Pitch and Lark: Thinking About It

Epic RP is Epic!

The bad guy- err, girl, is dead, Pitch and friends are no longer haunted, and everyone is happy (more or less >.>). Except maybe poor Yva, who got pretty beat up. (Stuff is here, last couple pages :D )

So now, what do my guys do? Lark is still looking for work, especially with a new baby gryphon to feed, and Pitch needs some way to keep from getting bored. They spent some time out in the Stormwind Harbor a couple nights ago, discussing this very thing.

Chatlog because I'm lazy. Also because I'm beginning to love them.

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You eye Wildlark up and down.

Wildlark raises her eyebrow inquisitively at you.

Pitchblàck says: .... comere

Wildlark settles in Pitch's lap.

Pitchblàck wraps arms around.

Pitchblàck says: You're not mad anymore, are you?

Wildlark says: No. But so help me, if you do something like that again....

Pitchblàck says: I won't. I might be dense sometimes, but I do learn fast

Wildlark leans back with a sigh.

Pitchblàck says: Nice view of the sunset from here

Wildlark says: Mhmm

Pitchblàck says: Have you thought any more about Northrend?

Wildlark says: Not really... why?

Pitchblàck shrugs.

Pitchblàck says: Just wondering I guess. I'd like to show you some of the places there. Bet you'll like Sholazar

Wildlark grunts.

Pitchblàck says: You know they're almost at Arthas' throne room door. War will be over soon

Wildlark says: I suppose so.... Or else he'll just kill them all, and we'll start over

Pitchblàck says dryly, "Good to see you're being optimistic."

Wildlark grins faintly. "I try."

Pitchblàck says: Lark?

Wildlark says: Hmm?

Pitchblàck says: What's the real reason you don't want to go out there? Are you that afraid of dying?

Wildlark scowls. "No."

Wildlark says: It's not dying, Elune knows that it'll happen sooner or later. It's just... the futility, I guess

Pitchblàck says: How so?

Wildlark says: .... thinking of something happening out there, that would result in my death. And then I would just get up and go serve him in some way, instead of staying decently dead

Wildlark says: .... it'd be pointless

Pitchblàck says: So you just don't want to be worthless

Wildlark looks at Pitch oddly.

Wildlark says: I suppose that might be it

Wildlark sighs. "Guess it goes back to my family."

Pitchblàck cocks his head. "Hm?"

Wildlark says: I told you, remember? They wanted me to be my brother. Or better, maybe. Take his place as the family hero

Pitchblàck says: Hmm

Wildlark says: They just wanted bragging rights, you know. "Oh, guess what Lark did? She saved the entire army from gargoyles." Or something like that

Wildlark says: .... sometimes I think that's why my brother died. He either was trying too hard, and paid for it, or he died just to get away from them

Pitchblàck says: That's.... not very charitable

Wildlark snorts softly.

Wildlark says: They wouldn't care about "charitable"

Wildlark says: Anyway, I don't want to talk about them anymore

Wildlark snuggles back against him.

Wildlark says: .... sun's down

Pitchblàck grunts. "I'm too comfy to move."

Wildlark grins. "Then I guess so am I."

Pitchblàck says: .... would you think about it, though? That's all I ask

Wildlark turns her head to look at him.

Wildlark says: You don't give up, do you?

Pitchblàck says: Stubbornness seems to be a family trait

Wildlark smirks a bit.

Wildlark says: .... I'll think about it. No promises though

Pitchblàck says: That's all I ask for

Pitchblàck tightens his arms slightly.

Wildlark sighs contentedly.

Leveling Spree! and Other Stuff

Wow, what a week. RP has settled down some after Pitch's run-in with his ghost, although a few other ghosts are making their characters miserable. Speaking of Pitch, Lark was pretty upset when she heard about what happened (she yelled at him), but has since calmed down. Things are almost back to normal.

So, what's going on besides that? Well, for starters I caved and made my first purchases from the Blizzard store...



Yes, I got both of them. >.> But hey, that's one pet for each account, right? Also, the in-game pets are ADORABLE. And to top it off, I discovered something when I took them to Outlands- they fly!




