The sickness never ends

They were both blind fools stumbling around with little idea where they were; perhaps if he was more conscientious of the fact he might find some humor in the predicament they'd found themselves in, but he felt nothing, only hollow and empty. The Ooze left little room for anything else besides pain and misery, anyway. Everything else was a strange blur; quite literally; it filled his eyes and obscured his vision beyond the most basic of shapes and lights, making navigating in the darkness nearly impossible. "I'm Veigar," he said finally, quietly. His name felt strange on his tongue as he felt his identity slipping away, quite literally in a puddle of ooze. He deserved no name, no identity. He really was no one. "I might die," he said finally, resolutely. "If I do, can you tell everyone goodbye for me? Tell them I loved them. Deathbelle and Aryn and Recluse - please?" He hoped the voice he was hearing was real and belonged to someone who could pass along his message, not a figment of his imagination, something brewing inside his mind.