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Name's Regan Luthen. You can call me Regs for short.
My earliest memories. Southshore. The beautiful lake and sunny fields.
It was an awkward day to hang someone.
Espicially when that ''someone'' was your own mum.
My father, a warrior, tried to hide this terrible secret from the town as long as he could, but eventually, the truth came out. My mum was a warlock. Tears streamed down my face as I saw her lifeless body rock back 'n forth on those light-damned gallows.
But times change. I got older.
After the hanging, the Silvercoin family, the local barons, were always a pain in the sides of my family. They taxed 'n taxed, and their father, a bigoted damned paladin, would spread lies 'bout my father. Eventually, one day my father had enough. ''You Silvercoins are a collection of pompus brats!'' he boasted. ''We Luthens earn our living, rather than robbing other blind. Regs here could take on your boy Thomas any day!''
Mr. Silvercoin agreed, and we were set 't fight in the bar.
Rowdy folks of all sorts crowded the small pub. I could hear anxious roars all 'round me, crying for blood. The Silver's boy, Thomas, came out swinging at me. He tried landin' a right cross, though I anticipated the blow, ducted, and slammed my fist into his stomach. Thomas roared in pain, dived for my legs, grabbed them, and threw me 'cross the bar.
My back felt like it had been fractured in two, but I had 't get up. I had to do SOMETHING. The Silver's boy charged right at me, hungry for more, but the second he was in arm's reach, I slammed my fist between his legs. Thomas's eyes went real wide and he buckled over. Seizing the opportunity, I titled his head up and hopped a haymaker on the snob. The fight was over.
After the brawl, my father walked home with me and sat me down. ''Regs, honor makes victories all the more sweet. It reminds you what you're fighting for, and not only does it increase your vigor in battle, it increases the vigor of those around you. A true warrior parts with honor on his dying breath. If there's one thing to remember, remember that.''
He wasn't angry, he wanted to teach me a lesson.
But then again, what damned right did he have to be angry? I won! He can take his honor and shove it up his bum.
By now, I had almost reached adulthood. The Silvercoins never forgot that disgrace at the pub, especially not Thomas. He got his revenge, though. I took his honor, he took..
Ah, pardon. I'm getting ahead of myself. He took the girl I'd had my eye on ever since I hit puberty. Kiryn.
Ah, he played dupe after dupe, and eventually that bastard won her over. It drove me insane. I watched as he made charmed her, made love 't her, then neglected her. Ah, yes. Ol' Regs was watching. Then finally, one day that putrid scum admitted to me his ploy. I snapped.
((Play http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hYPoDFil1r0 while reading ))
That night, I scooped up a kitchen knife. My mind racin' with thoughts of murder, I scaled the Silvercoin Mansion's wall. The two guards out in front weren't a problem. I dove from 't shadows and stabbed the first in the throat, then before the second could utter a word, I dropped the dagger and snapped his neck.
I scooped up my weapon, and creaked open the Mansion's door. I wasn't subtle. My feet thudded against the ground as I walked up the stairs toward Thomas's bedroom. I could hear Kiryn gasping, begging that bastard to go check on the noise. Conveniently, Thomas opened the door just as I had made my arrival. Heheh, brace yourselves, this is 't best part.
I slit Thomas's wrist as his fist attempted to land on my face, twirled 'round, then stabbed 'em in the heart. Then I locked the door.
Kiryn screamed, waking up the guards who didn't know what in the nether was going on yet. Slowly, I ran my bloody dagger 'cross the wall, and titled my head sadisticially at Kiryn. That scream. It hurt the ears.
Kiryn, still on her backside, tried kicking me in the face as I tried makin' the advance. The doorknob began rattlin' quicker than a goblin's footsteps. I rammed my fist into her face, breakin' her nose, and sending her sprawling across the room. She still tried fightin' me, but running my dagger across her thigh fixed that. It fixed it good.
I forced Kiryn's jaw open and stuck my kitchen knife in it as guards finally broke through. I ripped out her pretty 'lil jaw, gave it a brief, final 'ol kiss, then tried crashing through the window, but the guards had shot me in the leg with a crossbow right before I was 'bout to get the fel out of there. I was in Mr. Silvercoin's hands now.
Not long after, I found myself in a similar situation I'd found myself so many years before.
The rope ready. The executioner grinning.
