Shadowcroft Year 3 - Chapter Seventeen

Logan lingered in front of the Raven Hauntblood School of Specialty Classes at Nightfall University. The school was a glossy black fortress of towers, bridges, fountains, and buildings all carved into the side of a seemingly infinite rock cavern known as the Onyx Ravine. Nightfall was so named because the school was buried deep within the ground and the sunlight never touched here. Instead, the ceiling of the great cavern—hundreds of miles overhead—was studded with an endless carpet of glowing purple crystals that cast the cavern into perpetual twilight.

It was perfect.

Logan’s special fungaloid class was located in the Raven Hauntblood building, but standing there, with a fountain of his own, was an enormous bronze statue of Melvin R. Chevalier. The now deceased kitchen ghast towered over the courtyard, holding a basket of cherry turnovers in outstretched hands. The inscription was touching – Melvin R. Chevalier, Kitchen Ghast and friend, was taken from us too soon. Ripe is the fruit of life when baked into a turnover.

Logan didn’t get that last part but now he understand why Wintersylver had been so mean to them. A few people glared at Logan, recognizing him as one of the dungeon guardians that had accidently helped get the kitchen ghast killed the year before. Billy the Scales had been the true culprit behind Melvin’s untimely death, but Logan had played a small part in what had happened. They still had Melvin’s cookbook, which was an odd combination of delicious recipes and small personal notes threatening murderous vengeance and a non-zero amount of cannibalism.

However, Melvin clearly had more friends than enemies, which was a surprise.

Logan headed into the large building, found his classroom, and slipped inside. He was trying to look studious and intimidating, so he showed up in his armor, with the battle skirt and the pauldron, though he kept his ruby studded shield tucked away inside his Ring of Pockets. First impressions were important. Which is also why he neglected to wear his Miami Vice sweatbands. He had to admit he was more nervous than he’d been in ages. He’d grown accustomed to taking classes with his cohort.

Once again, like in the Crucible, he was forced to go it alone.

Opening the classroom door, the familiar scent of mildew and decay hit his senses like a warm spring breeze. He immediately felt some his stress and uncertainty melt away. These were his people, he reminded himself. What was there to worry about?

Still, Logan lingered in the doorway, frozen by what he saw. It was a cool, damp place, overflowing with spores. The floor was covered in black mildew as were the desks to the right. Circles of yellow fungi sprouted from the worn wood of the lecturer’s podium on the left.

The back of the room was filled up with some huge mycological nightmare—it was a gigantic mushroomish overweight serpent, with patches of hard chitinous algae covering him like scales. The dragon-like mushroom had enormous pale eyes and a cap that was pointed in the front and the rear, almost like a Sherlock Holmes hat. He was mostly shades of gray.

Sitting in moldy desks were a variety of other fungaloids—one was tall and thin and pale with a huge nose underneath a cup that covered his eyes, ears, and most of his face. Beside him was a toadstool woman who stared at Logan with a slack jaw and a vacant expression in her beady eyes. A night black mushroom man wearing a black hat and cape—looking vaguely Zorroesque, though without the sword—sat mysteriously in the back of the room near the fat fungal serpent. Or was it a Fungal Basilisk?

Logan had read about them and there were some definite similarities.

A rotund mushroom with a bulbous belly and small little round cap, the color of brown mustard, raised a hand. “Hey. It’s Logan Murray!”

There was a lot of blinking and grinning. One three-headed fungal creature—a collection of a various red, pink, and black growths—had three different reactions. The reddish head smiled. “Wow. A celebrity! Good job on the Crucible!” The blackish head scowled. “I hate him. He got Melvin killed.” The pinkish head looked confused. “Who’s Melvin? What’s a Crucible? Is that Professor Crucible we’re talking about? Where are we right now?”

Black and yellow spores spun around Logan and lifted him out of the doorway and into the classroom. “Excuse me, Mr. Murray. I don’t mean to be rude.”

The collection of odd fungal student let out a whoop. “The professor is here! Welcome professor!”

Logan turned and took in the teacher. He was a willowy yellow mushroom with slender arms and legs, all dressed up in a gold suit and wearing a bright orange tie. In his hand was a battered old leather briefcase. Around him swirled a cloud of black and yellow spores—clearly visible.

“I’m Professor Rick Nella.” The yellow fungal man smiled. “And maybe you should be teaching this class, Mr. Murray. I’m mean, B-Class, Rank 4, and someone who made it into the Semi-Finals in the interschool tournament? Impressive, Mr. Murray. Very impressive!”

The yellow man frowned. “I know, Lori, I know. I’m not kissing his butt. I’m showing him some respect. I think that’s appropriate considering the circumstances.”

The cloud of spores swirled and danced in obvious agitation, and Professor Rick pointed to a seat next to the three-headed mushroom guy. “Yes, well, why don’t you have a seat next to Trio Trio Trio.”

