nodus tollens

Foodog's picture

" . . . . . "
. . . . .

3 . 16 . 2020 » Physical » 100%
Mental » 65%
Forcefully reduced himself to a calm. Mixed, masked.
Emotional » 86%
| Notes » 3 . 16 . 2020
Added a song in the top right. Might need to hover over the area for it to appear on certain browsers.

Trying to introduce himself back into life ever since 'escaping' the endless forest. Can't see how world travel was anything short of terrifying. Useful, but terrifying. When you get stuck in said world, at least.

Not that he had any option in that matter, but. . .

Surprised, more unnerved, to find a envelope waiting for him when returning home. Knew the unopened parcel never passed through the front door, never got into others hands, by the lack in wear or tear. Suspicious initially, but an underlying frustration and a want to "not deal" with this sort of thing -- "this sort of thing" being a wide range of anything that had to do with things out of his control -- had the male tearing open the package to find compensation. Written to him from the House of Alethia; a note and a package of gold and silver marks.

Ekidna, the matron mother of the household, was a figure most knew in the city. All of the Heads were. And while he was already established with his own House, the Wendigo was all but sure this was in response to, well, everything that'd happened weeks prior. Plus the time he hadn't been able to calculate while within the forest. If he ever meets someone who praises endless, sunny days, he's probably going to deck them in the mouth.

Lost as to why Ekidna would care until he got to the bottom of the letter and note the signature sitting there: Imogenya.

That explained things. Why his House advisor hadn't said much to him beyond casual discussion concerning the situation. Why, when he'd asked about pressing charges or doing anything against the people involved, the werewolf had broken out in a cold sweat and told him everything was already handled and to not pursue the issue further.

And then Mauro got loud.
And the quartermaster got involved.

Golden eyes swept over that signature as the scene with the advisor and quartermaster came back to mind. He'd never gotten her name when they first met -- or maybe he had. He'd probably forgotten it during the transfer home. Too caught up in everything else -- and the major want to shower.

Took the marks. The metal clinking together in the bag Imogen had thrown them in, and made for his bank. For someone who was classified as an Amalgamate Nephilim, she didn't seem too crazy or bloodthirsty to him. Nothing like the stories that concerned the sons and daughters of the Famed Four.

Made his way onto campus later in the day when he received a summons. Assumed it was more people trying to gain a story. Something to usher drama out into a world that didn't really need it. Thoughts of the place he'd left behind, the faces he'd come to meet, swimming in his mind's eye as he crossed the threshold and into his House's main rooms . . .

Only to raise his eyes from the ground and come face to face with Barricuda and Imogen. Both flanking their mistress.


Third day without anything worth noting in his stomach, and it's beginning to look a lot like he'll be going fishing soon. Just as soon as he finds it in himself to move far from the river he'd taken up 'residence' beside. Curled into a ball and proceeded to nap. Energy having sapped from him over the last day and half due to healing, but at least most of his shallower wounds had closed. The remaining one having closed by the darkness covering it.

Figures, at this point, it's not an infection and is something else. Fears of prior days that it was a parasite come and go, as it hasn't made an attempt to sap him of anything yet. Though his energy could be one of those things if food wasn't an issue. Either or, is very much 'content' with where he's made it so far.

Just... A hamburger would be hella nice right about now.

Startled to his feet by a very large boye: Gair. And Gair's Mauro-dubbed pocket companion: Weasel. Though the looks and shape of the male's mask drew his attention moreso than his smaller companion, even with Weasel's wild-eyes. Wary of the teeth the mask sported and questioned if they were actually usable. Eyes darting to seems between the lion-esque's creature's would-be face and the mask itself had him wondering if it was his face altogether.

So, asked. And the assumption, wild as it was to him, was somewhat right. It was a not!mask.

Passing conversation aside, made it to the point where the Wendigo's need had a low meter and asked whether or not there was 'cooked food' to be found here.

Mauro found heaven in honey that is definitely juiced with something, and a hot dog not long after.

Spent the last day and a half drifting in and out of consciousness. Sore and sticky from blood that had matted itself into his fur. Aware of movement around him, though few have approached, and scents several others on the wind whenever it drifts his way. Unsure what lies within this woods. Part of him doesn't really care. Or so he tells himself. Is honestly terrified of coming face to face with those skinwalkers again. And, if he so much as makes it out of this forest and back home, plans on trying out a form that can burn them alive.

Otherwise, the Wendigo has managed to drag himself between a log and a tree. Content enough with the protection the two give him. From the elements and wandering eyes alike.

