A State of Mind

[Rigley]

Spoiler:

Yep. Another IC thread from Rigley. Why isn't this in Echoes? Iunno. Sometimes I just like to keep some stuff easily set apart for my own convenience. I'm also hoping this will drive me to write more for this guy given its isolated thread.

As always, please give feedback!

1

What is your state of mind?

That's an interesting question, isn't it? I've thought so for well over the course of a decade. Perhaps two. Three, if one were to be most atrociously charitable to the musings of my youth, but I think not. Two decades-- the state of mind has fascinated me.

And I do well think it should, indeed-- So many set out to understand the mind. There are scientists which carve it up and pick it apart, probing each recess and undulating curve of the tissue as it runs its course from the frontal lobe to the bottom of the cerebellum, down to the bowing curve of the spinal cord. But, they're seeking insight on a mass of flesh. A mass of flesh which is no less important than the mind, but a mass of flesh no less. A sizable mush of gray matter which is, and this is speaking merely on physical terms, you. Your thoughts, your memories, your feelings, your emotions, your mind. At least it is while you keep a pulse.

The difference? Well in a way there is evident proof to begin with of the difference between the two. Can one break the brain? Certainly you can. You can lodge a blade into it, smash a skull in with a hammer like a true brute, or simply thrash it to pieces against a rock. Certainly one can break the brain, and with quite some ease. Can one break the mind? Oh certainly yes. Harrowed men babbling about the voices within the shadows, peculiar people obsessing over relics and others which have simply snapped under the crushing burdens of life-- oh certainly, one can break the mind. But to break the mind isn't to break the brain. Not excessively so, at least. Not in the slightest, in some cases.

No, I have never quite been as interested in the brain. The brain is frail. The brain is addled by age and can be riddled with disease-- depending on the circumstances little insects might even make a delicacy of it. Most horrible a fate indeed, but a reality of our twisted little world. The brain eventually rots away. But ghosts certainly lack a brain. Many of the restless dead have one, but it has long lost its function. But Forsaken still plot, still think, prepare, enjoy, revile and fixate upon matters. Ghosts sulk upon a life cut short or ambitions unfulfilled. They certainly lack a brain, but they even more assuredly have a mind to dwell upon these thoughts.


Where am I going with this? Only coming about in a full circle, dear reader (whom is, in my chief expectations, myself), to the question-- what is a state of mind?

Mine is perfectly normal! I should think the rest of the world is quite mad. Or so might any man say. “The rest of these men are completely lost in a sea of insanity! -- now fetch me my rifle, we must go relieve them of that inconvenience,” might be the words of the madman. Certainly no man thinks they are mad (save those who hold it in sheer self-fulfilled expectation), just as no man of ill-morals should think themselves cruel or evil by any lengths. Ends justify the means, the perspective of the individual outweighs that of the world around them. Indeed my interest then lies in just how one stumbles off that precarious step into the howling depths of unbridled madness. What can drive a man to sail above his morals and urges and on and on, never coming down from his wayward voyage into the black abyss which is the recesses of his fragmenting psyche?

Well, that's what I've always wanted to know. What is your state of mind? Normal? Then how might that be changed?

I've learned much about the psyche of the sapient mind, but so much more fascinating to me might be the breaking perception of the world. That plunge into darkness. Surely that isn't something a schoolmaster in Alterac nor a professor in Dalaran will instruct you over-- Such a topic is too 'ill-minded' or 'deranged'. They might just think me mad for wishing to ponder the matter in such detail. But I am not wholly alone-- at least not at the base roots of my little foray into this insidious little traversing of the landscape of the mind. One Doctor Robert Cerna Cook wrote that “certainly there is a point in which the human brain can stress and warp to the point where recovery becomes an effigy of the past. Those troubled by memories of strife and conflict are chief amongst the victims of this, as I have often observed in the aftermath of the Second War. Those afflicted by tremulous circumstance are yet another who suffer.” So therein I will begin.


