Earlier today I read another writer's work which I will not lie is nothing new to me. There have always been those that when I read their work I enjoyed it and there were others that I read and wished they would never reach for a key board again or pick up a pencil or pen but I'd never say that because everyone is different and no one is the same. In art we all have learned that if there is one thing you do not touch, you do not try to censor it is art and the way one expresses what they see and feel inside themselves. Well today I read someone of an art form I despise most times; erotica. Don't get me wrong, everyone enjoy a little adult entertainment but I always hated the artform for it's tasteless characters. How they were always devoid of meaning, motivation or just any sense of mind but to be watch and jerked off to. The plots were well, there was none but this person actually pulled it off. Her artform was in a word; perfection. Each and every word was well placed and you understood the character's and they had more meaning to them then just 'hey let's fuck because some person behind a screen wants to watch!". I hope they wrote other things besides erotica because I'll be honest, if that's what she can do with porn. A book by her must be a fucking writergasm for people like me trying to find their inner writer. So I'm going to strive be better then I was before even harder now and well hopefully this time next year I can see such skill and tact in my own writing because sometimes a few well time words can change a life.

So to all my fellow writers and artists out there, let's change the world!

Sincerely Silvermoon

Now before you begin I'd like to remember this is a character application for my first and favorite roleplay character: Nathaniel "Devil of The Silver Moon" Stansdorff. I'm mostly interested in what is though of the history and his personality for I'm considering fleshing him out further and actually writing a book to fully document his beginnings and if the book is well liked. The rest of his tales and whatever I can invent for him to do. If you're a rper, he is up for some rp because I haven't gotten to use him in such a long time. For those of you who came from lilywolftail's page. This is the character that she has drawn being intimate with her kitsune "Lily".



This character is copied righted to Nathaniel T. Kidd. Any use of this character without expressed written permission will be persecuted, no exceptions. Implied permission is not valid. January 5, 2009©

* Full Name: Nathaniel "Devil of The Silver Moon" Stansdorff

* Nick Name: Silver(moon, Lord Beta, Lord Silver(moon)

* Class: Warrior

* Secondary Class: Psychic

* Age: 27

* Height: 6 feet 3 inches

* Weight: 235 pounds

* Species: Half Man, Half Wolf

* Alignment: Neutral Good

* Chinese Zodiac: Metal Horse

* Themes: Headstrong, Just like you, Never Enough, Bleed It Out

* Personality:

A quiet being by appearance, he does not talk much to those he does not know or trust. Often preferring to sit alone or be left alone when out traveling. This has led to rumors of him being anti-social is somewhat true. Silvermoon has a slight complex due to his traumatic childhood. Often finding it difficult to open up to people or speaking to those he doesn't know. However he often speaks more than he means to at time, zoning out and ranting on about his mother or events in his past. Speaking of death, attempted rape but also honor and glory.

Those that know him on a personal level, however speak of a different wolf. One where his voice is as strong, clear and decisive. Where his thoughts are shining as the summer sun and as deep as the great Recel Ocean. Silvermoon's thoughts are always swirling in his head, always thinking. Trying to figure out the next mystery.

Silvermoon is a very honor driven wolf. Always trying to go up and beyond the standard. Trying to be something more than just an average being. Chivalry is what you could call it. He still believes in the Knight's Code. The code of King Arthur and the other great heroes of the ancient realms.

The likes and dislikes of this wolf are made very apparent to onlookers. Good and kind deeds are met with a smile. As well as music and a soft hand upon his fur and face. The most calming thing one could do to him, always relaxing him into an almost puppy like state. Greed and corruption infers his wrath. Causing him to draw his blades and stop the madness he sees. There is one thing, however, that makes him give up his honor if done, for madness and rage take over. Do not insult his mother's name, never offend her or call her 'whore', 'slut', 'wench' or any other dirty name. To do so is to sign your death sentence, no one and nothing will be able to save you from ripping your head off and claiming it as a trophy. Silvermoon is the most dangerous "Mamma's boy" you will ever meet.