Yes, they fly behind you when you're on a flying mount. That alone makes them worth it. Pitch's wyvern cub hasn't had any trouble keeping up so far, but I have noticed that Lark's gryphon tends to lag behind a lot. I haven't figured out why yet.

Lark is now 65. /boggle. I've been leveling her like a fiend, she'll probably be in Northrend by next weekend. Then I'll have to hope I don't hit Northrend Burnout, like I have with a couple other toons (poor Shaur, Quae, and Zuuluu...).

I've been really lucky with her so far as random dungeons have gone, though my sister hasn't been so lucky with her warrior. Lark hasn't had a bad group since the ninja-pair she ran into in Sunken Temple...



(Can you figure out what they were doing? Yeeaaahh.)

Short post is short(-ish), but I've got stuff to do. Been trying to write up some stuff that's flying around in my head, but Writer's Block seems to have returned with a vengeance. Argh.

Happy Hunting!

Pitch's Ghost: Striking back

Pitch and Lark made their way to their new favorite sitting spot, at the fountain overlooking the harbor. Kalenedral and Channi were already there, on the top basin, watching the sunset. Kal had one arm wrapped around Channi as the death knight leaned against her shoulder. Lark looked up at them, saying in greeting, "Hi, you two." Channi flushed slightly as she quickly sat up. She tried to cover it with a wave. Kal greeted them back, "Heya."

Pitch's reply was a grunt as he hopped up to the edge of the lowest basin and sat. The warrior and death knight both peered at him, noticing for the first time that his hackles were standing up all along his spine. Lark sat down next to him, a troubled look on her face, as Tuah jumped up with them and curled up in the bottom of the basin. Channi asked, "Is everything Ok?" Lark looked from Pitch to the others, frowning. "I'm not sure."

Kal raised her eyebrow inquisitively at Lark, but Pitch answered before the hunter had a chance to. "She's back, I saw her in the Mage district." Kal looked confused for a moment. "She?......Oh." Pitch flattened his ears. "I jumped at her this time." Kal's eyebrow went up again. "... And?" Pitch's answer was a growl, "She smiled at me.... and vanished before I reached her." Kal shivered slightly as Channi looked around with a worried expression.

Kal cursed softly in Darnassian, earning a curious glance from Channi. Pitch growled again, "I'm done playing. If she wants to follow me around and pop up out of nowhere, then she better be ready." His lip curled in a slight snarl. "Because I'm watching for her now."

"Pitch," Lark cut in. "I don't think you should mess with her." Pitch glanced at her. "You didn't see her this time, did you?" "No," she replied."Just a trace of that smoke you mentioned, but not strong." "Do you still believe me?" he asked. "Of course," she said immediately. "Then let me handle it my way," he said, a little more softly. Lark frowned, but let it drop.

Kal did not. "Elune blast it, Pitch," she swore, then hesitated. "Just be careful." He replied, "I will."

* * * * * *

The cat was angry. This was not a particularly unusual thing, but it was a different sort of anger this time. The elf was threatened, and the cat felt it. Subconsciously, it understood that any threat to the elf was a threat to itself as well. It tested the strength of its restraints, then went back to pacing restlessly in its cage in the back of the elf's mind, grumbling and snarling.

It had been a long time since the cat was allowed free. Maybe it was time to change that.

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Planning some RP with Pitch, tonight or tomorrow night. Gotta see how it goes, then I might post it up here. Should be fun!

Well, maybe not so fun for Pitch. Poor guy, I've been torturing him a bunch lately.

Also posted here, with a little more info.

Pitch: Between Dreams and Reality

Last Friday Anna posted a ficlet challenge: write about your character having a nightmare. I know this is a bit late *cough*, but here it is.

Pitch's ghost has been bugging him more than he might let on, so I tried combining the two and this is what I came up with. Enjoy!

(Also warning for adult stuff >.> )

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Pitch lay back on the bed, watching Lark move above him, one hand resting on her belly. She watched him in return with that wicked little grin he liked seeing so much. The night was late, the Park outside his window dark and quiet. Pitch gave a contented sigh and closed his eyes, to better concentrate on his other senses.