My father's eyes full of sorrow.
But the last thing I saw before I died was the Thomas's father, Eldrin Silvercoin's stupid face as I was hung.
Then everything went black as death
Edited by Reganluthen on 10/9/2013 10:07 PM PDT
If I told you all of Traleda's backstory, you'd die of a mixture of disbelief and boredom. It's long and "out there."
The most annoying thing is that the vast majority was written by interaction with others, so it's not made up.
The short version: Telepath, mute. Asked by someone seeming ill to check on them. Finds out they're pregnant. Lady adopts telepath. Skip about 3 weeks. Telepath's vocal cords are mended, no longer mute. Lady breaks up with former husband. Meets new lover. Lady turns out to be demoness. Telepath cast out, heart in hand of demoness, figuratively. Demoness miscarries. Demoness conceives again. Demoness gives birth to daughter. ((Technically, a brother-sister pair of twins, but the boy was retconned.)) Telepath cast out again, heart hardened to demoness. Skip about 3 more weeks. Demoness cleansed and telepath tentatively mending ties. Telepath travels to Pandaria. Witnesses the Sha, and shaken. Telepath and witch quarrel again and part ways. Telepath's heart now firmly hardened to witch, and trust irrevocably shattered.
Traleda recently found out that the day of the quarrel, the witch manifested the Sha of Anger.
What kind of mess has she gotten herself into?
((Fortunately, there's been no OOC drama between myself and the player behind the witch.))
told you all of Traleda's backstory, you'd die of a mixture of disbelief and boredom. It's long and "out there."The most annoying thing is that the vast majority was written by interaction with others, so it's not made up.The short version: Telepath, mute. Asked by someone seeming ill to check on them. Finds out they're pregnant. Lady adopts telepath. Skip about 3 weeks. Telepath's vocal cords are mended, no longer mute. Lady breaks up with former husband. Meets new lover. Lady turns out to be demoness. Telepath cast out, heart in hand of demoness, figuratively. Demoness miscarries. Demoness conceives again. Demoness gives birth to daughter. ((Technically, a brother-sister pair of twins, but the boy was retconned.)) Telepath cast out again, heart hardened to demoness. Skip about 3 more weeks. Demoness cleansed and telepath tentatively mending ties. Telepath travels to Pandaria. Witnesses the Sha, and shaken. Telepath and witch quarrel again and part ways. Telepath's heart now firmly hardened to witch, and trust irrevocably shattered.Traleda recently found out that the day of the quarrel, the witch manifested the Sha of Anger.What kind of mess has she gotten herself into?
I told you you wouldn't believe me.
They say magic is corrupting. Some say magic is evil. I, and everyone else with a rational mind, know that magic is merely knowledge, the same knowledge that allows a warrior to swing a sword or a hunter to draw a bow. Magic is power, and my life has been spent acquiring it.
Hexes. Jinxes. Curses. I know all manner of spells, from a hex that imparts a particularly violent nosebleed upon the recipient, to an ancient and foul ritual designed to eternally bind a victim's soul to the caster's command for as long as the caster lives. Don't give me that look; the knowledge comes with a price. I'm not quite skilled in social settings, what with the whole "forbidden magic" thing. Tends to keep potential associates on edge.
I suppose I should start at the beginning. I was your average child growing up in Duskwood, rebellious and free-spirited. But there was something...off about me. Something that separated me from my friends and neighbors. If one looked closely enough, you could see the unnatural darkness and shadow of Duskwood bending around me. Lingering remnants of the magic that had cursed Duskwood with eternal night had begun to flow through me as well, opening my mind to dark power and closing my heart to those that loved me.
This magic wasn't nearly as potent as the original spell, but even an impossibly small fraction of that power was enough to make me adept at basic shadow spells. I hid these powers throughout my adolescence. I'd heard of the evil mages called warlocks, their names spat with fear and hatred. If I made my abilities known, I risked ostracism or worse. So I worked in secret, harnessing the ever increasing dark power that coursed through me, devising new spells and afflictions as the years went on.
On the day I perfected my last and greatest piece of magic, my village was set upon by a pack of feral worgen. The wolf-men overran the place, ripping doors from their frames, devouring livestock in a matter of seconds, and slaughtering any citizen who hadn't been able to flee. I whirled around, too occupied by my spell work to have noticed the commotion. A worgen stood in the doorway, the head of my closest and only friend hanging from its jaws by the hair.
