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benthic_universityThe Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology have a reputation of a laid-back class which more than anything else serves as a meeting spot for the naturalist freaks eccentrics of Benthic. Reader Guildenstern, who has been teaching this class for years, is known to use the allotted time to share dirt on personal anecdotes from the lives of his most respectable colleagues. Which is precisely the reason why no student is allowed to take up the class more than once in their lifetime – to prevent amassing of too much power in one pair of hands
But the day when all the classes are posted and signing up for them is available, there is, as the academics call it, a minor uproar. The aforementioned Selected Chapters are entirely missing from this year register. There are complaints. Bolder individuals threaten to demand back tuition paid.
After much fussing about, the Chairman of the Subterranean Mycology Department gives a public apology for this – and several other – clerical errors, and the omitted class appears with its lost compatriots on the bottom of the register. It now bears such disrespectful neighbours as Cellular Mechanisms and Crimson Genetics. Yes, we suppose those are alright courses to attend if you want to make money, publish papers and maybe push the quality of life forward for further generations. But this is a university, for grief’s sake! One’s primary goal is to increase their own social standing.
Because of this little clerical oversight, the class is held in one of the smaller lecture halls in the basement. It is not particularly hard to find if you know where you are going. The class is also held fairly late. Not awfully late, but certainly you are missing some of the happy hours in less secluded places, such as the Veilgarden.
There aren’t that many students. Most of them already have a busy schedule with the classes that were posted on time. But the door is not locked and the timetable clearly says that the Selected Chapters begin in a couple of minutes.
As far as lecture halls go, this one is nothing to write home about. Rows of chairs bolted to desks bolted to the floor, all in orderly rows, rows gradually rise as they are further from the three-winged blackboard. No windows; this is a basement. Minimal decorations. Electric lights bathe the room in warm light. Quite the novelty to have them installed here.
On the desks you find a variety of potted mushrooms. Some you know, common bolete, a marvelously orange chanterelle, this one whose name you have on the tip of your tongue and is used as a filler in bouquets. Some you do not know, although the one that looks like a cracked egg is somewhat familiar.
The man standing at the lectern – it is hasty to make such presumptions on sight, but you are going to verify them within moments anyway – is of unimpressive size. You note him for having a long braid of dark hair, a pince-nez with dimly blue lenses, and very soft smile with which he invites the first incoming to sign in the ledger, and by extension up for the class.
When you all are seated and no new foot enters the class, he closes the ledger with a very definite snap and steps to the lectern.
“I wish you all a good evening,” he addresses you all for the first time. He has a voice like velvet if velvet carried the clarity of a churchbell. Some people manage being heard in large rooms by shouting. Your teacher doesn’t have to resort to such tactics; each of you hears him as clearly as if he stood right next to you.
“I would like to inform you that Professor Guildenstern is dead and he shall not be holding any classes for the foreseeable future. I have been asked by our department Chairman to deliver the Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology instead.”
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist writes his name on the top of the leftmost blackboard. At least you presume so. Remnants of Hudum in the Forgotten Quarter are pinnacle of legibility compared to whatever this is. That might be an E in the middle? Following the name is the number of his home-room, in slightly shaky Roman numerals.
“This class takes the standard course length and as such it requires standard grading. I have reviewed Professor Guildenstern’s syllabus from years prior, and decided for a more sensible approach: Your final grade will be the child of two components:
Firstly, you shall write an essay and submit. The topic is of your own choosing. Selection of a topic appropriate and related to the class, however, can make up to forty per cent of the score for it. Cite some sources, back up whatever you put down. Be persuasive, be shrewd, be convincing. Remember, these are respectable academic grounds; plagiarism and fabrication is entirely fair game as long as you do not get caught.
The deadline on this essay is the end of our fifth class together; if by then I don’t have at least something from you, however publishable, you fail by default. There will be no extensions and no resubmissions. Gone Hell or high water, the deadline stays. Plan your life’s catastrophes and cataclysms accordingly.”
