Image is everything revisited

So my last blog post was on how image is everything in storytelling. How it is the start of every narrative. Well I want to revisit that because it has be an amazing breakthrough in my writing since I've realized that truth.
For years, probably since I was 14 I've had these images in my mind for a story. I've always worked on fleshing out the story, but not much comes from it. As of coming to college I had only rough details about the story and I just couldn't make progress. Then I heard Lewis say that every story begins with an image. And Master Leeper taught on how art is all about seeing and about teaching others to see. So I decided to test that theory. I took a notebook, I took a pen, and I asked myself what I saw. This is what followed:

What do I see? I see a middle Eastern villa in the middle of the desert with a cobblestone road leading to it. I see a giant army weaving towards it. I see a young, dark skinned man meditating on cushions. I see him telling those around him about the army. I see a man going out to meet the army. I see them attack him. I see fire. Men dead. The messenger moving. Conjuring more fire. I see the dark skinned man being dressed in armor. He places a helmet with horns on. More fire. It comes from both sides now. Archers. Fire hits the gate. The dark skinned man is handed a sword. He walks down a hall. The hall explodes before him. He shields himself from the blast. I see him retaliate. He lashes out with fire. Death. He continues. The door is assaulted. More death. The dark skinned man reaches the man. Sand beneath his boots. He drinks from a bottle and then secures the gate with spells. More fire at the gate. Then a group of men approach. They move their hands. The world slows. A shockwave, then sound. The creaks. The dark skinned man pushes back. They try again. Splintering. The door explodes. Wood everywhere. Screaming. Death. Men rush in. Swords and axes. The dark skinned man cuts through them. Fire and metal. He lashes. He clears the entrance. A spear bounces off him. He reaches the gate, death behind him. He steps into the sun. He pushes men back. He drinks. Men follow him, ready to fight. They move in unison. The sand shifts. A form rises. A beast, terrible. The dark skinned man is atop it. Shifting, undulating. It rears back at his command. It swats a group of soldiers away. Men throw fire at it. It tips back. It falls. The dark skinned man leaps. He reenters the villa. Dead everywhere. He is surrounded. He crouches. A crack. He is gone. Another crack. He is in a palace. Salty air. There is marble. Columned windows. Life.

Obviously this is a rough draft, just a laying out of thoughts. But in ten minutes I was able to lay out an entire scene in a story through images that had been disjointedly in my head for years. This is more progress then I have ever had.
Images really are everything.