My fondest regards to the dearest reader whom is myself, and my most passionate and vitriolic hatred to any whom might have absconded with this tome instead,

~E. A. Hastings

[Rigley]

2

The first step in subverting the marvelous realm of the mind is finding a means to stimulate it in ways which I would be quite ill-pressed to produce on my own. While a person might surely be susceptible to the ministrations of one being upon them, such a method is not what one might call effective, much less a conclusive study upon many in the true long term.

No, no. What I will need is a certain tonic. An elixir devised for purposes not wholly unlike my own, but perhaps for use in a more benevolent concepts. Some psychologists have found use of it, but many deem it rather ghastly nowadays. And I suppose in some ways they should. The near-total subversion of the human mind to be bound by the will of another, even if temporarily, is something which most have always looked down upon. But in order to better understand the complexity of the faltering mind one has to cross some boundaries, surely.

The tonic is one devised by one Herald Laulet Perrault, a Dalaran-born man of medicine, both of the magical and mundane nature. Perrault's tonic is a complex one, requiring the use of some mysticism and herbal works in order to (effectively) subdue the imbiber into a state which is quite easily subverted to the compulsions of the user. Amusingly (perhaps less so for the good Doctor), Perrault's tonic is little more than a marginally enhanced and far less ritualized 'Zuvembi Brew'-- a famous concoction of the troll witch doctors. The elixir has much of the same purpose as the Zuvembi Brew-- allowing the imbiber to be placed in a state of high suggestion where things about them may become excessively real. Illustrations may very well speak, or at least their mind may interpret a voice as originating from them. Paintings may seem as real as a person perched beside a window. It's an utterly fascinating realm of possibilities which is opened up by this single mixture.

It has taken quite some time, but I have a recipe for the solution. Perrault's Elixir is of course a mixture which is somewhat taboo to be seeking out, given its sordid reputation. From what I have gathered and tested upon a few undocumented volunteers I have found that the following brew is both effective and non-lethal-- The working elixir which I have produced calls for Adder's Tongue, minor amounts of Black Lotus, powdered Fadeleaf, and diluted Grave Moss. I have found that adding a fair salve of Terocone is best, as to prevent the imbiber for retching up the mixture due to the initially bitter taste. The effects of this mixture seem best suited when prepared with a mixture of water and a paste for a light sedating agent-- though the effects of the other herbs will largely counteract the issues of heightened urges for sleep, I have found. Thankfully any drowsiness seems to be quickly dispelled in a short span of time, making it perfect for prolonged evaluation.


Now I need only a proper salve. I have a small amount of the Perrault Elixir prepared in my study as I write this, but such will only be truly useful for perhaps two or three procedures. While I might very well prepare my evaluation in sequence to make more use of the elixir I would rather not risk the subject coming to full cohesive thought halfway through, thus ruining the entire operation. Indeed, it strikes me as a much more logical solution to simply prepare these series of operations in a safe span of time rather than testing the strength of my concoction just yet. Patience is ever rewarding, at least to the future self. I in the present will be quite satisfied to grovel over the possibilities instead.

With Perrault's Elixir fully prepared (and in time, made en mass) I am ready to conduct my experiments. While I am not wholly certain in my methodology, I am fairly assured that such an evaluation has not been conducted in the past-- and indeed I do not have overly much interest in finding out, lest my bias lean towards one outcome or another. Suffice to say I have prepared some chambers within my abode and shall be drawing in others for my investigation into the fragility of the mind; it should be an easy task to persuade the penniless transients and refugees into my efforts at least for a short term, but how effective their evaluations will be is something I find my self perturbed about. Will they prove as resilient as the common man? By all accounts they are the common man, but perhaps then the minds of the peasants, soldiers and kings do not hold the same strength. Indeed I should expect that willpower might very well be a deciding factor in these evaluations. Something to remember, I suppose.

