Abruptly, mid-sentence, a waking dream overtakes you. Some agency wants your attention, and it appears that it has the power to send you this vision. The present place and time fade and a new scene appears before your eyes. However, you instinctively know that you are an outside observer to some event about to take place; you are not present and can not affect or be affected by it.
You see a city by the sea, active in the spring evening activities. Fisherman pull in to the dock, loaded with the day’s catch. People are outside in the streets, hawking fresh food and drinking cool ales and meads. This is an imperial city, quite obvious from the flags and banners of the silver bear flying from the various military outposts that all the imperial cities appear to have. But the people don’t seem overly concerned. This scene could be in any country at any time. It’s not the military posts that make this city unique, however. The most striking feature is a familiar one: a large sprawling complex of white marbled buildings lay within the city, moving up and down the rolling hills that the city is built upon. The complex is open to the air and has the feeling of a holy place. You’ve been here before: it is the High Temple of Cecht, Aspect of Succor and Mercy.
It was many years ago, when you first set out on the mission to find the Sword and Armor of Nulfid. You were sailing on a ship with your childhood friend, Sir Evin Uchengeist, and your newly met comrades. It wasn’t even that far along your journey that you put into port in this city of Bremer in the country, now imperial province, of Hemelsyn. The temple housed a great many priests and was open to all who were in need of healing of any kind (as one would expect). Now, in the evening dusk, the people laze about unconcerned. The temple is not filled with the wounded and dying as the streets of Arhus are.
The guards at the gates sit upright and straighten themselves out when they sight the large imperial army marching over the hill along the road. It is obvious from their expressions and the way the commanders come running out strapping on dress uniforms that this is an unannounced event. You get sense that they are guessing that this army must be disembarking from this port city onto naval ships to carry them to one of the islands for a military campaign. The army takes some time reaching the gate, marching at an unhurried pace. The commanders of each group meet and have a short discussion as the army enters through the gates. Once inside, the army splits into many large groups in different directions, presumably to find suitable quarters space. Probably for some kind of wait, for you notice that there aren’t any military naval vessels or transports in port; they’re probably late.
Your sharp eyes pick out a separate group of about 50 men on horseback approaching from a different direction a short time later. This group alarms you the most, for these are all wizards. Almost all of the schools are represented with the exception of the schools of Evocation and Necromancy. They too ride up to the gate and enter the city after a few brief words with the surprised guards. A large group of wizards together like this only serves to make you very, very nervous. What could they be up to? You notice now that not all of the army has entered the city. They appear to be setting up various campsites outside of the city.
Then, almost simultaneously sails arrive on the horizon and a new large group of armed men arrives from yet another direction. At last the navy has arrived, perhaps not so late after all. As the second column of men comes into focus in the dusky light, you notice that along with the imperial flag, they are flying a banner you recognize: one that if Stormcloak had seen would have driven him to certain rage, the crossed Halberd and farmer’s scythe of the "Harvester God" Gaal.
The wizards have broken up into smaller groups and similarly have dispersed to different areas of the city. You find it hard to move your attention away from what they are up to, but you do.
The first army appears to be done setting up camp, and most of them head inside of the city, probably to find food. The inns and restaurants are assuredly going to have some good business tonight.
The second army hasn’t quite yet reached the city gates. They appear road weary and moving slowly.
The imperial navy reaches the harbor, but doesn’t immediately pull into the docks. Instead, they seem to be forming a rough semicircle around the harbor area.
A bugle is blown.
The army flying the colors of Gaal surges forward in a charge towards the city’s gates.
The army inside as one draws weapons and begins attacking the civilian inhabitants of the city.
The wizards cast spells from their positions throughout the city: monsters are conjured, flames arise from buildings, illusions to frighten the boldest of men appear, spirits are summoned, and the people are transformed and enchanted into forms and actions foreign and detestable.
The defending guards are completely taken by surprise by this turn of events. They are being attacked by their own allies, their own people, for no apparent reason. They have no chance to close the gates against the second force. No chance to even put up any resistance at all. The first army had positioned themselves very carefully in their seemingly innocuous task of setting up camp and looking for meals and entertainment.
The naval blockade prevents those who were lucky enough to be on the docks from escaping by ship.
Why is this happening? What has this sleepy and peaceful city done to merit such a harsh reprisal and punishment by the Emperor? What could an entire city be guilty of?
You have a hard time watching the destruction until you notice something very unusual. You’ve seen enough wars and battles for several lifetimes, so the death and blood don’t disturb you. But, you’re seeing a lot of blood in this one, but very little death. The soldiers and wizards are very carefully avoiding actually killing the military and civilian population. Victims are maimed and heavily wounded, but not killed. This is almost more horrible than outright slaughter as you see men, women, and children of all ages writhing on the ground in agony at carefully placed cuts and blows.