The smell of smoke and ash was strong enough to choke him. Filled with sudden dread, he opened his eyes again and spotted the girl across the room, against the back wall. Seeing that he was aware of her, she gave that horrible smile, full of gaps and jagged points. He waited for her to back through the wall, or whatever trick she had planned now. This time, however, to his surprise she started towards him.

He didn't see where the knife came from, it just appeared in her hand, the blade rusty and pitted and the wooden handle rotting away. Dark stains covered both handle and blade. The girl... ghost... thing floated to the foot of the bed and effortlessly stepped up.

Passing beyond fear now and into panic, Pitch looked up at Lark. To his further surprise, she seemed unaware that anything was wrong, her expression unchanged. Pitch tried to say something, to warn her, but his jaw wouldn't work, his voice frozen in his throat. The thing kept coming, and he watched in horror, unable to move, as it stepped up behind Lark and reached up. Gripping her hair in one hand, it pulled Lark's head back and smoothly drew the blade across her throat.

Blood sprayed crimson through the air, almost blinding Pitch. He watched in shock as it sheeted down Lark's torso, then she slowly toppled over, hitting the floor with a dull thud. Pitch suddenly found he could move, as the girl-thing opened her mouth again and started laughing, the first sound he had heard from her. It grew in volume until he had to cover his ears, until instead of one it now sounded like a dozen, all either laughing or screaming, he could no longer tell which. His own mouth opened to scream...

... And he thrashed on the bed with the covers tangled in his legs. Dimly he realized he was in his cat form as he struggled free. The girl was gone, and with her the smell, but he had to get up, had to check Lark....

Abruptly two strong, wiry arms circled his neck, and a familiar voice started shshing in his ear. "Pitch, wake up, it's only a dream. Come on, babe, snap out of it..." The cat tried to lash out, but Pitch held it back as the voice, and it's owner's scent, finally filtered through to his brain. He stopped fighting and lay still. "Lark?" "Shush, Pitch. It was just a dream," she soothed. He unshifted and rolled over to stare at her, needing to see she was alive and unharmed. She looked back at him, wide eyes full of worry. "I was getting ready to go," she said, and he realized that she was indeed dressed. "But you started thrashing and moaning. I... I couldn't wake you up." Wordlessly he reached for her, and she settled back down next to him. "What was it?" she asked softly, but he shook his head, just holding her tightly.

They stayed like that as the night passed and dawn finally broke. Neither of them slept any more.

Pitch: A Look Back- Aid continued

Continuing from here, this is the next stage of Pitch's "training".
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Dranas stared at the small log hut, then looked around at the rest of the clearing. The hut, little more than a hovel really, sat in the middle, with a small firepit outside the hide-covered doorway. At the wood's edge he could see a smaller hut, also crafted of logs. The old druid who had agreed to be his teacher watched him. "Got a problem with the place?" he finally asked gruffly. Dranas shook his head. "It's wonderful."

He followed the old man, who still refused to give his name, around as he showed the younger elf where various things were kept. "Most food is hunted for, but I got a few supplies here. Ya'll sleep there," he indicated the spot with a jerk of his head, "An' I don' like laziness. If ya don' get up when I do, ya'll find out how much."

"Yer cat is angry," he said to Dranas as they shared dinner that night. "Ya've got a temper too, I'll bet, an' that's not helping. First thing I'm to do is find out how angry he is. Yer na gonna like it boy, but it's got to be done." He cleared his throat. "Oh, an' I don' wanna see ya shift til I tell ya different. Got that, cub?" The young elf blinked at him uncertainly. "Uh, sure."

* * *

The idea was simple. Just grab the stick and take it away from the old man. What Dranas hadn't been told was that the oldster would be trying to beat him black and blue with it. "Is this really necessary?" he asked after the third time he had nearly been knocked flying. The only answer he got was yet another jab in the ribs. Dranas of course had yet to even touch the stick, let alone been able to take it away.