He clasps his hands together before resting them on the lectern: “The second part of your grade will be the final exam, held during the last class. The exam will be practical and designed to test all you might have and might have not learned. I am going to be testing your skills, not your ability to cram the content of a book into your short-term memory. Some students tend to be surprised by that; I am stating it outright so you wouldn’t be.”
There is a brief pause for questions anyone might have before the class moves on to the actual lecture.
The Mycologist beams a bright smile at you all: “For our first exercise I’ve chosen something that highlights two of the load-bearing columns of science: Replicability and specificity. I am certain you all have noticed by now the potted fungi on your desks. Your task is to draw them, any of them, such that your classmates would be able to recognise them. You do not have to make a realistic life-like piece of artwork as long as the mushroom is identifiable. Whoever finds themselves without supplies, I have borrowed pencils from the mycology department, as well as paper.”
It seems that for the remaining 90-odd minutes, this is what you are to do.
But the day when all the classes are posted and signing up for them is available, there is, as the academics call it, a minor uproar. The aforementioned Selected Chapters are entirely missing from this year register. There are complaints. Bolder individuals threaten to demand back tuition paid.
After much fussing about, the Chairman of the Subterranean Mycology Department gives a public apology for this – and several other – clerical errors, and the omitted class appears with its lost compatriots on the bottom of the register. It now bears such disrespectful neighbours as Cellular Mechanisms and Crimson Genetics. Yes, we suppose those are alright courses to attend if you want to make money, publish papers and maybe push the quality of life forward for further generations. But this is a university, for grief’s sake! One’s primary goal is to increase their own social standing.
Because of this little clerical oversight, the class is held in one of the smaller lecture halls in the basement. It is not particularly hard to find if you know where you are going. The class is also held fairly late. Not awfully late, but certainly you are missing some of the happy hours in less secluded places, such as the Veilgarden.
There aren’t that many students. Most of them already have a busy schedule with the classes that were posted on time. But the door is not locked and the timetable clearly says that the Selected Chapters begin in a couple of minutes.
As far as lecture halls go, this one is nothing to write home about. Rows of chairs bolted to desks bolted to the floor, all in orderly rows, rows gradually rise as they are further from the three-winged blackboard. No windows; this is a basement. Minimal decorations. Electric lights bathe the room in warm light. Quite the novelty to have them installed here.
On the desks you find a variety of potted mushrooms. Some you know, common bolete, a marvelously orange chanterelle, this one whose name you have on the tip of your tongue and is used as a filler in bouquets. Some you do not know, although the one that looks like a cracked egg is somewhat familiar.
The man standing at the lectern – it is hasty to make such presumptions on sight, but you are going to verify them within moments anyway – is of unimpressive size. You note him for having a long braid of dark hair, a pince-nez with dimly blue lenses, and very soft smile with which he invites the first incoming to sign in the ledger, and by extension up for the class.
When you all are seated and no new foot enters the class, he closes the ledger with a very definite snap and steps to the lectern.
“I wish you all a good evening,” he addresses you all for the first time. He has a voice like velvet if velvet carried the clarity of a churchbell. Some people manage being heard in large rooms by shouting. Your teacher doesn’t have to resort to such tactics; each of you hears him as clearly as if he stood right next to you.
“I would like to inform you that Professor Guildenstern is dead and he shall not be holding any classes for the foreseeable future. I have been asked by our department Chairman to deliver the Selected Chapters from Practical Subterranean Mycology instead.”
The Soft-Eyed Mycologist writes his name on the top of the leftmost blackboard. At least you presume so. Remnants of Hudum in the Forgotten Quarter are pinnacle of legibility compared to whatever this is. That might be an E in the middle? Following the name is the number of his home-room, in slightly shaky Roman numerals.
