The Ocularum

THE OCULARUM

Location:
West Dream Analytics

Overview

- This page is intended for RP threads taking place at or in relation to the Ocularum! Additional information regarding the organization and its workings can also be found below. -

On the outskirts of Pumpkin Hollow, where the rural Northwest Hollow meets the edges of Lockwood Forest, there is a cottage. A thatched roof with wooden detailing houses a tall brick chimney from which a rich pinewood smoke rises in plumes. Warm and inviting windows glow with lantern light. A red door with a golden knocker is seated below a sign. "WEST DREAM ANALYTICS," it reads. This is both the home and the business of psychic dream therapist Neil West. Indeed, it is also the meeting place of the organization which he founded--- the Ocularum.

You must be invited to attend either by another member or by Neil himself, though they don't tend to be picky. Moreso they are cautious. They've been burned before for speaking out against the church's way of doing things. But they are committed to action. The Ocularum believes that they can settle the issue of Pumpkin Hollow's haunting once and for all, and that the Temple of Sacred Roots is doing nothing but hindering progress. But if you earn their trust, they will show you the secrets which they believe are key to finally undoing the curse besetting the island.

Membership

Initiation | Due to their poor relations with much of the island, the Ocularum is slow in its induction process. Start with a simple orientation and earn the trust of its members over time to learn more.

Benefits | Those who work with the Ocularum will find themselves less impacted by the effects of the curse and better prepared for what the island throws at them. This is in part due to Neil's occult expertise and strategies taught by him for dealing with these things, but members also find themselves passively having better luck as well.

Drawbacks | Neil's outspoken views against the Temple's methods and ongoing feud with Dahlia Leeds has not made the Ocularum particularly popular. Joining them may occasionally earn you the ire of others. There are also sometimes murmurings about "costs" among the members, implying that there may be some financial expectations.

Philosophy

The Ocularum believes that the solution to Marrow Isle's problems lies in occult knowledge and direct action. Whether the result of an angry ancient deity, restless spirits, or a leyline of dark energy beneath the land, there is some terrible magic plaguing the island. It can be treated. It can be harnessed.

However, the Temple's insistence on waiting around for dead or apathetic goddesses to answer the prayers of the people is putting this on hold. The Historical Society is no better, focusing on reactionary measures gleaned from dusty old books. And the heretics in the forest are respectable folk but are exposing themselves to unnecessary danger. The Ocularum needs bold and dedicated truth seekers who aren't afraid to step into the unknown for the sake of protecting themselves and their neighbors.

art credit, code credit

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Ahh, I see. Yes, we have spider-folk in this particular corner of reality. Or 'arachnae,' more properly. Though they're quite an uncommon species, especially above ground. Most prefer to live in Hepogaia, the subterranean nation."

At the last comment, he raises a brow suspiciously. That could mean a lot of things. "Oh? And just what have you heard?"

"How lovely -- if also rather frustrating -- to be reminded that there is an entire world beyond this island," Tarantulas remarks wistfully. "I shall have to hope I have the chance to see it all one day."

But he can't let himself be distracted too far from the current topic of discussion.

"Only good things, so far as I'm concerned," he says cheerfully, waving a hand as if to dismiss even the possibility of having heard anything negative about Dr. Neil West, although the reassurance may be undercut slightly when he follows it up with, "I'm hardly going to let a bunch of laymen tell me how to judge someone's research, after all. What do they know? But I'm especially interested in your clinical practice -- using dreams to provide relief from traumatic memories? Is that how it works? I was hoping I might convince you to let me make a trial of it."

As Tarantulas answers the question, Neil's face maintains a strangely unreadable expression as if he is intentionally concealing his opinion on what is being said. If he is concerned or annoyed by the idea that people may be speaking ill of him, or whether he agrees or disagrees with the idea that the opinions of average folk shouldn't matter, he does not indicate it with his face.

However, when the discussion shifts to that of his dream therapy, his eyes light up like a struck match and his posture straightens. "Yes, that's correct! I have a rare innate ability known as dream-walking, which allows me to project my consciousness into the unconscious minds of others while they are asleep. I use this ability, combined with my skill as a mental health professional, to address traumatic dreams directly at the source and coach the patient on how to take control of their own psyche to alleviate symptoms. It is only one part of my trauma therapy, as they obviously need assistance coping with their past in waking life and I cannot simply magic their pain away. However, many patients find it extremely cathartic and that it allows them to get calm, restful sleep. Sometimes for the first time in years. And using those first steps as a foundation for consistent, long-form treatment has yielded fantastic results. I would be delighted to demonstrate."

"So it's an ability you were born with, not something that can be taught?" If Tarantulas is at all disappointed by this information, he gets over it quickly. He continues, "How wonderful, though! Normally I would expect some sort of hardline connection to be necessary to achieve that sort of mind-to-mind contact --" An unwanted thought suddenly occurs to him; his mouth twists for a moment before he says, uncertainly, "Just to be clear, this procedure doesn't carry any risk to you, does it? It's only that...well."