He began to get angry as the "training" continued and the old man still wouldn't say a word. With the anger, however, he could feel the cat inside him trying to take over. He fought it, but after another stinging blow across his shoulders, the elf disappeared and a large black panther lunged at the old druid. He met with, not the old man, but a larger cat, this one grayish-white and covered in old scars. The gray cat overpowered the black one, savaging it until it lay still beneath him.

* * *

Dranas opened his eyes slowly, groaning in pain. He managed to sit up, slowly, and looked himself over to find several deep cuts and scratches. "Yer cat got loose," his teacher said without preamble, startling him. "I've got na magic, boy. Ya'll have to patch yerself up." He picked up the stick - that fel-cursed stick - and headed back outside. "Once yer done, get out here. We're na finished yet." Dranas was left on his pallet, blinking after him in disbelief.

* * *

Dranas stared dully at the cookpot hanging over the fire. His teacher glared at him from the other side. "Ya heard me, boy," he said gruffly. "Ya gotta hunt yer own food from now on." The younger druid hunched his shoulders, feeling resentment from the past week's abuse building up inside. He was tired, too tired and worn out to go hunting. And he was hungry. Suddenly it was too much. "No," he said, and reached for the pot.

He never saw the blow, but suddenly he was on his back, blinking up at the tree-tops in an effort to clear his darkening vision. His teacher stepped into view, face full of rage. "Control, boy!" he roared, and Dranas flinched involuntarily. "Ya gotta learn control! Or else maybe I'll bring yer brother an' sister down here for a little hunting party, eh?" Dranas stared up at him in shock. He knew exactly what he meant, and for an instant he could almost see Jahira under his claws, the life torn out of her. He flinched back from the vision, and the old man lowered his voice, though his expression remained the same. "If yer gonna control the cat, ya've got to control everything bout yerself first. Now get, ya need to eat." He reached down and hauled the youngster back to his feet, and Dranas went to get his hunting knife with no further arguments.

"Yer na taking this serious enough, cub," his teacher told him later, as Dranas roasted the duck he had managed to catch. "If ya listen an' ya learn what I'm trying to teach ya, ya can sit with a newborn babe with na worries. But if ya can' learn control, ya'll be a danger to everyone. I can' let ya loose like that. If ya don' learn control, boy, I'll kill ya." His eyes glinted in the light of the small cookfire, and Dranas shivered.

Guest Post: Haunting

Pitch was recently involved in some RP centered around a few of the Wildfire Riders. Short story- he, along with several others, helped to get a stolen baby back to her parents, and may have ticked off a Very Bad Person in the process. Bad Person now wants revenge, and she seems to have some control over some very nasty spirits. For more info look here.

And now, introducing Pitch's ghost, compliments of Yva!

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Smoke and ash. It's all you can smell today, which is unusual. Normally the scents of the dwarven district don't find their way towards this part of Old Town - unless there's a strong southern wind, of course, but today there is no wind. It's a beautiful, balmy spring day with nary a cloud in the sky.

Your paws are padding over the cobblestones near the armory as you round the bend towards the Pig. The smell grows stronger almost immediately. You stop and look around, more curious than anything at what could cause this anomaly, and you spot the girl in the alley. She's nothing remarkable - short and scrawny, with dark blond hair that falls around her ears. She wears patch laden overalls and a faded checkered shirt. Her feet are dirty and bare, and there are smudges of black on her forearms and cheeks.

You blink at her, she blinks back, and then she backs away. She doesn't turn around and walk away, she backs away until she's no longer standing in the mouth of the alley but is, instead, shrouded by the deeper shadows.

The smell of smoke goes away. Immediately.

It's strange, to say the least.

Thinking it just a bizarre circumstance not really worthy of much other than a shrug, you go into the Pig, stay for a time with friends and family until the sun is drooping past the horizon and heralding a lovely night. It grows later, and later still. Stifling a yawn, you stretch, make your goodbyes to your people, and head back outside. Once again, stepping upon the street, you're assailed by the smell of smoke and ash. You look up, and the blond girl with her checkered shirt is standing on the steps of the shop across the street. The store's closed now, it's evening, but she's positioned herself in front of the locked door nonetheless.

