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There's not much to know. Helle is an amnesiac, found wandering deep within the Gray Forest stark naked and muttering under her breath about the life of trees. A little crazy, a lot gloomy, she claims that Thrax is her fealty and shipwright is her profession, artistry the calling of her blood. Her wooden carvings, made always from reclaimed wood, are eerily lifelike and she certainly seems to know her way around the building of strong, sturdy watercraft. The rest? Is a mystery.

Heartbreaking beauty. Loveliness found in sorrow. This is Helle at a glance. Her hair of midnight sable falls in sweeping waves to caress skin of pale alabaster, cheeks like roses, to frame eyes the dark gray of unfathomably deep wells. Pale pink lips almost always shape an inverse bow, pulled into gloomy contemplation one too many times, frozen in that cynical pout. Helle is tall, willowy, as if carved from the shape of a reaching tree somewhere, graceful lines and fragile strength, body stretching to the forest canopy to find the light. There is little care taken in garb, in grooming. Hers is a natural fairness. {w({nA little bit mad{w){n

Generally characterized as gloomy, depressed, anhedonic, Helle is a rain cloud of pessimism at the best of times. She can typically be found sulking against a tree somewhere, staring morosely into the distance, or complaining how fast the time flies and how life used to be so much simpler when she was a tree. The working theory is that the woman might be off her rocker. Hardly ever happy, and even when she is, she's still sardonic and a bit cynical. Ironically, Helle actually seems to enjoy being gloomy to an extent and sees it as the essence of her very being. Nevertheless, she seems genuinely appreciative of the effort her friends put forth to cheer her up and does her best to be a true friend in return.