Enraged and despairing, I shouted an incantation just as the thing rushed for me. A bolt of chaotic, molten flame burst forth from my outstretched hand and slammed into the wolf-man's chest, sending him flying through the wall with a yelp. The disembodied head of my best friend hit the floor and rolled away with a grotesque thud, but I was far too busy to notice. I grabbed my pack from the corner of the room and hastily threw every tome and spellbook I had acquired (and occasionally written) over the years and muttered a spell of unspecified transportation. When I gained my bearings, I was lying flat on my back in the middle of Goldshire, my hand covered with blisters and burns and my collection of magical books lying strewn about the town square.
I left as soon as the good people of Goldshire had healed my wounds and provided me with traveling materials (after I had agreed that I was not an agent of the Twilight's Hammer sent to bring doom to their quaint little town) and proceeded to travel the land, searching for ever greater spells and power, ancient secrets from civilizations past, and maybe, just maybe, companionship.
Edited by Valiox on 5/13/2013 5:26 PM PDT
The short sin'dorei confessor looks at you with a somber expression, her eyes betraying a sorrow beyond her years.
"You wish to know my past. I must start by saying that even I don't know my birthplace - I could not speak back then and so the name never fixed itself in my mind."
Traleda shuffles over to a netherweave pack and pulls out an enchanted mageweave pouch from a pocket, fidgeting.
"I have always been a telepath. It took me three-and-twenty years to learn to shut out the sensations, fears, and dreams of others, and I am only now learning to filter out those thoughts that I do not wish to see. It has not been easy, living with my own sorrows as well as those of the people around me."
Traleda smiles, a small, simple smile. "It is a blessing as well as a curse: I have learned empathy in a way that most healers would consider impossible. I have no need to ask someone how a given predicament feels, for I feel it through them."
Traleda turns away, a small, dark-colored, faded bracelet in her left hand now.
"Do I have anyone close to me? ...Not as close as I would wish. My trust has been broken too many times for it to come easily any longer. I don't wish to bore you with details, but... I had once been adopted, per say. Imagine my dismay when I found out that the lady who adopted me was a demoness. I will not share my memory of the sensation with you, because it would be akin to a demon's torment."
"Have I any ambitions? In a manner of speaking, yes. I wish to be a confessor, that I may comfort those who have been in troubled or troubling situations. It is certainly no desire of mine to see someone enslaved by a demon who professed affection for them."
"I also study the healing arts, to ease the suffering of those in pain. Some will say that I only ease the pain of others because otherwise I feel it myself. And, in a way, they aren't wrong. If I did not feel their pain, I would probably not have nearly as strong an inclination to ease it as I do. But even with my mind closed, seeing the joy of those who are not in pain is its own reward."
"What did I do before I studied the Light? Aside from the telepathy that is innate to me, I'd prefer not to answer, because it's not pleasant to think about and it would unnerve those around me."
Traleda puts the bracelet away and turns to face you.
"Now, is there anything you'd like to share with me?"
[e]"Ah, how foolish of me. I have omitted my name. You may call me Traleda Sunvalor."
Edited by Traleda on 5/13/2013 8:09 PM PDT
I won't type this in an accent for the sake keeping us all sane.
I was born in the Vale, like most Trolls. Father was a wanderer, actually he was a coward to scared to carve out a living in the steamy jungles that were the home of the Gurubashi. He travelled through the Human lands to the north and swamp lands to the east, he walked through the cold snowy lands of the Longbeards. If his story is to be believed, when he came close to the borders of the Knife-ears he ran into a Amani warparty, among the warparty was a female. After singlehandedly slaying the Forest Trolls he took the female as his prize. That's his version of it, mother says he jumped her from the bushes and took her on the spot.
Growing up wasn't much fun. My job as a new blood was to clean and feed the Warbears. By the Loa those creatures hated me...I'd clean their mess up each morning and each morning they'd try to cut off a nice side of Troll-bacon. Eventually learned how to keep them back, a good 'THWACK' to the head keeps them in line. Being the halfbreed I wasn't really good for much besides cleaning bear !@#$ and being a convenient punching bag. Tried my luck as a Priest, didn't have the knack for it. The Hexlord seemed to think I didn't have a set of Loa because I was half and half, said I confused the Loa, that they didn't know if I was jungle or forest. So I tried something else, anything that didn't involve sweeping bear %^-* was a step up. So I trained as an axethrower, was damned good at it to. Could shave a raptors !@#$ at twenty paces.