“This class takes the standard course length and as such it requires standard grading. I have reviewed Professor Guildenstern’s syllabus from years prior, and decided for a more sensible approach: Your final grade will be the child of two components:
Firstly, you shall write an essay and submit. The topic is of your own choosing. Selection of a topic appropriate and related to the class, however, can make up to forty per cent of the score for it. Cite some sources, back up whatever you put down. Be persuasive, be shrewd, be convincing. Remember, these are respectable academic grounds; plagiarism and fabrication is entirely fair game as long as you do not get caught.
The deadline on this essay is the end of our fifth class together; if by then I don’t have at least something from you, however publishable, you fail by default. There will be no extensions and no resubmissions. Gone Hell or high water, the deadline stays. Plan your life’s catastrophes and cataclysms accordingly.”
He clasps his hands together before resting them on the lectern: “The second part of your grade will be the final exam, held during the last class. The exam will be practical and designed to test all you might have and might have not learned. I am going to be testing your skills, not your ability to cram the content of a book into your short-term memory. Some students tend to be surprised by that; I am stating it outright so you wouldn’t be.”
There is a brief pause for questions anyone might have before the class moves on to the actual lecture.
The Mycologist beams a bright smile at you all: “For our first exercise I’ve chosen something that highlights two of the load-bearing columns of science: Replicability and specificity. I am certain you all have noticed by now the potted fungi on your desks. Your task is to draw them, any of them, such that your classmates would be able to recognise them. You do not have to make a realistic life-like piece of artwork as long as the mushroom is identifiable. Whoever finds themselves without supplies, I have borrowed pencils from the mycology department, as well as paper.”
It seems that for the remaining 90-odd minutes, this is what you are to do.
Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 01:23 pm (UTC)((OOC: To keep things pleasantly organised, add your sign-in comment as a reply to the last person before you, creating one neat collapseable thread.))
Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 01:25 pm (UTC)Either way, now seems like a good time.
Lecture
Date: 2025-10-07 01:27 pm (UTC)Activity
Date: 2025-10-07 01:33 pm (UTC)flowerfungal pot and a piece of paper and document this partially domesticated specimen. The mushrooms presented are varied: some are native to the Surface, some are found only in the Neath, and some you might find in both. Your task is to make a drawing descriptive enough that anyone might be able to identify the specimen, given that they have the knowledge to do so. Speaking of, do you know what fungus are you portraying on the paper?((OOC: You do not have to actually draw a mushroom by yourself; describing your character doing it and the final end result is more than enough. You are also entirely encouraged to make up a neathy fungus, although none of the specimen presented today are particularly dangerous.)
After Class
Date: 2025-10-07 01:35 pm (UTC)Furthermore, this is maybe an even better moment to get to know your classmates, now that you have an experience in common.
OOC
Date: 2025-10-07 01:43 pm (UTC)Today's class is extra verbose to ease you into the setting. You are under no obligation to write walls of text. I am definitely going to be writing walls of text. But please, whatever length, keep conversations threaded, it makes things easier to navigate in the long run. Don't worry about in what order the conversations happen; the Treachery of Clocks is on your side. Unless you'd prefer it not to be on your side (for example for comedic reasons), then it is definitely not on your side.
I am extremely happy to have new people here as well as people that I know. I hope you all have fun. Reiterating especially for the newcomers: Most of the enjoyment is from RPing with each other. The classes merely provide a structure.
I am going to be more active in the class the first week it is up, and then I am going to spend the other week preparing for the next class. If anything comes up that I should know (or shouldn't know), hit me in the DMs. I have high hopes of publishing the next class on 21st of October, around the same time as now.
Alright, that's all for now, I think. I am back to my banana energy drink.
P.S: While there isn't a dedicated Benthic University RP Discord, most of the players from the previous Correspondence Scholarship are to be found at Queer Little Novelties Discord server, which I in particular joined to complain about drawing too many sigils. It is a most excellent place where to be queer, little and/or novelty.
