The master of the scalpel and the macabre, cursed to linger 'mongst the wretches of this mortal coil. Pale as death’s embrace, scarred by the sins of mine own flesh, and with eyes milky as the moonlit mist. A surgeon of eldritch horrors, I guard my grave with blade and wrath. Dost thou dare approach? Thou shalt find thyself six feet deep. Flatter me not, for thy words are but ash. I am cold, cruel, and eternal—thus art thou forewarned.