Journal: The Precipice of Pain

[Tiln'anar]

This is a public journal from Lord Nar, and is now openly available for consumption.​

Entry 1: Beginnings

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Pain. Some fear it and flee from its grasp. Some ignore it, pretending they’re beyond its influence, despite the toll it takes on them. Others still seek it out, finding elation in its embrace. No matter the attitude towards it, pain has an effect. It’s physical, raw, and undeniable. Even the ability to set it aside and ignore it forces a price, the damage to one’s frame compounding exponentially and significantly increasing the cost of healing.

Pain is primal; cause and effect. The body is affected by something, the nerves send impulses to the brain, the brain returns the sensation of pain - until you cut out the body completely, and merely focus on the nerves. Inflicting pain on another, manipulating and controlling what their body, their mind is telling them is occurring. Taking direct control of the nervous center of another being. Their physical body is not under siege, yet you convince it that it is. You manipulate the nerve center, which sends impulses to the brain, the subject’s own mind telling them they’re in agony without leaving a single physical scratch on them.

Yet the mind is potent. Control a subject long enough, convince their mind that they’re on fire or that they’ve been cut open, there is a disconnect. They can see it isn’t accurate, there is no wound. Yet their nerves and their mind tell them otherwise, thus the mind makes it real. Let it go on long enough, the mind creates the damage to the frame - or it breaks entirely and forces a scism. A disconnect.

Where, though, does that precipice lie? Pain incapacitates, but what if it could do more? What if it were possible to prime the subject’s body to receive that which they expect is coming to them, and cause their minds to not only manifest the damage they believe occurs to them, but open themselves up to further agony in the process? Does the brain, the mind, become willing to accept its suffering and more, to make sense of what it is being told occurs to it?

When the flames took me, I felt everything. I was on fire. I could see it, I could feel it, yet the agony became elation. It couldn’t touch me. The flames licked at my skin for hours and consumed everything around me, yet I was untouched. Is that where the illusion breaks? That I could see the effects of the fire and what it caused, yet I was immune? Or was it the power coursing through me that I had made my own that shielded me?

That power is gone, though its influence lingers. The holocron leaves its mark - lighting me aflame once more as if in reminder. Yet, it’s different. Where before I remained untouched, now the effects are physical. Deep chasms in my skin as if all moisture had been removed from my body; something that should take days to heal but disappears in hours. I’m engulfed in the fire, I can feel it burning everything around me - yet only I’m affected; my clothing, the room, nothing else suffers its effects. It’s an infliction, and I suffer for it long past when the infliction itself ends. So how, then, do I transfer that to others through my own inflictions?

I need answers, whether they’re contained within the holocron, in experimenting on the bodies of others, or somewhere else entirely. The elation of control will be mine.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 2: Cell Division

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The holocron was quiet the last time I drew on its knowledge, disturbingly so. Cold to the touch, responsive, yet repelling. None of the heat, none of the pain. I wonder if knows what I crave, and thus seeks to deny me. No matter.

I’ve had some unwilling subjects ‘fall into my lap’ as it were. Those that led the smuggling cells on Ihiri and were delivered to me provided an opportunity not only to utilize more conventional interrogation techniques, but test out a hypothesis surrounding how much pain one could take without true physical application before the mind began to cause injuries to justify the sensations being fed to it. Once the information I required was extracted there was no further need for subtlety. The subjects are being kept in a sleep deprived state for further testing, as it is my belief that this barrier between the mind’s understanding of pain and the development of physical malady is the key to my own progression.

Once I can repeatedly replicate the tipping point where the mind begins to damage its frame, while under the influence of outside catalysts for now of course, I can begin working towards brushing up against that tipping point with pain alone.

Perhaps I should also look into at what point most humanoid bodies go into shock, and stop reacting to the pain around them. There may be answers in those triggers as well. Either way, I will require further subjects and a broader range if this is to be successful.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 3: Mockery

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It mocks me, almost as if it knows that I desire to learn from its ability to force a reaction. Each time prior that I have sought secrets within the holocron, it's left me wreathed in flames, or been cold to the touch. This time its surface was hot - so hot in fact that it left blisters and burns where my hands connected with it, but only when they connected did it light itself aflame. There was no edge between the perception of pain and the actuality of it, the flames were there. They burned. They left their mark.