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 02:55 pm (UTC)Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 03:06 pm (UTC)Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 03:09 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 03:16 pm (UTC)The electric lights were a pain, their static buzzing already causing the Guest to border a migraine, but he supposed he couldn't complain, what with this class taking place in a basement. He looked over the mushrooms at the front of the room from a distance and hummed. What an odd array. Not unfamiliar, certainly, having been born and raised in the Neath, but the Guest would admit that he knew the names of none of them. Nor their properties. He blushed subtly at the realization that he may not have had the cultural prerequisite for this class.
(The Guest failed to notice his hand twirling his stylo over and over between his fingers rapidly, skillful and fine.)
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 03:17 pm (UTC)The Soft-Hearted Maven signed in, speaking with her companion, "Looks like the class is still happening."
The Brash Devil rolled his eyes, waving his hands in mock enthusiasm, "Oh joy, more learning."
Maven giggled a bit as the devil signed in, "Oh come on, it's just a biweekly class. And it's a mycology class, surely it won't be nearly as dramatic as the last-"
At that moment she caught sight of who their teacher was and froze.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 03:22 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 03:45 pm (UTC)While waiting for the lecture to start, he takes a pencil, leather-bounded notebook, and sheaf of torn, weathered pages from his satchel. He writes and diagrams in the notebook using short, rough scratches. He leans and places his arms just enough to discretely hide his work, out of habit rather than any need for secrecy.
As more students file into the lecture hall, he recluctantly unbuttons his cloak and folds it over the back of his chair. A keen eye might notice empty loops lining the sides of the cloak's interior.
Re: Lecture
Date: 2025-10-07 03:55 pm (UTC)In summary, their list can be distilled to:
1) What is a "mushroom" or "fungus" in it's essence? What defines them as such? What is the characteristic attributed only and exclusively to fungi? If Gods would challenge me to tell them what "mushrooms" are as concisely as possible, what would be the answer?
2) Are fungi susceptible to changes of that which is living? Is it possible to mold and shape them in accordance with one's design? And, if so, what would be required to do so?
3) Are fungi capable of... Love?
4) Do mushrooms dream?
5) Who is the craftsman that is responsible for the creation of such magnificent pince-nez? They look absolutely fabulous - especially when they are adorning such a charming image as this lecturer's.
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 04:00 pm (UTC)To those who don't know the Professor already, their appearance is quite peculiar: Scaled skin of iridescent sheen under the right light, wide smile showing long and sharp fangs, eyes with pupils that sharpen into vertical slits... One hopes they're not confounded (again) with a novel kind of Fingerking possession and get denounced to the Labyrinth of Tigers.
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 04:13 pm (UTC)Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 04:29 pm (UTC)The true subject of interest were the fungi in display! Diverse, those they could identify were little to no danger to one's health, and quite beautiful to look at, the selection being as skilled as expected from the lecturer. Of course, the secondary subject of interest are the classmates. So many new or barely-known faces! They hope it won't be as much of an adventure as the last one, but definitely will be fascinating in many ways.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 04:54 pm (UTC)Their tone is cheerful, it is evident they have exchanged some words at least a couple of times. Enough to tease, at least.
Re: Lecture
Date: 2025-10-07 05:12 pm (UTC)"Will we have an opportunity to pass our essay topic through your judgement? Would be horrid to write an essay, only to fail the grade because you didn't think the topic connected enough, aye? As well, will out of class work be graded? If so, how? If not, will there be a chance between class hours to confirm answers and get tutoring on topics we miss? What about in class work not related to the essay or final?" He stilled his spinning pen in his hand and positioned it over the page to take more notes.
Re: Lecture
Date: 2025-10-07 05:14 pm (UTC)"So far the only characteristic that puts fungi apart from any other lifeform is that chitin is found within their cellular walls. Should a deity which thou wouldst acknowledge as such ask thee for a definition, this is it.
The chalk is now rested back on the lectern, no longer needed for the time being. The Mycologist wipes his hands into a kerchief before he continues answering: "All living things and most things unliving are susceptible to change. They can be shaped to one's hearts desire, provided the sufficient skills and tools, and of course and time. Which skills and which tools depends on what one wants to change into what.