So I went off and did my stint in the battlefield, came back with a new set of armor and more respect then I knew what to do with. No one called me 'Halfbreed' anymore, they called me 'Elf-shaver', which is a story for another time.
So having done my part for the Amani I did what any respectable Troll warrior would do, I left to kill my father. Problem was I didn't have much of a description of him, my mother only offered me a description of a certain part of him that I had no interest in checking. So, couple of seasons later I'd found my way into a nice little situation. Dark forest, surrounded by Wolf-men and with only my sword and shield to keep their dripping fangs out of my blue-green %^-*. Guess I must have had some Loa on my side because I managed to kill every last one of them and get a nice little fur cloak out of the altercation.
Do you know how hot Stranglethorn is? It is beyond me how people wear full suits of platemail armor through those jungles. Some of them even rode mammoths! Again, a story for another time. Stranglethorn, hot, stinky, dangerous and wearing my temper paper thin. Got me some tips from a Troll I found living on an island Sen'Jin or something. He told me about an old Troll hermit living in the middle of nowhere. Good ol' Sen'Jin, he was a good Troll. Wonder how things went down between him and that Seawitch. Anyway, knowing next to nothing about my father except that he was as craven as they come and the fact that he was not very well endowed in the staff department, I set off to find the hermit. Several Tigers and a crocolisk later I found him in his hut boiling a pot of something putrid smelling. I told him my story and he confirmed my suspicions, this old bastard was my dad. He was halfway through a sentence about claiming me as his son and using me to regain his favour with the Gurubashi when I put my blade down his throat. He wasn't to happy about that, I'll tell you.
Having killed my father and travelled half of the known world. I decided it was time to settle down, maybe have a few little younglings of my own so that they could pick up my Raptors excrement (Ohh I didn't mention that? Well, I got myself a raptor from Sen'Jins island). But it just so happened that no one wanted to lay with a halfbreed. So, with that plan biting the dust I decided that I would keep travelling and seeing the world. Maybe having some gold to bring home to Mother in Zul'aman when I got home. I hired myself as a mercenary, which was difficult considering my grasp of common ended at 'Stay away from de' Voodoo!' And 'You no take candle' which I learned from some charming little men in Elwynn Forest. But I made it, eventually I got myself a name in Mercenary circles and I was getting the gold fast and hard, never short if work.
Recently, I joined up with my old friends the Amani. They were part of something that was going to raise the Troll empire from the ashes. So I joined up and I fought for them, damn group of adventurers bashed me up pretty good so when I woke up I figured I'd cut my loses and join with those Green-things. Turns out Orcs always have need of a sword for hire so that was one of the best choices I ever made. And now with the Darkspear rebellion looming on the horizon ( Shhh don't tell Garrosh) I stand to make even more money from things I can loot from in the city when Orgrimmar is sacked.
So, Sound like someone you want to hire?
I have a shortened version:
Last remaining heir to a minor house of the Blood Elves and noted magician. Recently discovered that his father a Blood Knight that fell at the last stand on Sunstrider Isle against the Scourge may be alive but not the person he once was. He seeks to restore House Blackthorn but is slowly becoming aware that this may not be probable or even possible. The young Lord slips into melancholy and madness while seeking adventure, allies and a hope for his people.