All is ready! How anxious I am. I shall leave off this ledger with that notion of exuberance, then. As always, my fairest wishes to you, dear reader (whom would be myself), and a curse of impotence and misfortune upon any onlookers or brigands. I hope ravens dine upon your prying eyes.

~E. A. Hastings

[Rigley]

3

Today I begin my procedures in earnest. In my unnatural exuberance I have not gone so far as to forget proper procedure, however. From the trails of Westfall and Duskwood I plucked a transient by the name of Aaron Leer from the road-- The man told me he was a soldier looking for work with the decline of aggression in the northern lands, and that he would be 'just dandy' with assisting in my endeavors. The man was quite clearly of the western reach of Stormwind, given his thick accent. A brief conversation revealed that his family had been taken in his absence by the Defias Brotherhood, much to his insurmountable regret. The man would not be missed, I deduced. Though I found it rather repulsive to the ear to listen to his drawling voice, I merely nodded in sanguine acceptance of his willing nature. Most fortunate that he was the first to stumble my way.

I did not waste much time in acquainting him with the experiment. As far as he needed to be told, at least-- he would be imbibing an elixir and allowing me to observe its effects to different stimuli. He was cautious of our remote locale and the prospect of testing such an unlabeled salve, but quite astutely noted that I seemed 'a decent sort' and relinquished himself to the drug.

It was a crude start perhaps; my smaller dosage seemed to have lent itself to a higher concentration of the sedating agent prepared upon the bottom of the container-- either that, or I inadvertently scraped a mass off during my extraction of the elixir. The subject, to be quite blunt, collapsed moments after consumption. A rough start, but he shortly arose; luckily in enough time for me to abscond from the room and prepare for observation. When he roused himself he seemed to be somewhat belligerent, thinking himself trapped due to the now locked doors. Indeed I should suspect he was quite fearful given his sudden incapacitation-- I do expect he must have thought it part of my operation. While at first I thought to console him, my thoughts quickly dispelled the notion-- if it was the effect of trauma I was to test, then what better way than to induce a genuine sense? It was a deviant opportunity, but one I seized wholeheartedly.


I began my procedures in earnest, partway through his fit of anxiety in search of an exit to the chamber. I began simply with a sensory barrage; noises of varied intensities and frequencies generated by a gnomish contraption I had commissioned, much to his discomfort. It seems that certain chords instilled an air of ill-ease with the man. Perhaps it was a matter of the tone; I have attentively made marks and will proceed to document further results of the auditory reaction with future experiments. Needless to say the results yielded were most fascinating. The tones alone caused perspiration upon the subject, and a much more paranoid disposition. He seemed to wipe his palms off, and seemed slightly ill as well.

Next I began to administer illusions. Simple at first; bursting colors, which largely seemed to only draw his attention. As they weaved into monstrous or merely indistinguishable forms though I noticed that his first response was to flee to the opposite side of the room, even as they faded in and out in their wispy visage. For a man of arms he certainly seemed more the part of prey than any real hunter. A shame that it was not a more resilient man whom I was working upon, but a result is a result no less.

At this point I began to bridge towards reality. Prior to his occupation of the chamber I had prepared a few drudges for which to aid me in this experiment. The doors opened, and though he began to rapidly approach at first he recoiled in what can only be described as abject terror upon the sight of my servants approaching him. They had been specifically raised and prepared for this assessment, and thus were wholly lacking in hostility towards the man-- merely there to observe in interaction with the subject. Almost immediately upon their approach the subject withdrew and, seeing no visible means of escape, began to flay his fists out upon the drudges, making an uproar as he cried out for help against the field of passive undead.