* Updated Personality:

*Empire-Aesir War
War changes people. This has been seen and for a wolf that had seen so many you would think he had become immune to it's effects. Such thoughts would be sorely wrong. The war between the Aesir and Empire has changed him, made him colder. A quiet demeanor of which he would not speak unless spoken to has become one of light hearted 'Let's party' who will speak to anyone and have a good time with any as long as they bring ale and fine women to dance that. This new Silver has brightened up the taverns he's visited, buying a round for everyone the moment he enters the door and not leaving till long into the night. Always in a slight stupor, the only reason it being light is that he's a wolfkin. Any normal man would probably have died of poisoning from the beer and the rum. Anyone who saw this side of Silver would think that he did not have a care in the world, he wished they were right.

Each night Silver spends himself screaming inside his mind. What has he become? Why did he let the war do this to him? These questions are screamed at him by a his mother, half decomposed in her grave. Her burial gown mere tatters. Almost nothing remains of her former beauty but Silver recognizes her clearly. She condemns him, claiming that he is not her own for no child of her's would act like such a beast. What were his crimes?

He had become a soulless killer on the battlefield. What once had been a "fight till they submit" stance on fighting Silver uses with equal vigor a "kill all Aesir that will not turn". How many towns had he burned? Families starved because he had destroyed all food flowing to their cities. And for what reason? Revenge. Did the Aesir deserve punishment? Yes Luthe did but why had he attacked his people? To breed new wolves for his war and force Luthe out. This was not Silver's ways but he had performed them well. Silver had allowed no human survivors of his battles. He had become a cruel murderer. Death, Fear and Torture were the tools he used against the Aesir and how it killed him inside. Each night was a hell and his mother was the one the Devil chose to condemn him.

* Physical Description:

No one has ever seen his skin but if one did it would as white as his soul, undiminished, untainted. Every inch of his body is covered in a thick layer of soft, smooth fur. It is gentle to the touch and highly sensitive to soft and gentle hand. Gliding easily in between the fingers of a hand with a lady's grace. Flowing like a river. This fur sparkles like mountain water in the summer sun, giving him the appearance of an angelic creature walking amongst the mortal masses of Dark Forest.

Under his fur ripples several muscles, always relaxed but always ready for the fight. Like that of a savage beast in it's lair. Calmed but not fooled into any belief that it is indeed safe. These muscles are large and strong, ready for a brawl or a fight to the death. Warrior's muscles. Developed from years on the streets and on the distant battle fields.

Silvermoon's clothing, if he has much on which is rare. Is always made of silk or some sort of breathable material. Something he has to do in order to prevent himself from over heating and passing out in minutes. His taste in clothing in lacking, preferring comfort over looks. Often dawning only shorts and only for the sake of moral's sake. These shorts are often overly large in the legs in width, in order to allow the most air to circulate through them but to compensate he made them slightly longer just to make sure there are no incidents of people seeing his wanker.

The coloring of his clothing is just like the style of the clothing itself. Often using tan or light colors to prevent the clothing from trapping heat or more attention. Silvermoon often gets enough from his appearance alone. A wolf's head attracts everyone's eyes.

His head is that of a great wolf, pointed snout. Maw with sharp teeth, made for tearing to kill and large canines. Perfect to grip the flesh of prey and rip it limb from limb. His eyes are a deep sea blue. As blue as the sea and as deep as his soul and thoughts. His ears are tipped and pointed. Always up and listening when relaxed, down and turned back when angry or fighting.

* Nationality(Look at Map): Born in Ardania, Claims loyalty to Anur

* Updated History(History of Roleplaying):

* History:

After the salvation of the village he was born in Nathaniel, now known as "Devil of The Silvermoon" or "Silvermoon" for short, left his village and joined the army. With them he fought many wars against foreign powers and inner evils. He was a devil on the battle field as he wielded his twin blades and for it he was known. He wielded his abilities of the mind though in surprising ways. He used it almost purely defense on the field, using it to blind archers to prevent casualties.

