The Mushroom Forest welcomes all merchants, peddlers, traders, and any other sort of budding young salesfolk to its famed market, but most of those who seek easy monetary profit will leave sorely disappointed. To enter the market one must first obtain a token of favor, usually obtained by performing some sort of long, drawn-out task for a Forest inhabitant, which must then be presented and accepted by the Forest. After entering the market, feel free to browse at will, but take care at what you trade for! A side effect of this token just happens to be that any goods taken from the market will, within the next 24 hours, turn into a mushroom of comparable size (hence the name). Great for mycologists and chefs, not so great for anyone else - unless you’re really keen on getting some shiitake or portobello, as those mushrooms seem to be the transformations of choice.
There are those, of course, who claim to have obtained tokens that do NOT transform goods into mushrooms. Don’t be deluded by such scams. For those well-versed in the customs of the Forest, it is an established rule to never invest in Non-Fungible Tokens.
If on the rare occasion you catch the scent of freshly baked bread floating through the campus center, make every effort to stop by - it means that Professor Min has generously donated a batch of his homemade bread to the student bake sale of the week. If you’re lucky to arrive early, there will still be a few loaves left to purchase. $20 a loaf may seem expensive even for bake sale standards, but every bite will be worth it, and the smell of honey and whole wheat and barley will permeate your dorm room for days.
Occasionally, the adjunct professor of accounting himself may make an appearance to observe how the sales are going. You may see him sitting a little ways apart from the stall, enjoying a slice of his own bread with a dish of olive oil and a glass of Chardonnay next to him. Feel free to talk to him - he makes good small talk, if you don’t mind an inevitable tangent to balance sheets or other nuances of accounting theory. Do not mention horseback riding, or any rumors of estranged family members. Do not touch the oil or the wine.
As springtime begins its slow crawl out of winter’s stubborn fingers, an unfamiliar child’s rhyme has begun making its rounds at Elsewhere:
“beware the ides of April,
beware for two days more;
Iris comes to collect her dues
and she’s wanting plenty more”
The composition itself is fairly new - a century and a half can hardly be considered old - and consists of seventeen additional verses each with far less sinister connotations. But if Sinister Literary Analysis 402 with Professor Tenebaum (Mondays and Thursdays from 4:30-6:00pm!) has taught you anything this semester, it’s that there is always truth and power in rhyme, no matter how egregious an affront to literature rhyming “more” with “more” may be. And seeing as its your senior year and you’re losing what little motivation you have to find a better topic for the class’s mandatory research assignment, you decide to give it a go.
It’s very clear you don’t know what you’ve gotten yourself into.
The rhyme is popular, but it takes you awhile to find the few who know anything about Iris on campus, and even longer to find those who know among the Court. Information on mysterious persons at Elsewhere is always costly, but graduation is at stake, so you take whatever information you can glean or bargain for.
“Iris is not just a single person,” she says, clasping her coffee in both hands and taking a long hearty swig, while an auburn cat weaves itself between her legs mewing gently for attention. “She’s an entity. A thing. And she’s taken a name for herself, which means she wants to be known and feared - or at the very least respected. ” She fingers the iron ornament hanging from her neck gingerly, turning it over several times in contemplation. “Why she wants to be acknowledged by the University and the Court is anybody’s guess.”
“Iris is dangerous,” he says, turning briefly to rest his eyes on the sign that says “Elsewhere Research Administrative Offices” emblazoned in gold lettering on the oak door behind him. “She showed up maybe thirty, thirty five years ago? A full retinue and everything. She was halfway across campus before security noticed her. The president said to let down the administrative office barriers for her - wouldn’t do any good to keep her out anyway.” He turns the other direction to stare at the window, which holds an enviable view of the campus grounds. “Who willingly brings down nineteen wards and sigils for an unwanted visitor? Either she’s crazy powerful, or she’s holding something that the University really wants - or both. And that’s scary.”
“IRIS IS NOT WELCOME,” she growls, paws slamming the ground at the entrance of the Grove. The shadows dance in the soft glow of shimmering mushrooms as the were-beast paces indignantly - or perhaps nervously? - back and forth. “SHE CAME AND TOOK MUCH FROM US. THE COURT WILL NOT MEET HER DEMANDS AGAIN.” She pauses, then bends her massive head close to yours.“If she is here, I fear we do not have enough to appease her this time.”
You’re beginning to lose hope. The stories are good, yes, but snippets of rumors do not a 15-page single-spaced research paper make. But a small trade (two geckos, a night’s worth of dreams, and a New Jersey state quarter) gets you in touch with the one person who just might be able to help you.