Growing dehydrated, lifted himself onto his feet at some point in the day today and limped in search of water. Wincing and biting back against the pain that shot up his leg from the deep gauge he'd obtained at some point during his escape. Doesn't remember metal meeting his flesh. Just a whole lot of lights and several motivating words, namely the voice that carried those words.

Found a pond not long after searching for it. Wary of the deeper end that pitched into darkness, but waded in to up to his knees to get rid of the blood and some of the mud that'd caked onto his legs during the time he'd lain down. Felt disgusting. Didn't want to feel disgusting. In we go.

Lingered for as long as he felt safe to before wandering along the shoreline to more active waters. Passing a group along the way, but giving little as far as attention goes. Drifted back into the water, confident he could keep his footing in the river as he submerged himself up to the chest. Hissing when the wound at his foreleg became bothered, and the black webbing that'd stretched over it like an infection felt as though it was clamping down harder. To keep the skin together, to keep the blood from unclotting. Despite the ichor's very obvious want to not be where it was, Mauro remained. Finding the cooling waters to be soothing and relieving. If only he had a pool floatie. . .

Felt himself waver and removed himself from the waters after standing in them for so long. Made it a few feet from the river before collapsing back onto his side, legs shaking, and became more and more uncomfortable. Not because of his stomach's growing want of food, but the fact that he's never had to actually hunt before.

Resorted to laying there like a corpse. Too tired to care or move much more than he'd already had.

Hello Everly.

Warmth. Woke up with a bad feeling in his stomach. Not quite sure what it was though. Your local shapeshifting goblin isn't an oracle, and honestly he's never come across one who didn't try to scam you out of your money.

While less than pleased after -- and honestly, let's face it, long before -- the gradual return to the City of Magpies, Mauro taps off the few things on his fingers that he has managed to enjoy whilst here over the last month. All the while making his way downtown. Glad that, since his last time here, the friends he's made during his younger years are still 'around'. Some in school, much as he was, and others doing better or worse. Knew of two that were dead due to unfortunate circumstances, and couldn't really find it in himself to be surprised by it. Hurt by one of their deaths more than the other, considering he and the girl in question were once a thing in their mid-teens. Tells himself [ read: momentarily fools himself ] that she's probably doing much better wherever she is currently. Wherever the hell that would be. Did take quiet note of a few names spoken during that talk with his friend who knew of the incident.

Learned that an old rival and something of a bully of his past was crippled now, and essentially lost what would have been his career had he been capable of staying healthy. Or, in the case of police reports, away from the goddamn woods on the eastern side of the city. Doesn't believe for a minute it was a natural incident, given the additional reports following it.

Rumors were almost as good as the reports. They were when they involved the supernatural, at least.

Spent the latter part of the day catching up with friends before things took a turn for the worst when the bonfire he was at was raided. Was sitting, speaking with a few familiars and new faces alike, when a shiver broke his attention away from the fire and the words of his companions. The scent of something rotten hitting his nose before three towering figures removed themselves from the blanket of the woods. Got a glimpse of what looked like stretched, decaying skin covering their bodies mixed with the stitched pelts of several would-be animals.

Shouted in alarm. Shouts turned into screams from his friends as the skinwalkers fell upon their little group. Battled with the intention, but came to terms with the fact that he couldn't risk shifting form in front of humans. Not without upsetting the laws surrounding such things. But he could run. And run he did. Right into the forest. Fully aware of the shrieking behind him and the death that would come from the skinwalker's hunt.

Knew he had two of the creatures on his tail by the stench that remained around him like an offensive cloud. Shifted, instinctively, into his canid shape—

And fell into a trap, mid-leap. Activating something written -- runes, he would later find out -- when he'd run over them. Scooped up into a net made of strapped bones and hide. Some, he noticed in the moonlight, were human. Writhed until he was knocked unconcious. Last thoughts being the hope that the skinwalkers would at least put him to death first before eating him alive.

Woke at some point later, groggy and sore from being whiplashed up into a tree and then thrown to the earth in the attempt to knock him out. Fairly certain he'd broken a rib by the way his breathing caused splinters of pain to shoot through his side. Still, unsurprisingly, in wolven form. Unfortunately smelling like ass because of the skinwalkers, but otherwise . . . alive.

Weigh your evils, right?

Took a few moments to calm his fleeting heartbeat, which was a feat in itself. Looked around the room he was in -- unmistakably a cell -- but didn't bother moving otherwise. Didn't see a reason to figure out what other bones were possibly fractured or broken. Whined softly and let darkness claim him for some more time. Waking only, barely, when someone opened the door to the windowless room. A woman, he assumed. And given her ears, she was Fae. Her hair appearing as a bright red from the light drifting in from the hallway.