Peculiarly, their inaction only appeared to provoke further confusion and weakness from the subject. As he tired he sunk to the ground, visibly sobbing into the sleeves of his tunic. At this point I decided to recall the drudges, the gates being locked behind to prevent him from a bolting escape. It was at this point that I studied my notes. The man was by all means terrified, and relapsing visages did indeed provoke a frantic response not wholly unlike the stress disorder listed by Doctor Cook within his dissertation. However, I find these conclusions lacking. Not in any scientific fact-- the reoccurring relapses of the subject despite the absence of the Perrault Elixir is testament to the truths established. But rather, the results seem much too dry. Uninteresting in a way, really. I feel that I might be able to devise a method of much more interest to test the limits of the psyche without resorting to the simple battering of a single man.

No, my vision is something much more complex. For it I will need others; to participate and to be subject to the participants. Luckily I have one of the latter thus far in the still detained Aaron Leer. One or two more should be all needed to suffice for another prepared procedure-- with a more precise batch of the Perrault Elixir, of course.

I do believe we are drawing nearer to matters of true intrigue. I will fully detail shortly, hopefully once I have conducted the first experiment.

~E. A. Hastings

[Rigley]

4

I wasted no time in preparing my next survey. I have only one mix of Perrault's solution left in my current stocks, with more to be available shortly with all going to plan. Just enough for a tentative trial of this operation.

It was not the easiest of operations to organize; piping to set in place, triggers to be done-- I required several consultations to my dusty ledgers on the basics of engineering, but luckily the drudges could be properly instructed in the process with supervision. It is at these times that I so wished I had found a gnome or at least a proper engineer to assist me-- though I would be a fool to go searching now. This array is crude, but effective. I set the previous subject within the room in his proper place and swiftly made my way out to scout for a prospective subject amidst the trails.

Finding a suitable aid was significantly more difficult this time. The trails were rather barren due to the early hour, and the transients passing through were all deathly fearful of the locale. At first I thought perhaps to make my way to Westfall, before I had the good fortune to stumble upon a minutemen from Darkshire. He was a rather spirited young man, seemingly of hardy constitution and average wit. I plead for his assistance and then made to escort him to my abode. He was very skeptical of the area-- perhaps rightfully so, due to the abandoned and admittedly foreboding visage of the derelict catacombs. Promptly upon entering he addressed me over it-- he even had the clever notion to accuse me of necromancy, as I had yet to impart upon him much knowledge of my profession. I did not answer, merely retreating into the next chamber. The gates were locked shut a short moment before he could make to rush after me-- and after that the doors were sealed, to contain the fumes of the sedative gas released into the small opening chamber. I was not overly impressed with the machinery-- one failed to deploy entirely, and another only expelled from one nozzle. In the future I must monitor my drudges' constructions much more closely.

Regardless of the technical deficiencies in the constructs, they proved effective. Shortly thereafter the minuteman was collapsed upon the floor, and was ready for preparation. The drudges and I entered into the chamber and set about disarming him. He was stripped down to the tunic and leggings beneath his armor, and his blade was removed from his person-- these would work quite well in setting the scene of his disappearance later. A drudge would complete the facade. Finally Perrault's Elixir was administered, and the drudges took him into the testing chamber proper. I entered the observational range, and waited for his awakening.


Needless to say, he was less than compliant upon his rising from slumber. At first he was frantic, issuing a slew of curses upon my person and calling for my presence. I did not entertain him with banter; I only read my prepared text and then sat back. My instructions were simple and clear, at least in my own opinion: Within this chamber is a man. You may leave this chamber at any time-- the method of release is simple. One is, at least.

The minuteman replied to my amplified voice in anger for several minutes, before he finally began to observe his surroundings. The testing chamber was situated as follows. A large opaque holding chamber, open to the above. Within was the prior subject, suspended by his arms and balanced upon a pipe beneath him. To any within the chamber, he could not be observed. Above his chamber was a pipe, leading in from a container of water, tethering down the gate out of the room by a heavy iron chain. Connected to that container was a pump.