He also used to save lives after the battle. Using the power of mind to numb the pain as he worked. Using his own training from the wolves to know which plants to heal. He was a healer of sorts but not only for his side. He healed enemy wounded as well. Silvermoon was an angel and demon enrolled in one, it was ironic for some of those that he was healing he was the one to have injured them in the first place.

One man asked him why he did this and his reply was: "When the smoke clears and the battle is over, the wounded and dead are always neutral... so shut up and help me move this man to the doctor's tent!" Silvermoon had grown into a man and a soldier of his own fashion. He fought like a devil and dreamed like that of an angel. He left the army after the king's son took the throne and started a war of conquest.

Silvermoon traveled the world for a time. Crossing seas and continents alike as though walking down a simple street. In the continent of Ardania he took place in one of the great battles. He joined neither side but fought on his own for a local village that was in the path of both the great armies. The battle waged on for hours but when the smoke cleared and both armies had retreated. Some looked back in surprise to see that the town bore the colors of neutrality and that no army had claimed it.

Both armies had sent men into that village to take it but the parties came back to claim great losses to the other army's wolf demon. Silvermoon had kept the city out of the fight it seemed for any battle in that area after that day was always a wide birth from it for something dwelt in the town the story tellers told. A man that was a wolf and that would protect the town at all costs. Regardless of who came, that town was it's own and no war would ever come to it's doorstep.

After that battle he went on further travels, it was in these that he ventured to the city of the werewolves in the Dark World. It was here that he discovered that he was no mere human-wolf hybrid. They told him of an ancient of wolf men now extinct know as the "Children of The Moon". They were powerful beings that were the servants to the Moon Goddess Luna personally. They had existed long before the first age but disappeared abruptly without cause or reason. It was thought that perhaps they had angered the goddess but no one knows for sure.

The werewolves invited him to stay with them but to their anguish he left. He was born of an ancient race that was long dead by a mortal woman. How this was possible was beyond him. He mother had prayed to save him out of love to the moon goddess but this was by far a large gift. Fate must have something great in store for him he thought. Fate was always up to something. These were his thoughts as he stepped out of the jungles of the Dark World and into the light of the Fourth Age.

* Extended History(Pre-Adult):

Nathaniel was never supposed to be born or so he was always told. He was an accident of dark magic, a creation of evil, an abomination. If this is true or not is beyond his knowledge but it did not stop the villagers from putting his mother to death while he was still yet a child who's thoughts were for naught but his mother.

Nathaniel's mother was raised in a simple farming community. She was raised like the other girls, knew how sew and cook. She married at the age of fifteen to a man twice her age who had moved into the area with wealth. She did this against her will but the will of a woman in a community of the old fashioned counts of naught.

It was a beautiful wedding: flowers, beautiful bride and crying relatives. All seemed to be the best for this simple little farmer's daughter to the outside. If one were to see what happened at night, they would know the truth. The man was degenerate with no pity. Helene was beat savagely and if not beaten, was on her back. This torment of her went on for months until the news of her pregnancy was found.

She had conceived a child from the "love" of her husband. She did not wish for the child out of fear that the corruption of the father would be passed to the child. Knowing that she could do nothing to save herself, she prayed to Luna, The Moon Goddess and Gaia, Goddess of Earth and Fertility to save the child. She thought her prayers had been ignored but she waited. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months until the day she gave birth.

All the mid-wives were a buzz around her has struggled to give birth to the child which had grown inside her for so long. With a scream, Helene felt the child's passing into the world. Her scream was to be matched though, by those made by the mid-wives. The child was not human. It had a tail, fur and though it had the limbs of a man, it's head was that of a wolf and it's nails claws. The father, of course, was horrified when he found out and immediately abandoned her and left the community and with him when the love the community for it's daughter. The people exiled her. She was the mother of a demon and therefore did not belong and not only had she brought forth a demon, she had lost the communities chance at wealth and fortune.

