"Urth!"

The word rang out loudly in his mind. His eyes snapped open and he brushed off
that tattered robe that he called 'proper attire' and stirred into motion.
Beady black eyes scoured his surroundings. He had slept in the gutters again
and the muck and midden had soaked into the fabric, leaving a foul smell that
clung to his flesh.

A cackle sounded off and despite the best of his ability to pierce the heavy
darkness and smog spewed forth by the Engine, not a soul was in sight.

The wind whipped around him, the proverbial 'tumbleweed' of garbage rolling
through the streets. But even as the winds worked through that abandoned
section of street, they also worked through Osifer.

His form was tense, body wracked with an unnatural cold that he had not yet
felt before and he seemed frozen, the only hint to his consciousness were those
beady black eyes that swept the landscape.

"You are a weak Viscanti, a lesser of your breed. I can see it in your blood."
The voice was an intermingled sound of hatred, pity, and disgust and offered no
real direction, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. And while Osifer
sought, he found nothing.

His eyes tore through the trash piles, a wandering beggar now crossing through
leading an emaciated mutt by a leash, the two an odd couple of corpulent
features and revealed bone structures from lack of food. He stepped forward in
a harsh lurch of a motion, grabbing the wandering human by his threadbare tunic
and ripped him forward, setting his gaze level on him to the chorus of that mutt
barking to gain attention that his master had fallen to some assault.

"Lies!" Osifer exclaimed through his clenched teeth, those body little black
eyes on the Viscanti turning a fiery hue. The human beggar in his grasp soiled
himself, his only reply being that release of his bodily fluids and a whimper
"You call me weak, you filthy human!"

Outrageous laughter chimed in to the sound of the dog barking, though the lips
of the bum stood still, obviously coming from elsewhere, Osifer could no longer
pin this assault on his character on the weakling in his grasp. But then the
cold came back, prickling in his curled fingers on the threadbare tunic and
traveling down his arms and through to his chest and heart. His flesh crawled,
as if worms had sunk into the very flesh of him at his fingertips and had
worked their way up his arms to his eyes.

His eyes rolled back, fiery and angry or beady and black was no matter now.
Only the whites showed as they sunk deep into the recesses of his skull. His
grasp weakened on the bum, releasing the frail, smaller human as Osifer
staggered back blindly to lean against a ramshackle building. He was no match
for whatever affliction had befallen him and he felt it was here that he may
die.

His mind felt lighter, like that prickly feeling one obtains when they are
slowly drowning or holding their breath too long. It felt as if spiders had
crawled into his ears and were assaulting his brain, entrapping his very
thoughts into a web of pain and starvation, each moment draining him of his
strength and will to live.

"Weakling. Halfblood. Vagrant. Drunk. Adulter. Scum. Worthless. Rapist. Addict"
Vile words and disgusting thoughts plagued him, the memories that flooded his
mind were not his own, but the secrets of others, the thoughts of others, his
dying breaths were drawing to a close and his last moments were spent in
constant reliving over other people's lives. But no, it was not a gift as one
might think where one would live through the joys of each life. It was painful,
each new vessel a journey of suffering and madness. He became each of those
words and each time he died ignorant and alone, his soul tormented and branded
with that insult.

Despite the visions, it was no remarkable journey and in this moment, time was
frozen and accelerated all at once, sped up to allow his suffering through
lifetimes but slowed so that his true form still lay there dying. And then it
all ceased, and there he was standing, alone over his still body with the world
moving about him. The street he was on before, now crowded with folks moving
through the lanes about there business in Magnagora with blissful ignorance to
the dying Viscanti in that gutter of refuse. He looked pathetic and pale in his
out of body experience.

"Help me! Someone!" Osifer called out helplessly, any manner of confidence now
leaving the man just as surely as his life essence seemed to drain away with
each moment, being fed off by that prickling feeling that drained at his very
soul.

"Ignorant! Unenlightened!" The voice boomed this time, anger, regret, and
agitation all present at once in a strange harmony of interlaced sound. "I have
chosen you, Osifer and all you offer me is fear and screams. Now rise and seek
me out on the Planes of Nil, unworthy trash. "

Something snapped in his head, releasing the strange tension that was held only
moments before, the entanglement of 'web' over his essence released and his body
was now free of that burden. Still weakened, his eyes groggily opened, at home
in his own body once again. The lethargy of the moment was stomped out by a
final scream, heard only on the ears of Osifer.

"NOW! I offer enlightenment, come receive your gift."