While I've had the opportunity to repeatedly test my theories on a few of my slaves, I don't feel as though I'm coming closer to an understanding of where to continue. Not yet. I was advised to find Force sensitives capable of inflicting pain on others that belong to neither the Jedi nor the Sith, rare as they might be - and that they may hold the key to answers.

I'll have to delve further into the matter. Perhaps my recent vision holds a clue...

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 4: Silence

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Cold. Again. There's a silence there where there shouldn't be, answers kept tightly concealed behind chilled metal where there should be burning coals. No matter.

I knew the answers would not solely lie here, but I believed there might be more to garner. I'll need to seek out that which I was given advice to find: Force users - neither Sith nor Jedi, that have a deep connection to that which I desire. I've been unable to find a lead thus far, but another hint was given. Those that once were, but are now converted. There may be an answer in the archives of the Sith after all, that can lead me back to the source.

Until I find a lead, however, my own experimentation must continue. I'll have to widen my subject pool to assure the data is not tainted by unintended similiarities, be they biological or mental.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 5: Projections

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I don't know why I didn't consider it before. Perhaps because my focus has shifted since, and I'd failed to either utilize or practice in full - perhaps because I'd not truly put the matter to the test. Or perhaps because I'd never truly grown potent enough for it to matter. When I project, truly project - not merely a telekinetic double for fighting - if the projection is harmed I feel the pain. If it is destroyed or forcibly dispelled, it is anguish; enough to stun and stagger.

It does not matter that the surface lies cold. It imparts to me what I require otherwise, but knew enough to mock me in seeking answers it did not wish to give. I can test this separation of body and mind, of pain passed between; I can see how far it can be pressed before the edges of madness and paranoia begin to draw a veil over my mind. It may still not be enough. That thin line between staggering and further vulnerability remains elusive, though every angle must be pursued.

The pain is sweet. Annoyingly, pursuit of the converted may have to wait what with the return of the enemy that nearly killed me as an Acolyte. I recall madness and pain then, too. Though, our hunt returns us to Kaas; there is much to be found in the archives.

I will have answers.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 6: Cracks and Coils

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Time creeps forward, often in leaps and bounds as if seeking to catch one unawares. My mind turns to what we've discovered of Tave Sefank, most especially of this Locus Coil that brought the potent to their knees willing or otherwise when an invisible barrier was breached.

I have never been overly potent with matters of the mind, a weakness I seek to correct. I have repeatedly theorized that there is some form of mental barrier, invisible much like that of this Coil, that must be breached in order for a subject's mind to turn on themselves and leave them open to more. The answers continue to elude me. While there may be hints within the domination of the mind, it is not directly tied to my desires. Domination of the body that then controls the mind is another matter entirely... or is it?

Another angle to pursue, yet more questions than answers. It's as if the holocron knows. For the first time in months, it has forced something from me when sharing its secrets; my skin cracking open and splitting like a riverbed in a desert long gone dry. The pain is very real, the physicality of it cannot be questioned, yet something that should take days to heal is gone in a matter of hours.

How much of that is my mind telling me the reality of the pain - how much is it refusing it? I cannot force the results reliably enough to be assured of anything. More questions.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 7: Body, Brain, Barrier

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One does not normally request torture, not if one is of sane mind. Less so request it from me while being acutely aware of who and what I am, and nearly as aware of what I am capable. Such a request provides opportunity.

My subject created an opening that I'd yet to fully consider. Those potent enough and capable of ignoring injury are also capable of ignoring any form of inflicted pain. But the body still feels, and grows worse the longer the infliction continues. If I were to ignore my broken leg and continue to walk upon it, I'd require further medical care due to the damage I'd done to myself; this is no different. No. Correction. This is not exceptionally different.

Pressing pain on individuals capable of resisting me with their own potency in the Dark Side may be the key to where to begin. I've been looking at the barrier, the knife edge, the thin line where the body tells the mind so acutely that something is occurring that the mind makes it reality. But that line can shift, especially if the subject has such strong control over their own augmentation.