Felt her hand press into his side and definitely woke up then. Snarled and lunged for her, only to writhe and wail against the pain. When she went for his muzzle speaking words he could not understand, felt no remorse in clamping his teeth down on her fingers, tasting blood. Hoping he'd take a finger or two with him when he found the strength to yank his head back.

Held himself there and stared.
One second. Two seconds. Six seconds. Ten.
And then he was out again. From pain. Shock. Complete and utter exhaustion.

Had faint dreams, nightmares of the chase, before he was woken. Horrified to find himself having been puppetted to the middle of a would be chamber. Eyes in an audience on him and a new figure in front of him, wielding what looked like discs with sharpened metal at their edge. Couldn't think of the name of them for the life of him. Honestly, given the way the other stood and looked at him, Mauro didn't think there would be much life left in him when she got through with . . . whatever it was she was planning on doing.

Resorted to shouting. Angrily. Bristling even under the constraints that held him back from rushing at her. Still very much in his wolf form as he demanded answers from the white-haired woman. She looked a little older than him, but knowing this place, a place he had a feeling was far from home,

Those blue eyes settled on him like anchors. "You're going to die, shifter. I thought that was obvious."

"For what? What crimes did I do?" His mind returns to the forest. The bonfire. The whole reason those skinwalkers encroached upon them in the first place.

But they shouldn't of even been that close to the city's outskirts in the first place. So why—

"Last I heard, you didn't have to do anything in order to die," she answered. "The elderly die all the time. Children die. Anyone can die if they're unlucky enough." She got closer and, damn it all, he hunched his shoulders. More cat than dog.

"Or mortal enough." If it wasn't obvious by now that the woman was an immortal, it was made obvious by the way she flaunted that word. Or so his gut tells him. "So what? You're going to kill me because I'm not one of your immortal Fae friends? What the fuck kind of pathetic excuse is that even?"


"Almost what?"

"Almost Fae." Because the woman wasn't Fae. She wasn't anything. She was remade. A nephilim. Though that couldn't be. Not in this life time. They were believed to have been dead eons ago—

From that point it's a blur. The stag remembers little beyond pain and waking up on impact of the earth meeting his shoulder. Surrounded by a wood he did not know, surprised to be alive.

Hurting, but alive.

mar . row
Meaning swarthy, dark-skinned; a moor.

i want to turn down the volume of the sun
— Ashe Vernon

Young adult.


Tangy, husky smelling cologne.


Wendigo, Jackal; the.




They say he's a devil.
      An evil spirit.
         They say nothing will ever grow on the ground where he walks.

ᐬ Warning & Disclaimer

I'm not one for making family friendly characters and I don't write or make my characters to appeal or appease anyone. With that in mind, you may come across mature stuff here. This is a warning.

As a writer and creator who handles numerous character personas, sometimes upsetting material comes along. While I normally keep biographies fairly tame, there are instances in which my character may get involved with rather touchy subjects. Such subjects include, but are not limited to: Language, self-mutilation, abuse, drugs, addiction, and other forms of trauma. If any of this has a chance of triggering you then I suggest clicking away from the page.

I am not represented by my characters in any way. Their outlooks and actions are their own. Characters will be characters and I will be me. Treat us how we should be treated as IC and OOC are very different aspects.

Artwork shown was made by Tuhka. Javascript tabs were made by Hraeth. Other code pieces made by Unplugged. The biography layout was originally made in Mozilla Firefox/Google Chrome by me, and may look weird on some other browsers. Just forewarning!

All boxes are scrolly. Remember to make sure you have Adobe Flash allowed to run on your browser so you can see his MP3 players!

All interactions are welcome. Do hit me up on Discord or on here if you've any questions or concerns, or if you're up for some sweet, sweet RP: Foodog#1408

Acurna's picture

uwu what's this

uwu what's this
togetherness's picture

Looking snazzy up in here.

Looking snazzy up in here.
Novaqi's picture

yaass he hereee

yaass he hereee
Rav's picture


Keyblade's picture


Foodog's picture

My gremlin.. is here. Ty guys

My gremlin.. is here.
Ty guys for the tracks! <3
Apeldille's picture

Hmhm hi

Hmhm hi

Foodog's picture

Welcome I thought I replied

I thought I replied to this kjhgf.
Basen's picture

gonna sneak in here

gonna sneak in here