“Murderer,” one of the three Trio heads muttered as Logan slipped into a desk.

“It wasn’t his fault,” another head hissed. “There was an ancient evil. Melvin was just in the wrong place at the wrong time—these things happen, you know.”

The first head grimaced. “Everyone is always blaming everything on the ancient evil. Ancient evil this. Ancient evil that. I don’t buy it.”

“What is the nature of evil?” the last head asked.

Professor Rick snapped his fingers, getting their attention. “Welcome, class. Some of you I know from Nightfall University, like Trio here, while others of you are repeat visitors from some of our other prestigious sister schools. And then, of course, there’s Logan Murray, but I fear I’m getting a bit ahead of myself. Why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves? We are the few, the proud, the fungaloid, after all.”

Trio’s hand shot up. “We’ll go first.”

Red Head looked deeply concerned. “Don’t tell them that’s it’s our tenth year, and don’t say this is the second time we’ve taken this class.”

Black Head looked visibly disgusted. “I’m one of the Trio, and you didn’t hear my other head say a word. I have no past, my present is dubious, and I try not think about the future.”

Pink Head looked confused. “What class is this again? What class am I again?”

The introductions continued in an orderly, if strange, fashion. As it turned out, most of the fungaloids were low C-Class, but Pewig Bulge, the fungal basilisk, was actually an E-Class, Rank 1, from Saudrian’s School of Guardians—where Marko was taking his clown classes. Pewig might’ve been big, but he couldn’t move very well, and he couldn’t speak very well. Still, he seemed nice. They all did, honestly.

The red and white toadstool woman was Amanda Pers. She had trouble keeping her mouth closed. Every little thing seemed to shock her. Next to her, the fungaloid that was mostly nose and cap was Luco Paxillus.

The brown mustard mushroom guy with the big belly and the tiny cap was Gary Bernardii. Out of all the fungaloids, he was the most accomplished, but then again, he was only C-Class, Rank 6, though he had hopes to get to Rank 5 in the next few years.

It was a collection of misfits and oddities with Professor Rick leading the parade, swamped by the cloud of black and yellow spores, which seemed to have a mind of its own. Rick often seemed to be talking to either himself or to the cloud—it was hard to tell, which—but it was also very distracting.

The Professor scowled, gaze focused inward. “I know. I know. But we had to get done with introductions first, Lori. And yes, Yeez Tee hasn’t said his name, but you know how he is.”

Everyone in the class stared straight forward, but Logan turned around to take in the mushroom Zorro decked out in the hat and cape.

The mystery fungus gazed at Logan with squinted black eyes. “You don’t want to know me, Murray,” he said. “I’m bad news. As bad as it comes. My past trauma is my armor against everything that could ever possibly hurt me. Except more trauma.”

“Yes, Mr. Yeez,” Professor Rick said indulgently. “I know you’ve been through a lot. But we really should get started.” He turned and grabbed a basket, and just from the sound of it, Logan knew exactly what it was.

Silverware. The strange obsession people had with tableware continued.

The professor walked up to Logan Murray and shook the basket. “Please, pick one, Mr. Murray.”

Logan reached in and grabbed a rusted winter soup spoon from Eritreus, from the capital city of Aurora in fact. How did he know that? It must’ve been all the time he was bonded with Inga.

Professor Rick continued around the room, passing out more silverware, until everyone had one.

Pewig immediately stuck a big serving fork into his mouth and slobbered all over it.

Rick returned to the moldy podium. “For today’s lesson, I want to talk about the half-decomposed elephant in the room. Yes, fungaloids, fungal dungeons, mushroom knights, mycological paladins, and worshippers of the Spore Lords, aren’t what people would call a ‘desirable’ class. In fact, I’ve personally been called useless, a waste of cosmic energy, a giant moldy nerd, and the worst professor to ever teach a class in any university.”

Poor guy, Logan immediately thought. Fungaloids really did get the short end of the stick, and there was no way Professor Rick was the worst professor to ever teach a class in any university. Professor Kobold literally just showed old videos and slept at his desk. And while Logan couldn’t remember much from his alchemy class, he had the strangest notion that his teacher was a bipedal racoon, probably rabid, definitely high on bath salts, who also talked a mile a minute. It was like some kind of crazy Guardians of the Galaxy and Breaking Bad mashup.

Logan had brief flashes of the class, but mostly it was a hazy fever dream waltzing around inside his spongy head.

“Some of that may be true,” Professor Rick continued. “We fungal dungeons aren’t the flashiest, the most powerful, or even the most intelligent.”

Pewig grunted in the back of the room. He’d eaten through the tines of his fork.

“But what we lack in power, style, and intelligence, we make up for with what I consider to be an extraordinary superpower: our ability to digest most any item and pull the Apothos out of it. Very good, Mr. Bulge, I see you have enjoyed your spoon.”

More grunting. It hadn’t been a spoon.

