Holy Bath Visions
You see a pale-faced woman holding a sword in her hand and watching from a hill as a city is buried beneath volcanic lava and ash.
You see a grayed skull, its jaw open. It seems to speak, saying:
"I am neither Man nor Woman, Child nor Elder can I ever be. All Life must bow before My power, Even you will come to Me. In My hands your soul shall rest, Fluttering like the bird that is caged. Till into My embrace you do succumb And in Death, eternally assuaged."
You see a peaceful village filled with Halflings, each seemingly dedicated to the profession of the Empath. From nowhere, a rising tide of molten lava sweeps down over the village, completely obliterating its denizens. The final, terrified wail of the villagers is all but drowned out by the sound of insane laughter.
You see a young Elf, her eyes shut and a flute at her lips as she plays a lively tune.
You see an endless ocean, filled with hundreds of beautiful fish, a myriad dance of jewel-like, tropical colors. A dark shadow falls over them, and they scatter, fleeing desperately for safety, scattering their colors over the ocean.
You see a cleric standing upon a tall hill, a flood of faenrae reavers and ice wolves running past him, tears streaming down his face.
You see a mighty warship upon the ocean, its stout prow cutting the sea and sending multitudes of brilliantly colored fish scattering.
You sense a restless spirit reach across the spaces of your mind's memory, searching, seeking, disturbed, determined. The starving visage of a man tearing his way through ice crystallizes before the vision of a dragon's sweeping wing blocks the face from your view.
You see a beautiful child playing in a field of tall, swaying grasses, his parents watching from a distance, smiles on their faces.
You see an elderly Human watching sadly from a porch as a group of young Elven children run past him.
You hear the clatter of hooves upon a cobbled street, and somewhere the sounding of a horn. A voice whispers, "To battle, Mother," and then the thundering sound of hooves fades into the distance.
You see a towering lunat tree that has been hollowed out. Within is a great, solemn chamber. You sense endless peace and warmth here. Turning, you see a graceful unicorn standing just within the doorway. It prances off when it sees it has caught your eye, and when you turn to follow it, you find it has vanished.
You see a cairn upon a hill, overgrown with moss. A beam of light suddenly shoots out of it, and you see an unspeakable shape of pure darkness step forth from the cairn's shattered remains.
You see a clear night sky, filled with stars. A large panther paces across the star field before rambling off into the endless, inky blackness.
You see a bedroom after dawn, the sunlight slanting across touseled (sic) sheets as a young couple curl up in each others' arms.
You see yourself, holding up a laughing child and annointing (sic) it with holy oils.
You see a confusing jumble of images -- dead bodies pulling themselves from graves, eyes with a dark slash for a pupil, a crowd of fleeing refugees, the sound of forlorn howling.
You see coils and coils of rope lying carelessly on the floor. As you watch they begin to writhe and twist, finally forming into the hideous shape of the Spyreweize, its maw wide open, its fangs dripping with venom. It looms threateningly over you for a moment before melting into darkness.
You see a benevolent motherly woman, her eyes resting upon you and a warm smile on her face. "Peace, my child," she says as she steps back into the darkness, her visage melting into that of a scorpion, which stares at you with its cold, insectoid eyes and hisses, "Yessss, peacccce indeed."
You hear the cry of a baby, and see an explosion of light. A pale, shining figure appears before you, wings of perfect silver spreading behind it. "Blessings upon you, <Name>," you hear it say before the darkness claims your sight again.
You see a tall, proud Human Warrior Mage, her long hair swept behind her in a severe ponytail. At her side stand two snowy white wolves, their maws dripping and their eyes a baleful red. Her eyes flash with madness, and all about her grow towering black ironwood trees.
You see a weaver deftly working at a loom, her time-worn hands playing with the weft and warp. As she finishes the tapestry, she smiles and takes it down, and you realize that the image that she has been weaving into the pattern of the tapestry is yourself.