The method of this madness becomes clearer when you see the organization of the attack. The first army is moving through the city taking out resistance and inflicting as much suffering and damage as possible. The wizards bring about an even coverage of destruction and pain with their spells, but are moving steadily towards a certain point. A point that is abundantly clear as the second force, the army of Gaal, makes a spearheaded beeline to the High Temple of Cecht.
In a horrified stupor, you watch the force enter the temple grounds almost completely uninhibited. The priests of Cecht are peaceful, not prone to violence of any kind. In fact, in all conflicts throughout history they have remained carefully neutral, providing succor and aid to all sides of all wars. But not now. The High Temple does have its hired guard, but they are usually only used to keep order when many seekers of aid clamor for help and attention at once. They provide no resistance at all to the army of Gaal. The wholesale torture and wounding of the priests of Cecht begins.
Soon, the temple is in flames and the priests of healing have used up their healing magic of the day on others and themselves, and still the warriors have unlimited blades and blows to give. The very walls which protect the city in normal circumstances keep the priests as a trapped audience and participants in an unholy orgy of pain and suffering.
A whole city population, many the most devout worshippers of the Mother of Mercy, cry out at once with pain and agony, begging and pleading for deliverance and succor.
Could Cecht not appear? Could She not give aid if She were able?
She is beautiful, bathed in a golden glow that is both joyful and mournful at the same time. Her expression the epitome of the greatest sorrow ever felt by any being in the multiverse. Clothed in white, Her hands open to the utter supplication of Her followers and to those just plainly suffering. She does not exert Her power immediately, however.
Then, even as you watch, a blackness and an emptiness is suddenly there with Her. The emptiness becomes filled with a figure. A figure the size of the man, but oh, so much larger in all other respects. Even for a man, he towers. He is encased in full plate armor that bristles with spikes, covered in rust and decay. His uncovered head makes him appear human, but his expression is one of complete insanity. Insane yellow eyes and wild hair add to his dangerous appearance. He holds a rusted and chipped halberd in both hands. His power emanates all around. This is a God. This is Gaal. His armor and uncovered head suddenly has a nimbus around it of complete and utter nothingness. It has no color, but you can see it.
His insane face holds an expression of ultimate glee and eagerness as he pulls back his great black halberd for the blow that will take Cecht’s head.
Cecht’s face is full of sorrow. She takes one look around at the people suffering around Her, at the people around the realm suffering. A single tear gleams upon Her cheek. This is a look of parting, of farewell.
The halberd swings, but before it connects, Cecht throws back Her head and arms and burns brighter and brighter with Her golden glory until She explodes in a detonation of golden light. The explosion is silent, but the waves of golden light are brighter than the sun. Gaal recoils a step from the light in pain, blinking.
You aren’t blinded by the light. You can see the waves moving out in a spherical pattern from the place that Cecht was standing. And you see something marvelous occur. The forces of Gaal are temporarily blinded and stunned by the golden light, but wounded and suffering are healed by it as it passes. The entire population is whole. The entire population is grief-stricken by what has happened.
Gaal utters a shriek of rage, one that sounds like a child who has had its favorite toy abruptly taken away. He lays waste about him with his great halberd, leveling buildings and carving great swathes in the crowds nearby, but after a few moments he disappears.
The newly healed people, upon closer examination, are more than healed. They are stronger and healthier than before; in fact, than what is normally possible. Being so close to the center of Cecht’s passing has strengthened them. They take a quick stock of the situation and move to the advantage they have. The attacking forces are stunned and blinded, and the defenders fresh and strong. The tide of battle flip-flops completely.
Insane with grief, the priests of Cecht, the resident defending army, and the general populace fall upon the attackers with no holds barred. They aren’t out to maim and inflict suffering, but to take out their revenge and grief. Though it is slaughter, you can’t help but cheer them on. It is unfortunate, but has to be done.
You briefly see the naval vessels sailing into each other in complete chaos as their steersman are still blinded by the light.
The army falls back. Some of the wizards fall prey to the angry mobs, but most escape with their magic. When the last vestiges of the army reach the city gates, they turn and flee the city.
The populace, their rage vented, fall to the ground weeping in each others arms. Direct witnesses to the death of an Aspect. The priests pick through the rubble, stunned and dazed by what has transpired.
The vision ends, and you feel a warmth at your side. Reaching into your pack, you find the Handkerchief of Cecht warm and the purest, brightest white you have ever seen it. You look into the eyes of your comrades and you know that they sense that something has happened, but not what. There is only one obvious change: Henry looks healthy, strong, and normal.