Gary Bernardii grinned. “Fun fact, I can eat things with my hands.” Little toothless mouths opened on his palm and he reduced a butter knife to nothing. “I like to eat things with my hands.”

Amanda Pers gaped. “Gosh. Well isn’t that’s a neat trick. I have to make a little digestion pit, which isn’t nearly as nifty”

The red and white toadstool woman closed her eyes and a little puddle appeared under her desk. She dropped her shrimp fork into it. Bubbles formed. So Amanda was an actual fungaloid, just like Logan.

He created his own pit on the floor beneath his desk and unceremoniously dropped the soup spoon in. He was surprised that the metal wasn’t actually metal at all—it was concentrated Morta Apothos. Unless Logan was mistaken, Professor Rick had generated these himself, which was an awfully impressive feat.

Yeez Tee threw away his steak knife and sprang to his feet. “This is a waste of my time. I thought maybe I could be free of the darkness inside me, but how can I? I am the darkness.”

He marched out of the classroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Don’t mind him. He’ll be back,” Professor Rick said. “He starts a new character arc at the beginning of every fungaloid class. By the end, he’ll see you all as his brothers and sisters. You’ll be his found family. At least, until one of you dies, which usually happens, and then the cycle will invariably start anew.”

His spore cloud swirled around, blinking and flashing in clear agitation. “You know I overshare on the first day, Lori. Fine. I’ll stop. Let’s just get to the next part of the lecture. Is that okay with you?” A long uncomfortable pause followed. “Fine. I said fine!”

Logan didn’t quite understand who Lori was, and it wasn’t like he could ask. Also, it sounded like Yeez Tee would make a fine addition to the Backstories back at the Shadowcroft Academy.

Rick cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Now, who can tell me what was strange about the silverware you digested?”

“It’s so silverware-y,” Gary offered up triumphantly.

Amanda blinked and smiled, mouth hanging open. “I was going to say that, Gary! We’re so smart! High five!” They tried to high five but didn’t have the manual dexterity or fine motor skills to pull it off. Gary ended up high fiving her face and then his little mouth fingers began to slowly try to digest her.

Logan knew the answer to the question, but he wanted to see what everyone else would say.

There were a few more guesses. Pewig did more grunting. It didn’t seem like a language. More like indigestion. Trio had a whole argument with himself—well the red and black head did at any rate. Pinkie was still trying to figure out where the spring salad fork had gone.

Logan finally raised his hand. “The silverware was endogenous manifestations, made of mostly Morta apothos, which makes sense. If I had to guess, I would’ve said you made them, Professor, and I have to say, the rust was a good touch, as was the distressed metal of the handle. I genuinely thought they were real before I started digestion.” His answer was one part Treacle, part Inga. Logan already missed his friends.

Professor Rick visibly brightened. “My, my, my. You are as good as they say. You should teach the class! To go from E-class to B-class in two years? It can’t be done. Pewig has been at it for fifty years, which is a ton of tuition.”

Pewig finally spoke. “Dumb student loans.”

Logan cast about in wonder. Who were these oddballs? And why were they taking so long to level?

Professor Rick sighed. “Be quiet, Lori. I have every right to be impressed.” He returned his attention to the class. “Yes, we fungal classes have a lot stacked against us, but really, we are special. Some say we started life in the multiverse, and that all the animal species and every dungeon guardian class originated from spores. We’ll be covering that as well as the Spore Lords—who are far more than a myth, I assure you. We shall also suggest some fungal cultivation techniques that haven’t really worked for us, although we have high hopes for you, Logan! Oh, gosh, can I call you Logan? Or do you prefer Mr. Murray?”

“Logan is fine.” He replied, shifting awkwardly in his seat.

“You just made my day… Logan.” Professor Rick beamed. “Now, who wants more silverware to digest?”

All the oddball fungal dungeon cores raised various appendages.

As Logan looked around, he felt his knot form in the pit of his digestion pit. This was a disaster. He’d come here hoping to learn how to push past the plateau he’d hit, but it was clear he was the strongest fungaloid in the class. Likely even stronger than Professor Rick.

He wasn’t going to find any quick and easy answers here.

But honestly, that wasn’t why he was upset. No, he felt terrible for the various mushroom people in the seats around him. He wasn’t better than them—he was exactly like them. He’d started out at the very bottom of the dungeon core barrel with the odds stacked against him in every conceivable way. He’d just been lucky enough to find a good headmaster who had believed in him and friends who’d been willing to help him even when he was weak and worthless. From the sounds of it, many of these fungal cores had been doing this for years without any progress.

And that was probably because everyone had written them off before they’d ever gotten a chance to show the world any different. Maybe they couldn’t help him advance, but he’d be damned if hecouldn’t help them advance. It would probably be an uphill battle he thought, looking at Amanda stare vacantly off into space, a line of drool oozing down from her mouth, but he was always up for a challenge. If he’ learned anything from Chadrigoth, it was that sometimes you needed to step down to help others step up.