“I work the evening shift at the Elsewhere Welcome Center,” he says, fingers twitching nervously around the bright blue lanyard holding his name tag. “Yesterday, someone higher up penciled in an appointment for an "IRIS” on Wednesday night, 7:30pm. If you take my shift, you’ll probably get to meet her face to face…if you want.“
Do you ever!
Wednesday night is here. It’s 7:15, and you’re sitting behind the desk in the Welcome Center dress uniform - blue polo, khakis, and the mandatory lanyard around your neck. The sun is creeping towards the edge of the horizon in a blaze of orange. You’re drumming a hole in the table with your complimentary Elsewhere pen.
7:30. A sleek black automobile glides quietly up the drive.You stare as it stops in front of the stairs leading to the Welcome Center, and three figures exit the vehicle.
Black suits. Sunglasses, even though the sun is setting. All of them are holding briefcases. The one in front - a woman by the looks of it - gestures upward towards the building. Fear creeps into your heart as she glides up the steps.
She opens the door, and calmly steps in front of the reception desk. While she certainly doesn’t look like an entity of doom, you have quickly learned that appearances mean very little here at Elsewhere. No, its the feeling of power and confidence and leadership that she exudes so effortlessly that’s causing you to shiver.
She is raising her hand to you.You take it, as if compelled by some outward force (or perhaps just social convention?), and she grasps it firmly in response.
With a curt nod, she addresses herself as Maria Strickland, senior tax auditor, and if you could kindly let Accounting know that she and her colleagues from the IRS are here that would be greatly appreciated.
(if you don’t queue this up for April 15th I will be very disappointed)
The origins of Elsewhere University is a oft-debated topic by students, if only in hushed voices and behind locked doors. Professors quickly silence any discussion of the topic in their classrooms, and higher-level faculty deflect all questions with stubborn silences. It is rumored that the History department is forbidden to even approach this area of study, but no known student or faculty member will confirm or deny this. But besides these few exceptions, no one knows of any actual consequences to discussing the matter, so almost every human student on campus has participated in at least one late-night conversation on the subject.
The major school of thought (no pun intended) believes that the Gentry were the first - Elsewhere is old, but the Others must be older. So when humans first arrived on the site where Elsewhere would be built, the Gentry served as guides for the University’s construction, working under the belief that Elsewhere would serve well as a conduit between academia and the arcane. The thought that the campus may have been, at its’ birth, a place for peace and community, is perhaps the most reassuring theory - and a comfort to those who fear the scratching on the windows on nights with no wind, or shy away from the ghosts of Songs wandering the forest glades. Some days it is the smallest hope, however faint, that keeps one going through the day.
The standard counterargument, of course, simply points out that the Gentry are far from accommodating hosts. Not everyone is able to stand up to the rigors of a 4-year University, and those who stay longer oftentimes find themselves keeping records. Year after year, the numbers move steadily, unceasingly - there are too many Taken, too many secrets, and too few safe spaces for the University to ever have coexisted in peace. Elsewhere is at war, they argue - battles waged with salt and iron, and barricades of tradition keeping students and faculty safe. “Safe from what?” is the question they will never answer. The unnamed antagonist is always the least dangerous.
Others claim that the University as an entity existed throughout time, with no beginning or end, a fixed Anchor in the shifting sands of reality. Professor Brown, an unassuming man with greying hair and one of the few faculty who will even entertain the subject, laughs at this idea. “If Elsewhere is ageless, someone didn’t give these buildings the memo,” he scoffs, as he gestures to yet another construction crew moving in on a decaying dormitory. “Maybe if that someone gets around to it, we can cut down the maintenance budget by a couple million this year.” The fact that Professor Brown is, at best estimates, at least 700 years old, does not lend much credence to his statements.
One final theory, held by only a few fanatics, proclaims that EU was established long before the Gentry ever entered the area. At the time, it was as normal an academic institution could ever be - with a specialization in the literary and historical sciences, but otherwise nothing distinguishable. With no real identity to speak of, when the Gentry came Their influence found easy places to thrive on campus, embedding itself in wood and stone and book and pen until the whole University reeked of the Known and Unknown. This, the faculty did not reject, but merely adapted to their purposes; establishing the Forbidden Majors, bringing the Traditions, and creating a place where learning and knowledge would continue to thrive and grow.
Fans of this “Gentryfication” theory are rarely taken seriously.
