I began to realize some things as the Orcish spirits that served the dark nether began to fatten the coils around me. I pushed past my own problems for the first time in my existence, realizing I was not alone here. It was not a simple notion to occur, I assure you, because many had been here thousands of years longer than me and never awoken to it. I became, in the slightest degree, privy to just what the Twisting Nether was, and it was truly grotesque.
In essence, it is the need for life, and the denial of it. Through that same denial, they grow stronger, stronger off of our own weakness. Our own vanity at the mere thought that we deserved some better fate, and some semblance of the life that we once had. They put up fields of vision to obscure what was going on around you. Once in a great while, they would even let you touch the field with your ethereal spirit, only to let you kill whatever you touched. You watched on as it faded to dust, and the green mist that I did not recognize yet found familiar washed itself upon the mortal realm, if only for a short while.
Those who fully give in to their fate are granted physical bodies to do the bidding of the Twisting Nether. Even the undead, the practitioners of necromancy, were enslaved by it. These soldiers were nothing but empty shells inhabited by the spirits of the foul whirlwind, all perfectly understood that these same shells held no semblance of life. Their lust for life drives them mad, into frenzy that living beings cannot achieve without the greatest of strain and effort. It is like the carrot that drives the horse on in false hope to one day devour it for its own. I began to realize this as false hope. I began to realize a great many revelations in that singular moment, one bringing me to the brink of hopelessness.
The night I took my first human life, it was not fog. It was a creeping plague that is known in the nether as blight. I invited myself into the grasp of purgatory.