back in day i was korea master wizard make living in stormwind city with many night women elf gfs ??? but then doctor come in 1 day tel me i have 2 day to live so i mak cure n smart so i liv but then my brother from motherhome who lost for many year kil me n become me so now he is me n i am dead man but then i hav new gf sylvanes and we dat n i becme her grand wizard like alphamagus dorfus (hes my man) n then slyveans tel me i have to hel voljin save the motherhome n i say ok so i go to senjen and my brudda voljin hi5 me say wat u do n i go nm then we go to garosh nd we hit him in mouth so now he not able childs n i am new leader of hordes wit my harem of voljin slyevans alphamagus dorfus jiana n maghar n ppl give me gift becoz i am so trong n lift the weigte @ my new gym in the drag becoz dat wat pscyohlogy do now im strong smart man n have many wife so beter then anyone else in azerath but then new god kaelthas com n i gota bury hmi wher h stand
we share similiar story all throuygh life because wizerd men travel same path through life but you have women girl silvan and me only have voljoin friend in dream time aboriginal (koREA> 우정? 모든 필요 소녀여보세요? 이거 but then muhammed ali fiton come to fite us stab in the neck voljin in scentaurdist and then similar experience with the harem because i see that one time late night tv with peners out and look at the parts i ssee on motherhomer mother at the night timez then think about many year during solitude in temple of jade spirit fight dragon men in the shas because ponderon (beard wolf_ always look out me shrine then become power wizerd deaddog (not a wolf men but im ded get___~ always warrior in the strong time fight garrosh in hour server come operate and we war togerther mason always attack the oRcers in lord of the rings engagement to fight the end neck stabber (garrash) kill for the D ????
Supercondensed backstory go!
Zan is a befreckled ginger Belf whom was born third out of six siblings, he is the middle son with middle child syndrome. His mother was a ranger, his father was a priest, and he was a total failure. He was too inept for close range combat, couldn't cast spells, and his crowning achievement with a bow and arrow was shooting himself in the foot. He was relegated to staffing the family business.
His sisters rescued him during the Scourge's razing of Quel'thalas. They found him hiding in a storage closet. He was tasked by his sisters to take care of a priest they had rescued so Zan took up the role of an inept but well-meaning caretaker and personal assistant. His loyalty to the priest bordered on infatuation and obsession.
His sisters, the Priest, and most of the others he knew went with Kael'thas to go help Garry and wound up in Outlands. As a commoner, Zan remained behind.
His family returned with news that his priest had been killed, slain during the capture of the Naaru that now resided in the city. Zan stole his sister's sword, went and tried to join the Blood Knights, was rejected, and then slipped past them, jumped down to where Muru was being kept, and attempted to go Don Quixote on the Naaru.
A blackout and the world's worst sunburn later, Zan awoke and was scolded and sent home. It turned out the tales of his priest's demise were false and he was happily reunited.
Zan's uncle, a Blood Knight, eventually managed to help him secure entry into the Blood Knights and he became a Paladin specializing in healing, so he could heal just like his priest.
Zan still protects, cares for, assists his priest, and would die to protect his priest. He loves his priest, and while the love is often unrequited, the priest sometimes loves him back in secret.
((I am a newb in regards to lore and role play so I guess I'll post my full story to get some criticism :D This is hardly finish and I would love to flush out her story big time, but no point if I am horribly off))
I was within my mother’s womb at the time of the sundering. The years after my birth a blur. My father, Telkel, was one of the first sets night elves to side with Malfurion and learn the druidic ways. I never met him, my father. He slept under the great tree Nordrassil for centuries, before awakening to fight the satyrs. I did see him, on the battle fields. I watched him get cut down. My mother saw as well, letting out a horrible cry and throwing her glaive at the creature. The glaive sent the satyr’s head flying into the battle field. My mother ran to my father and began shaking his lifeless body. I watched with horror as a demonic arrow pierced through her back and pinned her on top of him.
At the time I was young, by my people’s standards. I had no real gifts save for an understanding of nature. I dabbled in druidism because of my father, granted I was female. But that day, watching my mother slaughtered while grieving the loss of my father, something feral happened inside of me. Some sort of instinct clicked within me. I let out a roar, but it wasn’t my own voice. It sounded wild. I tore into the battle field, a blur.
The next thing I remember I was alone, deep in Ashenvale. As my senses fully came around, I realized was a in the form of a cat, a form I had seen my father take before. I remembered once when I was still a child, my father told me a little about druidic magic and the natural world. He always told me if I was a son, he would train me in it. Here I am now in the middle of the quiet forest, my father dead, experiencing the raw nature of instinct and survival. I remembered him talking about the green dragons and the emerald dream. Knowing that females were not accepted into the druid's precious circle, I ventured off in search of a green dragon. It did not take me long to accidentally find and be attacked by a group in Ashenvale, apparently guarding some entrance to the emerald dream. Once the realized I was a night elf and that I was not a threat, they helped me return to my night elf form. I stayed with them by the portal, training myself in my father's ways, learning the ways of my cat form. Eventually I started to experiment into other forms I had seen druids take, mainly bear and stormcrow.