Pinning down that line, knowing what and where to expect reactions based on one's ability to ignore pain; that is a matter I can utilize for experimentation. That can give me answers. Not to all my questions, but to some.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 8: Compressed and Layered

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My theory proved correct, at least in part. What I'd failed to realize until experimentation began was that as often as not layers were required to see to the desired effect. For those that can ignore pain, the mind must be pushed ever further. They are further capable than most of recognizing an infliction as separate from reality, thus the infliction must press at multiple angles in order to shift towards suspension of disbelief.

Stacking variations, or layers of pain atop one another will not be viable in the longer term, I shall have to learn to affect the sensation all at once. Yet that moment of vulnerability, where the mind accepted what was happening as reality, was achieved; not once, but on seven separate subjects of varying ability. Next comes practice, repetition. Compressing the stretched application of layers into one overwhelming infliction that cannot be denied. That should not be a problem, given enough time.

That brings me to the next step, the next point that eludes me - how to stretch the infliction to encompass more victims. The focus created for me allows it, though it reflects the sensation back to me. Another barrier to progress, discovering a means of breaking past blocks and becoming more. I shall have to capture the sensation of 'how' with the focus' aid, then wean myself of it as a requirement. How remains to be seen, though I shall not stop until I find the answers I desire.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 9: Conduits

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Exquisite. Searing agony and elation. This is not the first time I've experienced sheer, raw power coursing through my body, burning and scarring as it went; my trials to become Sith involved much the same and have left their scars for all to see. Vestus growled its warning. The skies broiled. A strike was inevitable, that much was blatantly clear - less so was that I would be the target. Twice.

My Sith trials scarred me, body and mind. I expended a great deal of energy to cope with the effects of what had occurred, to ensure that it never again would occur. I enhanced my precognition to inform me of the moment that danger became most prevalent, I enhanced my tutaminis so that I would be the one in control of the facets of energy coursing through my frame. In that moment, yesterday, none of that mattered. Twice.

The raw power of the storm coursed through me. I was the physical conduit for its journey, its path searing lines upon and through my flesh. My thoughts split, returning partially to my trial within which the power of the crystal ritual was decimated and coursed through me leaving permanent marks aplenty, partially to my trial where I controlled the flames as they seared across my bone without leaving a single mark. The power was exquisite, and I was marked anew. Twice.

The first was manageable, I could push through despite every movement reviving agony. Pain is fuel. My nerve endings on fire brought elation and determination, a need for more. I fed on it, and it was enough to spur me to and through the goals at hand. The second was something else entirely as it drove me to my knees. Not mere pain to be pushed through and ignored or to serve as fuel, but understanding.

That sheer, raw power is one of the aspects I lack. The odds of being struck twice are astronomically low. The Dark Side had the answers I required, my need to see them through made me the conduit. The strikes were not random acts of nature, I was not the coincidental target. Power made this happen. My power. In that moment when the second strike coursed through me I knew - this was mine. Vestus is meant to shape and transform, that is why they chose it. They didn't expect that answers would be revealed to those that will be their destruction.

I've chosen to make this journal public, may it function to inspire and ignite others to embrace agony and power in all its forms, fueling themselves to greater depths and potency in the Dark Side.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 10: Reassessment

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I was wrong. Partially. I thought I required pure power, but it is not mere power I require but potency.

I have visited Ri Sirsia twice. Once shortly after our return from Vestus where the thoughts of pure, raw power still blinded me directly following the two lightning strikes inflicted upon my flesh. It seemed blatantly clear, power was power by any means. I could harness the power the lightning brought, I could harness it and the potency of the Dark Side would be bent to my command, will, and desire. That day I theorized, rather than put into practice.

My second visit proved more illuminating. The time was right, the fleet hovered over Yankun as a part of its patrol of the Dominion. I had a subject I brought along with me, accompanied by those that were required for entry into Ri Sirsia itself. I opened myself to the power - bathed in it. Let it course through me as I felt each and every stitch and twinge along my scars as I moved; reminders of endurance. The power was there, but I've been capable of drawing on that power before; the lens I sought to focus and hone this particular lightning strike was entirely uncalibrated, metaphorically speaking. The pain I inflicted was exquisite, but no more than what I was already capable of; I was wrong.

