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 [center][color=gray][h1]Helga the Herbalist[/h1][/color][hr]

[img]http://oi66.tinypic.com/4tnarr.jpg[/img][/center]

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[b][color=gray]Age:[/color][/b] Seventy and Seven years

[b][color=gray]Race:[/color][/b] Human

[b][color=gray]Beast-Blooded/Vampire[/color][/b] Neither

[b][color=gray]Favored Magical Lore:[/color][/b] Helga is quite the rare talent when it comes to the magical arts. She has pricked and prodded her way through dozens of theories, texts and tomes with varying success giving her at the very least, limited insight into the basics of most legal mysticism and even some of the more questionable branches as well. She herself however, has only found real success in the schools of nature and enchantments. Helga is a downright prodigy when it comes to druidism, knowing all the plants and creatures and their magical properties, and even speaking in their varied tongues. She combines this nicely with her enchanting talents, brewing potions and tonics from the wild herbs and rare specimens to imbue items with mysterious powers. Her curiosity oft gets the better of her during these [i]experiments[/i], and her neighbors often grumble about the strange colored smokes rising from her chimney, or comment crassly on the sporadic pops and bangs rattling her door frame and windowpanes late at night.

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[b][color=gray]Appearance:[/color][/b] At first glance one might assume Helga is a wizened old woman, well past her prime with thin, pure white hair and a pleasant wrinkly old, but expressive face. That first glance, would of course be incorrect. Helga is anything but past her prime, and one could argue she has only just reached it. She is surprisingly strong, for an old lady, sturdy and with quick precise movements no one would ever expect from a person of her stature. She is rather short, and it is not beyond question for someone to mistake her for a well proportioned dwarf, considering her vitality and strength. She of course refutes that as well, deeming her homemade honey potions to be the secret behind everything. She is almost always dressed in plain, homespun dresses of dark coloring, with a bright orange shawl draped over her shoulders. Whenever the occasion demands she'll adorn her head with a black pointed hat with decorations based upon the season. Eagle feathers and fallen leaves in autumn, fresh grown flowers in spring, and so on and so forth.

[b][color=gray]Personality:[/color][/b] Helga is a cheerful old soul, and although she can be sharp and sarcastic to those who deserve her displeasure she is well meaning all the same. Curiosity is her own true vice after all. And even though she can spout off a dozen different proverbs about how curiosity kills the cat, she herself cannot help her own wondering spirit. Its gotten her into trouble more than once, whether its nibbling strange toadstools, mixing in a little extra popping powder, or bustling over to thrust her large nose into someone else's business. Its not the safest of habits, that's for certain. Somehow, she's managed to survive and through each dangerous encounter or near poisoning she's grown a little more adept at twisting the situation to her favor. She likes being in the forefront and limelight and loves gossiping. Her swift wit and sarcastic humor can be either amusing or infuriating depending upon the circumstance. And although it seems otherwise, Helga can handle herself just fine, after all, she's made it this far.

[b][color=gray]History:[/color][/b] Most folk are not sure of Helga the Herbalist's origins, whether she'd always been living in that crooked old shack at the end of the lane or not. In truth she'd bought the old place and fixed it up nigh forty years before, turning it into her little herbalist shop. The locals weren't entirely sure what to make of her then, or now for that matter. Her potions and remedies were practically legend in those parts, and she also sold little trinkets that many whispered were enchanted. Knives that didn't dull, pebbles that could find lost baubles, and even collars that would keep a hound from killing the chickens. Because of this her strange little shack with all its odd goings on was tolerated, besides that one time when the constable had to make a house call in order to inform her she couldn't shoot massive purple fireballs from her chimney.

	Much of the time Helga wasn't home. She traveled often, taking her basket, and her raven (which most folk were convinced could talk) and wander off into the woodlands in search of herbs she didn't, or couldn't grow in her garden. Other times she would take a cart and trundle it off to a larger city or town in order to sell her wares at those far off places, in the big markets returning with strange old books or other such items. She always seemed to know what was going on, or what was what, and one could always count on her having an opinion on everything that happened, big or small.

So, perhaps it was her own fault, that while she was on one of her trips and she met a pair of wealthy men trying to formulate a deal on a stretch of land between their estates. She offered to sell the pair a feather that would heat up should someone be dishonest in their dealings. One of the men purchased the feather and it instantly burst into flame. After a short commotion and a duel between the nobles the  scene was broken up by the mysterious homunculi, several bodies were carted away and the item in question was deemed the carrier of a hex, and Helga, despite her best attempts to claim her own umbrage was arrested and dragged off to face her judgment.

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[b][color=gray]Crime[/color][/b] The selling of harmful magical goods, and the practice of illegal magic, and conspiring to murder.
[b][color=gray]Plead[/color][/b] Innocent.



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