At one point I returned to Darnassus and learned about the Moonglade, a place where the druids gathered and trained, but I learned I could not join their circle without proving myself to them. To them I was a freak child who stumbled upon druidic magic by mistake. My claims to be my father's daughter fell on deaf ears as well. They wouldn't train me either, so I left and returned to Bough Shadow.
The green dragons watched me grow my own druidic potential and eventually showed me the emerald dream. What a beautiful place! Such raw untouched nature. Without a home or a family to return to, I slept for thousands of years at a time, and my hours of waking were spent talking with the green dragons and learning bits of the going ons in the world. While in the emerald dream, I was usually in an animal form. I grew very close to my form as a cat and bear. I generally avoided the cenarion druids, but I did encounter other druids like myself. I even befriended another female druid and we met up outside the dream in Feralas. Unfortunately we all must awaken from our dreams. I was called out to fight in the Third War, the war that would wake me up to my core.
Edited by Vynianyx on 5/27/2013 4:45 PM PDT
I fought my share of battles with my druidic brethren even though I never did join their circle, but nothing I could have done would have prepared me for what I saw. I saw Archimonde on our blessed tree. I heard a strange noise and knew Malfurion was blowing the legendary Horn of Cenarius. I felt a strange warmth, and then saw the explosion. The explosion felt as if it ripped through my entire body, as if I was the one in the blast.
It was during the aftermath I was able to make sense of it all. We had lost the World Tree. We saved the world, but the great tree Nordrassil was lost. Many of my brethren could no longer enter our dream easily. I was lucky. With my mastery of the dream, I found it easy to return. But this was not the time for dreaming. My people were shattered, our immortality lost. This was a time for awakening and seeing the world as it was.
The first thing I did was approach Ramulous in the Moonglade and ask again to join the Cenarion Circle. It was then that I was finally recognized as a true druid and allowed to join. I was even given a hippogryph hatching that I raised during my "formal" druid training. After a while I left the Moonglade.
I spent the last several decades exploring the waking world. I’ve been almost everywhere and seen many things. I’ve met many strange people and made a handful of alliances. I have gotten into many sticky situations. Now I may be an alliance druid, but I find it hard to fight the horde. I’ve spent a majority of my life with the tauren as allies. If I can avoid fighting the horde, I avoid it. But when I can’t, I at least avoid fighting the druids, or the tauren and trolls in general. Of course my willingness to help those who need it and my distaste for mindlessly killing the horde has granted me a title among my faction. I once was known as the daughter of Forestwalker, one gifted in the dream. Able to walk the forests of the dream with strides. Now I am just Vyn Softheart. Granted this “soft hearted child” has teeth, and claws, and a feral side.
((Revised to better accommodate the lack of female druids back then, though what I read up on didn't say it didn't happen, just said it was less common. Wow, revision force me to spread this across 2 posts. fml))
((I am abusing the statements "many exceptions made" and "majority" from wowwiki cuz I need Vyn to spend a long time in the emerald dream. Can't do that if the dream is nearly inaccessible to current druids and if she only became a druid 30something years ago. But the Druid and Priest statue makes it seem like the gender merge was much farther back being an artifact and all. Without anything definitive as to how one "becomes a druid" other than some form of training honestly I think it is up to how we want to view it. Broll was born with antlers _-_ I think one could train themselves to become a druid on their own. It's stated that one couldn't study or be trained in the other gender's roll, but what if they clearly had an affinity for it and discovered it on their own? Our own society had something like that in ages past, thinking on women's rights and all that. This whole thing actually gives me many ideas for Vyn's relationship with her father. Constantly showing promise to be a druid but always told that she couldn't. Constantly hearing "if only you were my son." Played right I think an old female druid could be accomplished :D Not trying to debate this here though. Time and places.
She isn't meant to be some all powerful druid. More of a natural talent forced to be ignored due to societal issues, could have become a great druid but because no boy parts was self taught for the most part with a small nudge from the green dragons she encountered. Sort of like if you want to be an songstress but your parents refused to let you get any formal education on the subject because of their own viewpoints, so you self teach yourself singing and do an okay job but think of how good you could have been if you got some teaching and formal training.
This silly revision has my head spinning with ideas for her Father/Daughter relationship))
Edited by Vynianyx on 5/27/2013 9:28 PM PDT
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