Should the world's events hold to my schedule, I will bring this topic up again in our third class concerning fungal husbandry. The fungi are no exceptions to evolution, but evolution can be steered... And there are ways to hasten its pace, because not many of us have the patience for thousand of centuries to get drinkable wine."
He has now stepped around the lectern - much closer to the class. More approachable, perhaps, but without the safety of a solid desk between him and the rest of the class. There are the students' desks, screwed to the floor, but compared to the hefty oak table-and-lectern, they are a flimsy affair.
...who was supposed to be comforted by the distance and physical obstacle between the students and the teacher?
"Some mushrooms certainly dream. I cannot speak for all of them; my time is limited and so are my means. Can they love? Well," he flashes a soft smile, "that depends on what one would define 'love' as."
He takes his pince-nez off and studies the thin yet large frame for a while, as if trying to divine what piqued the Charmer's interest. Finally he puts it back on: "The frame is the work of Great Downward Engineering. The lenses I had to cut myself. Speaking on the matter," he leans over the foremost desk slightly, "there have been over the course of my tenure attempts to seduce and bribe me into more lenient grading. For the sake of my transparency policy: these attempts have never been successful. They have been, however, entertaining, so," and here is the great return of the soft smile, "you all are free to act upon that at your discretion."
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 05:28 pm (UTC)They werent early by any means, but they still found a seat somewhere near the middle, best place to talk to and meet their new classmates. Those who knew them would recognize their familiar mask, red stockings, and red fingernails; those who didn't might think the socks and cropped trousers quite Scandalous, but Piper had fully embraced the look by now, not bothering to be embarrassed like they had at the beginning of last semester.
Re: Lecture
Date: 2025-10-07 05:28 pm (UTC)I will not concern myself with what you do out of the class. 'Tis not my concern, I am no constable. And as such, it will not affect your grades, for better nor for worse. Unless you manage to get your good selves expelled and banished from the academic grounds.
Besides the essay, I intend to give you no compulsory homework. I might suggest areas of study to explore at your discretion to deepen your understanding of the matter; however I hold no illusion: the persistent and the diligent will seek such things on their own while the mediocre," he carefully mouths the word, as if he was trying not to breathe in sewage vapours, "will not heed my well-meant suggestions, let alone pursue additional knowledge of their own accord."
With steepled fingers he adds: "As for your work in class, as long as you ae not actively disrupting my lecture, do as you please. Sleep, knit, paint still life. Or listen, take notes on what I have to say and what I have not to say but will say regardless. After all, there will be a test. But no activity I ask you to do in the class I can enforce upon you, as I am entirely unwilling to grade it. It is merely another suggestion, one given with the best intentions to sharpen your skills for the final exam."
Re: Lecture
Date: 2025-10-07 05:40 pm (UTC)"Thank you, sir," he said, punctuating his questions.
Re: Sign In
Date: 2025-10-07 05:49 pm (UTC)And besides, they aren't late. Messenger bag over their shoulder, the Tailor signs in with a smidge (only a smidge!) of flourish- initials, surname, and a loop in a loop with a line struck through like a signature. They smile at the sight of their teacher, a mild curl of familiarity, and then find a seat. Middle row, end cap, for this first time.
Re: Before Class
Date: 2025-10-07 06:00 pm (UTC)The Cackling Authoress chooses a seat that is off to one side and in the back, but not too far in the back—a corner that’s not really a corner. Aside from her own fastidious introversion, the pots on the tables have also informed her decision. She parks herself behind a particularly whimsical mushroom and sets about admiring it. For just a moment, she allows herself to indulge in the fantasy of becoming a mycological genius—one whose invaluable and highly respected research characterizes fungi far and wide, each as unfathomably deadly as they are jauntily colored and pleasantly shaped. What fun! But when the professor starts talking, the truth will set in, she knows. She hardly has the inclination to do all of that, and most mushrooms are probably rather more beige and mundane than she would hope. But juuuust for now… what a cheerful little fungus. The brightest ones are the deadliest, you know.