Helene, though outcast, still loved her son and raised him. She named him Nathaniel which meant "Gift of God" in another tongue or so she had heard. Nathaniel was taught the same things all the other male children were taught and much more. He learned how to read, write and how to count. Things that most did not know in the rural rough lands that he called home. His mother taught him well but the wolves where they lived taught him how to be a man. By them, he learned to hunt, to be one with the forest and how to properly praise the goddesses which had granted the greatest gifts a son of man could ever be given. These things went on in his life until one fateful, moonlit night.

The people of the village had let Helene and Nathaniel back into the community but this change of heart was nothing more than more selfish greed. Helene, Nathaniel's mother worked at the local tavern as nothing more than bar wench. She was paid pathetically little, even compared against others. Further punishment for giving birth to a demon, funny how things beyond one's control is often used to condemn them.

One night after she had finished working for the night she was attacked. Helene hadn't even made it out of the town before one of the more daring men of the town, a guard named Raziel had attacked. His aim was not to kill but rather something far darker, Rape. The guard pressed her up against the wall, it felt course against her skin though the hands of her attacker felt far worse by comparison. Her mouth seemed to grow as she screamed for help, begging the world for aid. Raziel responded by throwing into the wall harder, she yelped as her skull bounced off the the stone wall. Next thing she knew she was falling into darkness as she hit her knees, feeling blood trickle down the front of her face.

Helene, though on the verge of passing out, waited to feel the prick of the guard's member as it entered her. But no such event was to happen as fortune would have it played. Looking up, tears flowing from her eyes, she found herself looking upon a deadly scene.

Nathaniel stood at the end of the alley, the lips of his maw drawn back in a feral snarl. Snapping his head back, a primal roar erupted from his lips. The sound was long and loud, a testament to the goddess that made him. Lowering his head to face his foe, his eyes turned a dark crimson. Like that of the demon lords of the under world. Raziel, still feeling the effects of liquid courage, drew his blade and smiled.

"Oh does the puppy wanna play. How about fetch? Fetch boy? Wanna play fetch? Well how about you play dead!"

The drunken words were slurred though still intelligible. Too bad the sting of the guard's words were not felt by the feral beast he had awakened. Raziel charged forward, both hands clasping his blade over his head. The man was fast and well trained but the beer and ale had taken it's toll, causing him to stumble at the last moment falling into Nathaniel's waiting claws.

People had gathered around the cause of the disturbance at the end of the alley. Men and Women both watching in shock and interest, stared at on at the scene. The great guard of the village, Raziel, had found himself with his sword in his hands but utterly helpless. His hands were being held by the clawed hands of the wolf Nathaniel, son of Helene. The dirty little secret of the town. The town trash but this trash was getting revenge for being tossed out into the street.

Slowly Raziel began to whimper and struggle, kneeing Nathaniel in the stomach and headbutting him. Doing anything in his power to try and loosen the grip of this beast. Alas it was all for naught. Slowly the ties that bound Raziel's hands began to tighten, causing him to gasp and yelp in pain. The pain was so excruciating that he was forced to kneel from it, looking up at Nathaniel with pleading eyes. Nathaniel's blood shot eyes showed no mercy.

It sounded like a basket of eggs being stomped on when it happened, all the bones in Raziel's hands snapped like kindling. The poor bastard screamed in agony, seeing bone sticking out in awkward angles, blood flowing freely in between the wolf's claws. The screams were the beginning of his end.

Nathaniel lost control, throwing Raziel to the ground. He dived upon him, tearing at him with tooth and claw. Blood ran all over the alley floor, in between the feet of the on watchers and into the street. It was a horrific sight, something straight from a nightmare.