He struggles a moment more with his wording. "Many of my nightmares incorporate imagery and sensory data that was deliberately designed to be damaging to the psyche. I'm afire with curiosity! But it would better not to damage you."

Better for whom, exactly? Well, everyone, of course.

"It can be somewhat risky, yes, but I have spent my entire life honing my skills in this regard and I know my limits. I can make my exit if things get too dicey," Neil assures him. "But most likely I will be able to handle it. There is... a layer of cognitive separation, if that makes sense."

"Oh!" Tarantulas's mood immediately rebounds, into a near-manic cheerfulness. "Well, that's fine then! In fact it might be perfect. So." He clasps his hands together. "You mentioned something about appointments? Do tell, what time and day would work best for you, doctor? For something like this, hyeh," he giggles brightly, "My schedule is quite flexible."

Neil can't help but laugh as well, his patient-to-be's excitement inevitably infectious. Whether it is because it is mutual or simply that the energy in the space has abruptly become very heightened is hard to say, even for Neil. "Splendid! I haven't got any clientele lined up for this service at the moment, so I'm free any weekday. I tend to do this sort of thing overnight for obvious reasons."

"Of course! I myself am somewhat crepuscular when left to my own devices -- when I'm not suffering from full-blown insomnia that is, hyeh hyeh -- but the nice thing about all the running around I've been doing lately is it does make it easier to catch a few winks here and there..." Tarantulas pauses thoughtfully for a moment before suggesting a date a few days in the future, in the middle of the week.

"I don't have anything scheduled the following morning," he explains. "If we're going to be examining my nightmares, it seems like a good idea to make sure I won't be in the position of having to pretend civility to anyone the next day -- not counting you, of course." He smiles sweetly.

"Ah, that is of no concern," Neil assures him. "It's only fair that a client might be a bit... grouchy. After a session of dream therapy. I'll warn you that they're not very pleasant, although most find them quite cathartic."

"Shall we aim for Wednesday, then? What time? I can work whenever you feel most comfortable sleeping, in my office or at your home."

"That should work very well. Perhaps I might come to you at 10 o clock? I'm afraid my home is still a little disorganized..." And more to the point, if Tarantulas has to cope with the excitement of trying something new and the stress of inviting a stranger into his private space, he'll never be able to fall asleep at all.

See? He is capable of being diplomatic!

"Ten o'clock it is! I'll keep the lantern lit for you." Neil seems just as excited. It's been a while since he's had a proper client for this sort of work. "Do let me know if there's anything I can do to prepare that will make you more comfortable."

Tarantulas arrives at the agreed upon date and time, so keyed-up that he's nearly vibrating. He's not sure which would be worse: if he fails to fall asleep at all, which would, alas! Mean he won't get to see Dr. West's techniques in action! Or if he does sleep and dream, and the doctor sees something untoward? A possibility he really should have considered before signing up for this venture, but once again his scientific curiosity has gotten the better of him...

He shall simply have to hope that no disaster occurs! Because what else can he do, cancel the appointment? Pfft, what would be the point in that?

In his cottage, Neil has prepared the simple but comfortable bed which sits in the back of his therapy office. His usual accoutrements are laid out on the bedside table there--- an eye mask, an herbal tea containing a sleep aid, a glass of water, a magical white noise device that he enchanted. He has a recliner positioned nearby for himself with similar items at hand, though his beverage is geared more toward focus. He also has an amulet in the shape of an eye with a sunburst around it, set in the pupil with a ruby.

He awaits the knock of his client. Or perhaps Tarantulas will simply let himself in?

Yeah, you've got him pegged. Tarantulas lets himself in, calling softly for Dr. West in his hoarse voice. He's still dressed in his work clothes for the day -- actually, Tarantulas usually sleeps in his spider form, although he's not sure how to bring that up.

"Good evening," he says, appearing almost shy compared to his normally boisterous mania. "Are you ready for me?"

Neil pokes his head out from the office, visible from the door via the hallway. "Yes! Just in here."

"Right..." Tarantulas takes his coat off and folds it over one arm as he enters the room, looking around with mixed curiosity and poorly-repressed anxiety. It feels very strange to be this nervous about attempting a new experiment, and he's worried Dr. West will think him rather pathetic for it. He's done surgery on himself before, after all! He's done surgery on himself many many times.

So with in mind he tries to stiffen his spine and smile, saying, "Quite the cozy set-up you've got here, doctor."

"That's the idea," Neil agrees cheerfully. "You need to be comfortable and relaxed in order to sleep. That's already a challenge in an unfamiliar environment, especially considering that you're being monitored. It's tricky to make yourself relax enough to rest. These are all just aids to the process."

He stands aside and lets Tarantulas take a good look around.

"I'm going to step out. You don't need me looming while you're trying to quiet your mind. But I'll return in about an hour, and when I start seeing signs that you've entered your REM cycle, I'll join you in your dream from that chair there. Alright?"