Beyond the obvious and (to most) ghastly solution there was also one which was designed to be more adverse. One of the tombs within this chamber had been carved further into. A grate was placed before it, and the method of entry was made via a seemingly infectious gap within the stone. It was coated with layers of plague residue-- thus while it appeared virulent and released an ominous mist, it was in fact wholly lacking in danger (save for consumption). Further within this tunneled crypt was a precarious array of jagged stone, arranged with the altar further within to create a rather ghoulish visage. The tomb here was quite musty, the environment oppressing to even I, being used to working in such conditions within these catacombs. The heat was made stifling by burning herbs I had set within, and it was likely that the presence of the conflagration would be enough to burn the eyes with the residue released.

Despite the attempt at such an atmosphere the object and guardian of said object was very simple. Upon the wall atop the altar was a text, detailing a combination which could be deciphered to open the lid of the altar beneath it. Within was a key, able to unlock the chain tethering the container weighting down the gate in the main chamber. It was, by my personal accounts, an easy feat to accomplish if one was careful not to gore themselves upon entry of the passage.

The minuteman approached the pump first, naturally. A quick observation could show him that it was connected to the gate in some way; he seemed angered still, but visibly relieved at the apparent ease of which this process was prepared. He came upon the pump and gave it a simple tug or two, watching as the gate twitched with the expulsion of water from the container poised beside it. He began to pull once more, and then caught ear of the thrashing of the subject within the container, who I assume was snapped awake from his stupor by the liquid pouring down upon him. The minuteman drew back immediately-- I do believe I could nearly see the gears turning within his head as he made his way to the chamber, knocking on it as if to gauge response. The muffled subject made a call in return, indecipherable through the gag which had been situated upon him.

At this point the observation became excessively more interesting. The minuteman pounded upon the chamber for a brief moment in attempt to find some way to release the fluid already within; a logical solution perhaps, but impossible with his lack of ability to actually pierce the solid tank. His aggression against the chamber faded as he caught sight of the other gate and passage; though he appeared very cautious to approach the seeping gash within the stone he could visibly see the release within. After a moment of composure he braced himself and thrust his hand into the gap, long enough to turn the gate open and tear his arm from the apparently plagued chamber. An amount of courage I was not overly expecting, given his initial outburst. He seemed much more hesitant to crawl into the tomb, however; and certainly the grasping claws of the partially risen drudges within were a deterrent. I rounded to the other side of the observational chamber, so that I might be able to watch further. Ever slowly the minuteman made his way in, withdrawing at the slightest crumbling stone or flexing of a withered hand. As he came in contact with the mist of the burning plaguewood he drew himself back in an instant, vocalizing his pain as the fumes came in contact with his unshielded eyes.

For a long, rather stifling amount of time he remained poised against the back of the carved tomb, staring at the altar ahead and the text upon it. I must assume the pressure of the situation and the pain from the mist must have impeded him greatly, as e seemed to not consider approaching further. Instead he crawled back out of the tomb and leaned his head against the tank containing the prior subject, vocalizing what I imagine was dialogue of apology from the way his face contorted. Once more, a lengthy span was spent just frozen in this one action. I thought to prod him onward at first, but just as I moved to call forth illusions upon the room he stood upright and began to stagger back to the gate out. With a look of gloom upon his face he pulled the pump down, resulting in more thrashing from within the chamber behind him. His grimace grew, but he began to pull regularly. Luckily the machine was rigged expertly-- it was only as the final drop emptied into the chamber that the canister pulled up, the sound of merry clockworks filling the room momentarily before the door fell open for the minuteman. He began to make his way out, and started to sprint as the sound of the thrashing and guttural, drowned gasps for breath began to echo from within the tank.

The prior subject was pronounced deceased quite quickly, and the minuteman had been long gone before the body had gone still. It was at this point as he passed out of the only prepared chamber that I had a rather fiendish thought. It was cruel, but then again in all fairness the man did slay the subject over a rather simplistic riddle. I called for the drudged to empty and release the chamber, and made my way down. A brief moment later and the body of the prior subject was reanimated, and unleashed into the darkened chambers beneath where the minuteman roamed now. Let us not leave anyone to report of this location, after all.