Nathaniel had successfully ripped an arm from it's socket, the bloody stump now a slab of meat rolling across the ground. Tossed away like common trash. The most horrific part, Raziel was still alive. Screaming in terror and agony. Nathaniel suddenly noticed his mother, staring in horror at her only and beloved son. Now drenched from maw to feet in blood. He ran to her, looking at her. Taking in her wounds. She was mess, covered in cuts and scratches from her attacker. One thing that stood out in particular to him, the blood that ran from her forehead. Her blood.

While Nathaniel had been distracted, Raziel had attempted unsuccessfully to flee his attacker. Using his one arm and legs to slowly drag himself away. He didn't get far. Raziel looked up at the crowd and got up on his knees, reaching out for them. Begging for aid. They only stepped back in terror.

The clawed hands of Nathaniel, tore deep into his back. Breaking through rib and spine alike, grabbing the vital organs inside. Raziel threw up blood then died as Nathaniel tore out the tissue inside. Nathaniel satisfied with his vengeance then smiled devilishly and howled to the moon, entrails hanging from both of his clawed hands. It caste an evil shadow upon the alley wall that moonlit night.

After that he was no longer known as Nathaniel to anyone but his mother. He was now known by a different name, a more powerful name that would stick for the rest of his life. "The Devil of the Silvermoon"

They took him as a way to protect themselves. A civil war had started in his homeland. A rebellion had been started by the angry poor and a few power hungry nobles against the king of the land. The rebellion or "The Gods' Hand" as they called themselves were going from town to town, besieging it or taking its men as recruits against the king. This group of hypocrites had chosen his hometown as it's next target.

The rebellion attacked at dusk when all the men would be tired after a hard days work. It was like a wave upon sand, none could resist. They tore through the village like a plague, no house was safe from it's touch. Men died in the streets, women were raped on their own beds. This men that claimed to be god's hand was nothing more than devil spawn. They rampaged the city like they rampaged women, tearing down to nothing and using what was left for their own purposes.

The city was in flames as a particular band went into the poorer sections of the town, seeing what they could take from those that had nothing. Even if it was just their lives. There they stumbled upon a woman, though poor, was still beautiful. Helene Stansdorff was this woman.

Chuckling darkly, they moved in on her. They closed in slowly, savoring the meal to come. Smiling as they slowly had her back against a wall. No where to hide, no where to run. Only them and their out reached hands was where she could go. Those were their thoughts, their dreams. Their damnation. Even they had heard of the demon of the village. A creature called "Devil of the Silvermoon" but they thought it nothing more than a myth. A tale to scare away petty thieves. Poor bastards, they didn't know they were soon going to be a part of it as they grasped her clothes and pulled her in.

She screamed.

The hypocrites dropped her instantly, but this was no change of heart. They had found a shadow caste over them, a dark foreboding shadow. As they slowly looked up they found themselves looking upon the devil himself. A beast that stood on hind legs like a man but claws for hands and jagged teeth in a large maw. The beast looked down upon them. It looked angry.

Before their hands could even touch the hilts of their blades. Silvermoon struck. Pouncing down the closest of foes, landing upon his chest. It sounded like a table snapped in two as it caved in under his weight. Eyes went wide with fear. What was this beast they thought. They should have thought to run instead.

Less than a moment later, a clawed hand shot out. Cutting across the face of a looter. Tearing flesh and bone from the face as it hit. The man flipped from the blow, blood went everywhere. Unfortunately it went into the eyes of the third man. To his credit, he was smart enough to run. To his dismay, he ran into a wall. Silvermoon finished him as he laid on the ground, gasping his face in pain. The last of them fled, but only to bring back more.

The first wave of reinforcements were cannon fodder. The fools one sent before the main wave in a hope to dull the enemy blades and incite chaos amongst enemy ranks. If you were lucky they destroyed a few of the blades they dulled. Silvermoon smiled as he watched them come in, lambs to the slaughter.