Neil has the right idea. Just being told that he won't be monitored right away has Tarantulas's posture loosening, his discomfort diminished with the news that he won't be observed while he's actively trying to fall asleep.

He smiles at Neil a little more easily and nods, sitting down to take his boots off. "Then I'd best get started," he says. "Unless there's anything else you need to tell me?"

"Unless you have further questions, I believe we're all squared away. Shall I leave you to your rest?" He seems just as chipper as always, but more serene somehow, as if he's winding down as well.

"Yes, please. I'll try not to take too long."

As soon as Neil has left, Tarantulas immediately tries the tea, sitting down on the edge of the bed to slowly sip and calm himself down. This is an experiment, he reminds himself. Even if it goes poorly, that will still be important data.

Even so, it takes him a while to finish undressing and settle under the covers, his extra legs wrapped tightly around his body. When Neil returns, he might notice that the part of Tarantulas' face not being crushed into the pillow is crunched in a stressed-out frown, as if sleep is an unpleasant task he must endure.

Neil returns with impeccable timing, just as Tarantulas has entered REM sleep. He seems to almost have a sense for it. Perhaps he does.

He takes a seat in his comfortable chair, takes a few minutes to drink his tea and don his pendant, then folds his hands over his lap and closes his eyes.

For a few moments, there is only the sound of soft breath in the room. And then the world fades away. The body of Neil becomes a latent vessel separate from himself, whose only job is breathing and remaining upright. The true self, Neil's essence, is beyond him now. Not asleep but not awake. He wanders the fringes of a nearly barren landscape. Sand dunes at night, a full moon casting silver light down on the roiling liquid ground. Neil steps across the glistening sand with no footprints, gliding, as if the shifting beneath his feet is of no consequence. Like walking on water. There is deafening silence.

And then, a threshold is broken. He steps across an invisible line. And he is transported somewhere else.

The transition is a subtle one. Silver sand turns golden-brown, and the dunes begin to climb, twisting into great crumbling peaks that claw at the blistering sky. The air is hot and gritty. There's no one in sight -- but somewhere far away, someone is screaming.

Between two looping dunes, a shallow trough has been dug, surrounded on either side by deep yet narrow fingerprints. Something was dragged through here -- but as Neil follows the tracks, his attention may be drawn by the looming spire that slices through the sky. The sands churn and the air boils around it, but it stands immovable. Concrete, in this protean landscape.

At its base a purple spider scrabbles at the wall, claws jabbing at a keypad until an enormous door, many times the height of a human, finally opens with a pneumatic hiss.

Edited 2024-02-23 14:59 (UTC)

The sky above is a sickly teal, spiralling with wicked pink clouds that swallow the moon from the previous scene, and for a moment Neil is slightly jarred. Not by the frightful scene--- that's the part he's used to. It's just rare that the environment bears even a remote similarity to his own subconscious.

Neil is still very much in control of his position in the space. The spines that slice through this otherworldly desert do not impede him. He remains a few paces away from the action of this dream, unnoticeable until he takes an action to become a participant in the dream rather than a bystander. For now, he will watch. Reconnaissance.

The spider drags itself through the doorway, leaving a trail of acid-green fluid that is quickly swallowed up by the sand and air. Once it's passed the threshold it shakes itself, nearly convulsing before it finally spits up more fluid and then -- unfolds --

The spider's body splits apart and inverts itself, fur giving way to shining metal and whirling gears. The machinery grows and rearranges itself, until a new body, humanoid yet profoundly alien, stands in its place.

The robot shakes his head, slowly at first and then harder, finally whacking himself in the temple with a fur-covered claw. The impact makes a sound the rings up and down the spacious corridor, and then Tarantulas speaks: "Confusion...disorientation...but still lucid? Why?" He looks around -- the arrangement of orb-like auxiliary eyes on his forehead is the same, but his primary eyes have been replaced by a yellow, glass-like visor and his mouth has become a vertical slit, surrounded by mandibles.

"There was...what was I doing? Some kind of experiment? Oh!" He stands up straighter, visor brightening slightly in the same way First Aid's does when he's excited about something. "Yes, the therapy! A novel technique, magic taking the place of needles and wires...but if this is a dream..." He glances around again, this time paying particular attention to the floor, before sidling up to the doorway with visible reluctance and poking his head outside.

"Doctor West?" he calls, obviously concerned despite his alien face.

Impressive! Tarantulas has surprisingly good control over the transition between conscious and subconscious thought. And what an interesting appearance! How strange that he chose the look he did rather than something more like his usual self. Perhaps he simply took the chance to try something new when entering Pumpkin Hollow.

Neil takes a step forward, allowing Tarantulas to become cognizant of him. "I'm here. I typically function as simply a witness until the dream becomes distressing, but your subconscious was particularly quick to become lucid and recall your waking life."

THE OCULARUM

Overview

Membership

Philosophy

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Let's Get Therapeutic!

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