A failure in this process is not a defeat. Instead, it's another step along the path; an angle, a variable tested, discarded, and removed from further experimentation. I do need a lens. I need that potency, to feel the pain that others have caused before and heighten mine to match it. Power without focus is wasted.

I have ideas. Locations in which agony was so thick you could positively taste it while breathing. I shall visit them, and they will serve as my lens. Ironic, that pain and suffering are so key to his designs; he provides me with the potential for answers like a banquet laid out before me to pick and choose delicacies from.

I was wrong. Partially. But soon I will know more.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 11: The Valley

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Vestus. The Valley of Scars, where the Ninth Scar endured through their training and trials, their blood leaving stains on the rocks; echoes of trauma left behind, as I presumed they would be. Echoes and trauma still strong enough to draw upon - my lens.

I could feel it. Feet running the pathways until they bled, razer sharp rocks biting into flesh as broiling wind whipped grating sand into open wounds. The need to endure it all, to soak up the pain and make it a part of your existence. I took it as my own.

The sensation is difficult to put into words. Elation. Euphoria. Ecstasy. That exquisite moment when something shifts, and what was blurry becomes clear; a puzzle piece slotting into place. By drawing on the Valley and its trauma, I was more potent. The agony more intense, pushed to the point where I could paralyze my subject and render them entirely incapable, past the point of what endurance allows.

I know where I must go next.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 12: The Perfected

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The manufacturing centers on Tharkos were destroyed when we bombarded the planet. However, while on the trail of the Straight Shot and its blackbox we came across something else. Yagani Prime, a manufacturing center called Secundus Delta, where we were led into a trap and set upon by dozens of Children of Pain.

Half of those present described an area which was clean. Too clean, clinically sterile. As if everything within had been suddenly removed and wiped down, yet with what appeared to be assembly stations and a projector in place. Assembly, and conditioning. Towards 'perfection'. I returned on a hunch. A theory. One that proved viable.

Vestus was endurance; trauma turned into the baseline of one's very being. This was something else. Knives cutting into flesh, peeling back layers of skin and fraying nerves to attach machinery. Limbs torn away and replaced with frigid metal, the electric spark of cybernetics forever activating the screaming baseline that had become the foundation of the Childrens' very being. Vestus was sharp, yet jagged. Secundus Delta is sharp yet acute - another focus, another lens.

What I inflicted on my subject amounted to a facet of the pain the Children experience in their creation, and throughout their existence. Her screams ceased when her voice gave out, as she writhed to try and escape the 'perfection' I could channel in this place. It no longer surprises me why I was unable to affect the Children here with further pain; they were already drowning in it through each heartbeat. Each breath.

I'm closer. Using this place, I can tie it together with what I've already gained. Though something is still missing. A third facet. Unlike the first two, this final piece remains obscured. Perhaps others can shed light on somewhere steeped as deeply as Vestus and Secundus Delta have been.

End of entry.

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[Tiln'anar]

Entry 13: Full Circle

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I should have known. It should have been so obvious. After Vestus and Secundus Delta I felt as if something was missing; the "lens" wasn't fully calibrated or attuned. This journal began after my trial, when the flames took me and I remained emblazened in an inferno for hours on end. Fitting, then, that understanding came from returning to where this all started.

Lord Dravath's tomb is filled with the unsuccessful. The failures. Those that either willingly or were forced to drink the toxin that combusts the body from the inside out, and died in agony as they were cooked alive. I know exactly what they felt, it is what consumed me - though my flesh did not burn.

Tapping into something that intimately experienced and understood brought it all flooding back. The power. The elation. The agony. That place reverberated and refracted the sensation hundreds of times over; inflicting what I experienced on my subject came even more easily than it had previously.

She screamed, much as she did previously, until she had no voice left. Writhed to escape the flames that she could not see, but could feel consuming her; not just externally, but from within; exquisite. I could have gone on for hours, watched her 'burn' without truly being touched - but her heart would have given out. It makes me wonder, can more be done? Can an infliction, pain without true source, kill if enough pressure is applied? I shall have to test that in the future.

For now, however, I have the answers I sought regarding potency; only one thing remains: spread. All in time. For now I must assure I can repeat what I've gained - I will enjoy this.

End of entry.

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