The cannon fodder carried simple swords, not even proper long swords. Not steel, Iron. No armor or helmets, not even shields. Just a short swords made of iron and liquid courage in their gullets. One caught his attention though, the squad leader. He wore armor and brandished a pair of scimitars. Something about them caught his eyes. There was something intriguing about them. Something special.

The first of the cannon fodder lost his face, the second his knee. Silvermoon was faster than a simple human, especially drunken fools like them. The third came charging, sword brandished over head. The merc that lead them was jogging just behind, waiting for Silvermoon to strike. His claws moved faster than lighting as he snapped his arm forwards, ripping out the jugular of the rebel in one quick swipe.

As the body and sword fell, Silvermoon could not help but catch the small worthless blade. It felt so natural hands, so right. Like something was meant to be there. Blue eyes fell upon it, examining it. Suddenly his senses flared, he had forgotten the merc leader. Spinning rapidly, he caught the merc mid strike. Driving the blade hilt deep into the mans chest, just over the collar bone angled down into the warriors heart.

The man's eyes were wide in shock, surprised to be dead. Not expecting the one to die, be he. That he should be the one to have the blade in him. Silvermoon looked at him quizzically, something about this man seemed familiar. Didn't know what it was. Didn't matter. The wolf looked down at the blades in the man's hands. They were nice. Then the man's body finally discovered it no longer had a heart beat or pulse. It dropped the blades then Silvermoon promptly dropped it.

Kneeling to the ground, he examined the scimitars. They were beautiful pieces of art. The blades have had wolves engraved in them. Wolves that appeared to be running off the blade, maw open to bite. A hunting wolf, how many times had he seen that in his life? Hundreds of times and they had never looked as beautiful as this. The hilt was a black and made of leather, the hilt guard looked like a silver moon. Enter thing had been made out of steel. Beautiful perfections of death.

Silvermoon smiled as he picked up his trophies. They felt even better than the iron short sword. Fitting perfectly into his hands. He twirled them, testing the feel's depth. It felt wonderful. The feel of the weight in hands, the sweet sound of the edge as it cut through the air. Beautiful.

The sound of food steps thundered in his ears. So there was going to be another wave to break it seemed. To his shock there was more than expect. At least a dozen and these were regulars. The men that were meant to win battles. Dressed in armor and with spears. They also employed tactics, wasting no time in encircling him. Spears at the ready. Silvermoon looked around nervously, this was not good. Not good at all. Then on an unspoken command they all thrust forward.

Weary blue eyes as they watched in horror as twelve spear heads quickly closed in. Death was imminent, he knew it. Then the world held still, his knees bent then sprung him up and over the head of the man before him. Silvermoon's mind could not fully comprehend what he had done or how he had done but he had. And what ever had made him do it, wasn't finished.

Silvermoon spun on his attacker, slicing the man from his left shoulder down to his right hip. A quick kill. Coming off of the attack , he then jabbed his blade into the throat into the one closest to him. Spinning for the next attack, he then broke through the spear of his next target to cut the flesh protected behind it. Taking a quick step he then stepped up into a spear men, jamming the blade into the man's gullet. Looking his opponent in the eye with a smile before glancing to his right.

Silvermoon ducked under the thrust of an attack, turning his body as he flipped the blade reverse style. Stabbing both into the left side of his opponent, piercing the lung and kidney there. Then quickly he turn and flipped the blade positions to do the same on the man's right. Finally stepping away to spin and do a dual over head slash across the man's body. All of this had happened in a moment.

"Time had held still. All of it was a blur but to me it was a nothing more than walking through the steps. Slowly living the steps while others could only look on and be powerless to stop me or what was to come. I do not know how it occurs but it just happens. My body hits it's boiling point and I become unstoppable. Like a great wave upon the sand."
-Silvermoon's words on this event.

Silvermoon had found himself a warrior but the day was far from over.