"Hello?"

She smiles at you, revealing a mouth of . . . bad things. There are gaps where half of her teeth should be and simply aren't, and the teeth that are there are rotting little stumps or jagged spikes. You crinkle your nose, trying to think of something to say, and she begins to recede again, backing towards the shop heel to toe, heel to toe. You want to warn her that the door is closed, to not bump her head, but a closed door doesn't hinder her retreat. She passes through it like it's not there.

You stare, and keep staring, unable to suppress the shudder passing along your spine.

Decision time: to go back into the Pig or to get away. As the girl's presence is here, you've sensed it nowhere else, you flee Old Town and find yourself in the Park, in a nice well lit patch where there's a lovely tree to climb and find sanctuary in. You scale the branches and nestle yourself down into a ball of cat, willing sleep to come so you don't have to think about what you just saw. Your eyes slam shut, paw going over your face.

The sleep does not come easy.

*****

The next day dawns early for you, especially considering the birds bellowing their choruses all around. You yawn, unhinging your feline jaw, your paws going out in front of you in a stretch, your spine arching as your tail goes up.

You smell smoke and ash.

Dread coils in your gut as you dare to open your eyes. You peer around and down, and you see her almost immediately. She's hard to miss. She's standing at the foot of the tree, staring up at you and grinning her jack-o-lantern grin, her hands wedged into her pockets.

You stare back.

As you watch, she begins to move away, and you realize this time she's not bothering to pretend to walk away. She's floating away, and fast, grinning all the while. In broad daylight. As she leaves, the smell leaves, and you're left with your fear in a tree in the Stormwind park.

You know in the recesses of your brain - the parts that are still functioning despite the confusion and panic - that you will see her again.

Pitch and Lark: Not Yet

((Last night saw some strangers at the Pig & Whistle - drunk, loud, and rather obnoxious strangers. OOCly they were rather amusing, but Lark wanted nothing to do with them. When they finally left, her mood was kind of ruined, so she called it a night early and convinced Pitch to leave with her.))
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"So what was that about?"

Lark glanced down at Pitch, padding by her side. She looked away again quickly, her face carefully expressionless. "What was what about?" she asked blandly. "You know. Those guys in there." He looked at her inquisitively. "If I didn't think I knew you better, I'd think you were afraid." Lark snorted, "Not afraid." They walked on without speaking for a bit before she added, "I just... don't care for men like them." She felt his eyes still on her, and sighed. "Look, Pitch, I don't want to explain it out here. Just.. wait til we're off the street?" "Mkay," he replied. The rest of their trip to his apartment was accomplished in silence, but she could almost hear the wheels in his head spinning.

Pitch thought he could guess what her problem was. He said nothing, however, as they crossed the Park to the little herbalist shop. Shylamiir was just closing up, but she let them in with a smile when they arrived. Pitch shifted out of his cat form as he followed Lark up the stairs to his tiny apartment, little more than a spare bedroom. He shut and latched the door behind them, then turned in time to slip his arms around her as she pressed herself against him, pulling his head down for a kiss. He returned it for a few moments, then gently pushed her away. "Someone treated you badly," he said bluntly. "That's why they were making you nervous."

Her look of surprise swiftly turned to suspicion, with a touch of confusion as well. "We're off the street now," he told her, smiling slightly to take the sting out of his actions. "No more distractions. You were saying?" She sighed and eyed him, a little wistfully. "It was several years ago," she admitted finally. Then, with a small, sad smile she added, "Some scars take longer to fade." He just watched her curiously. She hesitated. "Pitch, I... It's not something I want to talk about. Not yet. But I'll... I'll tell you sometime. When I'm ready." She held back a sigh of relief when he nodded. "When you're ready," he repeated, then held out his hands. She gave him a crooked grin and stepped closer, reaching up to massage his ears, and was rewarded when a rumble started deep in his chest. He made no objections as she guided him toward the bed.

