Instinctually, Fyair crossed his arm over his face managing to shield the majority of the barrage from his eyes, but left the softer areas of his torso fully exposed. Bits of glass sharded pass his outline and stuck into his ribs, forearm, and thighs. There was no time to care for the pain as the mountain struggled to keep himself from collapsing to his knees under the weakened state of the lantern’s effect. The screech tore through his mind and made his nerves numb, radiating from ears to toes. A low rumble bubbled up in his throat and was denied eruption as he choked on his own breath. All around the world seemed to implode, gathering all its fury in on his center of gravity threatening to bring him to earth all the more. The soldier waged a silent war of mental and spiritual tug-of-war. And, perhaps an ounce of regard mixed in for good measure.

The newcomer’s foolish ignorance alerted him to the ripple effect of the lanterns. It hadn’t occured in his original assumptions that the lamps could interact with one another. The idea they were parts of a large being had gone above and beyond his thought process. He gathered enough strength to finally lower his stance only to be overpowered by the fierce colorful winds. What a hassle. What a colossal mess!  Suddenly, Fyair became aware of his transformation--feeling a sense of dread overtake him as he slowly became a true mountain. The stone shell was heavier than any natural material and compressed painfully over his mass. When the oddity of an object manifesting in his hand reached his consciousness, it drew the front of his attention. Overwhelming was all too light a term to describe the clash of actions that had exploded from the simple act of smashing a lantern. Focusing on other thing over another was a near impossible task.

Slowly, vague synapses began to bring the man back to mild awareness as he was given a brief opportunity to examine his current state. His eyes grew wide and wild at the sight of his new armored attire. A quiet whisper in the depths of his mind told him to make a choice. To choose which poison best suited his torment. Then the voice came again; much louder like the growl of an animal giving warning before attack. [i]Decide,[/i] the idea screamed into his psyche, [i]The dragon… the lightning… Scales or Illusion. Choose. CHOOSE.[/i] Fyair’s scrambled thoughts struggled to grasp anything solid or retain the magnitude of the situation. All he wanted was for it to stop. He wanted the madness to dissipate far away and leave him be. Casting away the sword and purple lantern he chose the dragon, with no more reason than he wanted some peace and quiet.