When he turned, he saw the roofs covered in archers. All of them aiming at him. Before he could react they fired at him. Dozens of arrows all thirsty to be drunk with his blood and the most he could do was to cover his head and drop to the ground. He laid there on the ground for minutes, thinking he was in another adrenalin fueled time stall, waiting for the arrows to his body when he realized that he was in the shade. It was night but there a full moon so why he in the shade. When he glanced up he saw a wall of arrows had stopped just before as though stuck in some shield. He could not believe his eyes.

Was this the gift from Gaia he thought. Not only to be wolf man warrior but Psycic? When he got up and looked around his shield he saw the archers had fled. The army had arrived and was chasing the rebels from the village. He walked the empty streets looking for his mother when knights encircled him, thinking him to be another rebel or fell beast. He was to tired to fight back by this point so he waited for death when a man of high rank called them off of him.

He was the general of the army and had seen some of Nathaniel's battle against the rebels. He was congratulated on his fighting prowess and invited to join the army as an officer. Nathaniel turned him down so that he could take care of his mother. The officer smiled and said to tell him if he ever changed his mind. Nathaniel found his mother an hour later. Dead, she had been stampeded by the retreating rebels. He mourned for days, receiving visitors from both the village promising to give her a proper burial and to restore her good name and by the army trying to recruit him once more.

* Family History(Lineage):

Immediate Family:

Frederick Stansdorff, Father, Caste: Merchant -all further intelligence on family is unknown to Silvermoon-

Helene Stansdorff, Mother, Maiden Name: Lay, Caste: Farmer.

Extended Family:

Elijah Lay, Grandfather, Caste: Farmer (5th generation)

MaryAnn Lay, Grandmother, Maiden Name: Getz, Caste: Farmer (10th gen)

Family Tree:

Key:

T married with children
- married, no children
/, \ children
| Event


Thomas Adams T Elizabeth Prayton
Merchant Duchess

/ \

James Adams John Adams T Victoria Wellsworth
Merchant Merchant Merchants Daughter

\/

Trenton Hollings T Jane Adams
Lord Merchants Daughter

/ / \

Trenton Jr Hollings Daniel Hollings Yvannalise Hollings


|
Trenton's Father and family is found guilty of treason, Trenton Sr and Jane Adams try to escape city. Sons were captured at school before they could reach them. They flee to the country side and change name to Lay and to escape persecution. Have another child, boy
|

Thomas Payne - Yvannalise Hollings Robert Lay T Amy Dire
Farmer 1st Farmer 7th Farmer

Diana Ruse T Robert Jr Lay
9th gen Farmer 2nd Famer

Gabriella Thompson T Robert the Third Lay
12th Gen 3rd Gen Farmer

Thomas Lay T Ashley Climmings
4th Gen Farmer 6th gen farmer

MaryAnn Getz T Elijah Lay
10th gen Famer 5th gen Famer

Helene Lay T Frederick Stansdorff
Famer Merchant

Nathaniel Stansdorff
Warrior

* Techniques Earned(Current):

Guard Crusher: The Warrior's weapon attacks can break through even the strongest defensive barrier in a single swing. This includes magic-dampening and physical-dampening barriers, but does not include barriers that are considered Super Spells/Skills.

Advanced Dual Wield: Enables you to wield two weapons. They can be any size, even 2-handed axes and broadswords, and weapons of different types. It also enables the user to hold a shield while dual wielding. Only Warriors may obtain this skill.

* Secondary Techniques Earned(Current):

Lock
Description: Ability to completely disable one ability(all levels of it) of another Psychic for the duration of the topic. You must have seen the ability used by the target prior to use of Lock. Once enabled only the Psychic that used the lock ability can release it.

Whisper
Description: Psychics can receive and transmit mental messages through thoughts.

Evocation 2
Description: Can lift/push/pull/stop objects no bigger than 15 square feet.

Copy
Description: Psychic can copy the last spell used against him/her. The spell is real but only has 1/4 of the effect of the original spell.

Detect
Description: Psychic can locate any magic or psychic user within a 1 mile radius of current position.