She didn't leave right away when they were done, like she often did. Instead she remained pressed against him, seeming to draw comfort from his presence. He gave her all he could, staying awake for as long as possible. At last, however, he dozed off. When he woke the next morning she was gone. A note on the table told him that she'd see him in the next day or two, and at the bottom she had added a scrawled Thanks.

Pitch: A Look Back- Aid

I've been wanting to write and post some stories I've thought up for Pitch's background. Between writer's block, artsing, and playing the game, it, uh, hasn't happened yet. BUT! Here's a start to one of them at last. Enjoy!

(Sidenote: this was a long time ago, when Pitch was somewhere around 210-230; his current age is 612)
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Ashenvale was a quiet forest, with nothing usually heard beyond birdsong and frog calls, and the occasional howling of its native wolves. This morning, in this particular clearing, a new sound was heard- the muttered prayers of a young Kal'dorei.

The elf sat on the weather-smoothed stump of a fallen tree, head bowed and face hidden in his hands. He was a druid, apparent from the leathers he wore, leathers decorated with the plant and animal spirits common among druids. And he had a very big problem.

He wished he could go to his brother for help, like he had always done before. But he could feel that this was something he had to solve himself. And so he prayed- to Elune, to Malorne, to any of the gods that might hear him and be moved enough to send aid.

"Better be a damned good reason yer hollering an' blubbering in my woods, boy." He jerked his head up as a rough voice cut through the clearing, and blinked at the apparition standing before him, about ten yards away. It was another Kal'dorei, but ancient-looking, his skin badly weathered and his long, tangled hair faded to almost white. Even in his elf form and at that distance, the younger one could smell a faint animal musk coming from him. He squinted at the younger elf from a creased and scarred face, and when he received no answer he added, "Else ya better get back where ya belong. I got no use for soft-nosed cubs, an' I don' share territ'ry with anyone."

The youngster blinked again. "Uh, pardon?" The newcomer sighed. "Did they na teach ya to speak proper, or are ya just an idiot?" he asked irritably. "Uh, no," the first one replied quickly, his senses returning after his surprise. "I just... well... I have... problems." The old one rolled his eyes dramatically. "We're all got problems, boy. Why're ya here in my woods is the point." The "boy" thought for a moment, then slid off the tree stump, patting it invitingly. "It might be a long story. Want to sit down?" The elder grunted, but he did walk across the clearing and take the offered seat, his worn, dirty leathers creaking as he did. "A'ight, cub," he groused once seated. "Out with it." So the young druid told him all.

About how he was learning the feral path of druidism, because he had little talent for magic but was a natural shape-shifter. How he had just recently learned to take on his cat shape, and reveled in it in a way that went beyond even his bear form. And then how the dreams had started. Dreams of hunting in the woods, killing everything he came across, until he was bathed in blood. Of how he would go to sleep in his bed as an elf, and wake up far from home in his cat form with no memory of how he had gotten there. Sometimes when he woke, he found blood on his paws or jaws. How they got worse, until he had fled here, afraid that he would lose control completely and injure or kill one of his siblings next. The old one listened without interrupting, something he was profoundly grateful for. As he finished, he suddenly realized something. "You're a druid too," he said, and the oldster chuckled.

"I am. Might be I've even been through somma the things ya've just mentioned. But the question is, boy, what're ya going to do now?" The young one thought. "I suppose," he said slowly, "That I should find someone that can help me. You know, teach me to control myself. But, I don't know where to start." The old one shook his head at the other's denseness. "Might be I can help. Shirvallah knows I've got the time. Then ya can get outta my territ'ry." The young druid blinked at him. "Would you?" he asked feelingly. "That'd be wonderful. Then I can get back to my family."

The old one nodded curtly. "Well'en, we're settled," he grunted, then stood and pointed into the woods. "M'house's thataway, bout two hours walk. Let's get 'er going." He started off. The younger one scrambled to his feet and followed. "Thank you for doing this. My name is Dranas," he offered as he caught up. The elder grunted again. "Don' need yer name, cub. An' don' thank me. We've na even started yet."