source itself.
He'll climb up the edges of the Wyrmwound, mask used to shield himself from the billowing infectious clouds rising from within, before getting a sample of the toxin, and heading back down to his secret hideaway. If he can't get it from the Wyrmwound, he'll wander out to the Quarantine Zones and sneak his way inside, having to act quickly and quietly to avoid detection by the dastardly plague dragons who aim to halt his plans...

He's honestly rather disgusted by plague dragons. To be born of such filth. What a terrible thing... An ailment that must be cured as soon as possible. And he will find a way to do so by any means necessary.

Should dragons stumble across him, especially the wounded or sickly, he'll lure them in with promises of health, putting on a façade as someone So Very Very trustworthy.
This is despite the fact he holds himself and moves like a sleep deprived zombie half the time. Eyes with dark circles beneath them, a drone to his voice that could put anyone to sleep should he go on too long.

If the dragons are of plague, he really doesn't care what happens to them in the long run.
By that I mean - His intention is to kill, or passively allow to die (while pretending to be doing the best he can to save them), any dragon that wanders into his care. This is regardless of the dragon's flight. However, when it comes to plague dragons, Melchior will keep them dead, not making any attempt to revive their disease-ridden souls.
Instead, he may sample from them, much like he samples from the Wyrmwound. Some scales, some blood, some fur, some organs... Whatever he finds he might need for his next experiment.

With other dragons, he'll do everything in his power to revive them. That is his entire goal in life.
To deny death in the face of all those who claim it inevitable would be such a wondrous thing! He'd be regarded as a savior, really... by all those who matter to him.
This has led to some less-than-favorable results, however.

Some bodies just contort, forming growths; more eyes, extra limbs, or just awful pustules springing up along their bodies. It doesn't matter how many times he removes the growths, they'll always return.
Ugh.
How annoying.

That or they'll bloat. Full of nasty plague, filling up their bodies, gushing from their eyes, ears, mouths... Eugh. The smell is disgusting when that happens.

Others do seem to reanimate, though... to a limited extent.
Essentially becoming parasite-driven zombies, forming as hosts for the plague that now courses through their veins.
Melchior sees this as... a start. He works to keep these living corpses alive, despite the fact they are still actively decomposing, and does routine check-ups to ensure they're staying alive for long periods of time.
(He likes to mock their groans of pain while they rot. Yeah, yeah, another part of you has just sloughed off into the dirt, but consider this: I haven't made more progress yet. So who's REALLY hurt, here?)

This is... not quite what he wants, though. They're being kept alive by that nasty affliction. That's hardly progress.

He's yet to try the unthinkable, however... That being experiments with imperials.
He's considered the idea. Seeing the large dragons wander past his home, or working in the Zones he steals samples from. He knows what happens when enough of them die together.
The formation of a hideous, monstrous beast. An Emperor.

Often, he'll stare at imperials from afar, twiddling with something sharp in his claws. Thinking. Considering.
It'd just be such a mess to deal with if it went wrong, however.
Far too much carnage.

Oh well.
Until then, he'll just have to experiment on what he's got.
Once he runs out of ideas, however... Perhaps some extremes will be in order.

Bio Template & Graphics: A Bolt From The Blue - Free Bio Resources

Lore made by: Clam