The minuteman, lacking weapons and armor, fared poorly against the brute strength of the risen subject.

I must confess that while this procedure was somewhat crude in nature and surely an unpolished methodology, it did grant me some interesting results. This is, in essence, what I would consider to be the true fragmentation of the mind. The point where it is forced to fold in upon itself, and crush its urges of morality and ideology alongside it. Where man may revert himself to a period of a feral frenzy, all focused upon survival. The mind does not only break, but regress. It is a most interesting thing to behold as a guardsman sworn to his people is made to slay a man for his own survival. Or rather, his immediate survival.

I am eagerly awaiting the next batch of Perrault's elixir. In the meantime I must invest in better craftsmanship for my devices. Until then,

~E. A. Hastings

[Rigley]

5

Time does fly on.

It has been precisely twenty days since I first began my experimentation with the rigging in the catacombs below. I have processed some eighteen subjects or so throughout it, with varying results. It is a most curious thing to behold the mind under duress, I have found.

Of the eighteen, I have found that most are more than willing to sacrifice the secondary subject. Most are wholly adverse to entering the auxiliary chamber, and even more so are simply petrified at the concept of inflicting an open wound upon themselves in such a noxious environment. Upon present records, eleven have opted to simply slay the man and flee. Granted, nine of those subjects were slain upon their exodus from the chamber by the reanimated drudge in return.

The latest subject was a human woman; a willing participant of Hearthglen, whom was somewhat perturbed at her situation upon her awakening within the testing chamber. She appeared quite wrathful for someone of such an age and profession-- a priestess, I observed, as she made attempts at an alternative solution to my presented trial with her magic. From her later exchange and her intent observation of the rigging within the chamber I assume her to have some knowledge of engineering. What I found upon her lifted belongings strengthens that belief. Regardless, she was unable to tamper with the devices within the room. I had made certain of that previously-- And while this was the first to attempt such a solution, I am quite pleased to see that it was without error.

Her procedure through the initial phase of the chamber was quick enough. It seems that she, like many of the subjects, found the trial presented as a bit of a challenge.

Close. She was quite close. But in the end the chill of the secondary subject's holding cell had claimed his life (or so he had simply fallen into unconsciousness). Quick work was made to remove him and prepare him for deployment into the chamber ahead. I noticed she was happy to carve a parting message for me shortly after her escape, to which I responded cordially to. I sense some lingering hostility. Perhaps she will entertain another session with me in pursuit of such.

All interesting. Most interesting, indeed. Though all my praise said over this current chamber, I am beginning to grow tired of it in some faint capacity. While certainly a most effective method and a sound preparation, I feel that observation of the same situation can only keep interest so long. Variety is the spice of life, after all. I have begun to draft plans for another chamber, with my future housings for them secure. One must not perform too often in the same area, I have observed. Such is how one finds various assorted crowds of the dissenting outside your gates, brandishing blades and torches. Such is an intricate and masterful game of chess one must play, should they operate so disjointedly from the confines of law and regulation.

That being said, such is a game I am prepared to play.


At any rate, that is a matter of discussion for another time. Until then, I shall continue with this rudimentary chamber constructed beneath-- I have a few more prepared for survey, and I do believe I can yet summon the enthusiasm for a few more observations to be conducted under this current rigging. I have noticed a marked population of humans amongst my testing subjects, as an aside note. While perhaps to be expected given my inquiries, perhaps I should diversify my adverts. Disguise them. Perhaps hire a crew which could post them in the lands of the Horde as well. Portals would ensure safe passage without detection, and a variance of locale should prevent the rare intellectual from discerning any exact location.

A plan indeed. Now, only to enact it. I will write once more, once I have news to provide further.

~E. A. Hastings