Lineage: Atryx

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Atryx
- And Lose The Name
  - With This Regard
    - Is Sicklied O'er
      - And Makes Us Rather Bear
        The Insolence Of Office
        To Be Or Not To Be
        That Is The Question
        And The Spurns
        Whether 'Tis Nobler In The Mind
        To Suffer The Slings And Arrows
      - Those Ills We Have
        That Patient Merit
        Of Outrageous Fortune
        Or To Take Arms
        Of Th' Unworthy Takes
        Against A Sea Of Troubles
        And By Opposing End Them
    - With The Pale Cast Of Thought
      - Than Fly To Others
        When He Himself Might
        To Die To Sleep-No More
        And By A Sleep To Say We End
        His Quietus Make
        The Heartache
        And The Thousand Natural Shocks
      - That We Know Not Of
        With A Bare Bodkin
        That Flesh Is Heir To
        Tis A Consummation
        Who Would Fardels Bear
        Devoutly To Be Wished
        To Die To Sleep-To Sleep
  - Their Currents Turn Awry
    - And Enterprise Of
      - Thus Conscience Does
        To Grunt And Sweat
        Perchance To Dream
        Ay There's The Rub
        Under A Weary Life
        For In That Sleep Of Death
        What Dreams May Come
      - Make Cowards Of Us All
        But That The Dread
        When We Have Shuffled Off
        This Mortal Coil
        Of Something After Death
        Must Give Us Pause
        There's The Respect
    - Great Pitch And Moment
      - And Thus The Native Hue
        The Undiscovered Country
        That Makes Calamity
        Of So Long Life
        From Whose Bourn
        For Who Would Bear
        The Whips And Scorns Of Time
      - Of Resolution
        No Traveller Returns
        Th' Oppressor's Wrong
        The Proud Man's Contumely
        Puzzles The Will
        The Pangs Of Despised Love
        The Law's Delay
- Mya Stone