He was gleefully dissecting someone on his research table as he took note of everything. You could notice the poor soul that was still alive and twitching with every cut he made to the body. He then noticed your spiritual pressure, even if it was low. He turned around and smeared the blood he had on his cheek. He left the instruments (which were likely instruments of torture) on the small table nearby and looked at you with a big toothy smile.

Ah, another soul to poke and prod. Fascinating. Tell me, what are you made of? No, no, don't answer yet, I prefer to figure that out for myself. Don't make me waste time, or I may find myself compelled to make some adjustments to your cognitive processes. Heh heh heh. Don't worry, I won't kill you right away. Are you here for something important or are you another eherm.. "patient" who was sent here?