Syndrome

The colours warn you not to come to close, like those of a poisonous frog.

When the day of the battle arrives, he chooses a jar from his collection of potions, tinctures, brews and elixirs to smear it on his skin, covering every inch of his body.

His mixtures are made to work fast. Bite him and swallow it, get scratched by his sharp claws and have it enter your bloodstream directly...it does not matter how you got intoxicated.

What matters is what happens next.
If he is in a good mood, he might have rubbed on a mix of plant juices that make you sleep or hallucinate swirling colours. Unable to fight, sure, but in a few hours you will be back on your feet...

But maybe he choose something more sinister. A psychotropic frog posion, that turns your fellow dragons into hideous monsters in your mind. Unable to distinguish friend and foe you might regain your senses hours later to find you killed your dearest friend...

Sometimes he chooses a mix of insect venom, his special blend of the most painfull species. Your skin will burn as if it was set on fire, a pain so intense, your mind is unable to percieve anything else. And everything touching your skin will increase the sensation, even a single hair, gently brushing over your neck. Every piece of clothing feels as if it is grating away your skin, rasping and scraping the raw flesh beneath it. But it is all just in your mind. A few hours later, it will fade away and your body will be unharmed. Your mind however....

But there is a small vial. A vial for ...special occasions.
It will start with you body temperature rising, you can feel the heat, the sweat pouring down your body. Maybe you start to shake a little.The itching skin, the throbing in your joints, the cramps in your abdomen; it will be painful, but still bearable.
Oh, it has not even started yet.You might suffer from auditory hallucinations, a deep, growling voice, seemingly coming from deep within your body, but you can't quite make out what it's saying. Your skin starts to tighten, to stretch, while something tries to escape. Something is trying to get out. Something from deep within your body. Hardly able to control you movements, you lie on the ground, squirming, screaming. You need to get it out. You claws almost move on their own, as they slice open your belly. The pain does not stop you. It needs to be done. Your comrades stare in awe and confusion as you pull out your own guts, and throw them in the air. Laughing maniacally you cry out "You are free! Fly, fly away!" , as blood and gore rain down on your dying body.

He is Syndrome.
Psychotropic master of toxins