<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 20pt;">†• † •Frieda May Helms • † •†</span> <br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">• Elven Sex Goddess •</span></div><br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://ist1-1.filesor.com/pimpandhost.com/5/3/2/5/53250/U/I/J/W/UIJW/ec1.jpg)</div><br/><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;"><strong>|| : But you can call me : ||</strong> <br/>Isis  <br/><br/> <strong>|| : Last I checked : ||</strong>  <br/> Female  <br/><br/> <strong>|| : Just a number : ||</strong>  <br/> 25  <br/><br/> <strong>|| : How I roll : ||</strong>  <br/> Men and women   <br/><br/> <strong>|| : Where I stand : ||</strong> <br/> Healer<br/><br/> <strong>|| : My little parlor tricks : ||</strong>  <br/> It has been said my life force is strong.  I have found I can transfer my life force to others and heal there injuries,  cure their sicknesses.   Yet it comes with a cost.  For it weakens me,  how long I am weakened and the level depends on the severity of wound or sickness.  I can't make limbs grow back,  nor can I bring back the dead.  At least I don't think so.   The truth is my life force is like any others.    However, I have a condition called in Latin 'Succubi abigo'.   I can steal life essence of another.  To replenish my own life force I have given to heal.     <br/><br/> <strong>|| : Underneath It All : ||</strong>  <br/> One would think with my ability to steal another life essence.  That be quite the extrovert.   The truth is I am quite the shy introvert.   For I can kill, for to steal it has to be in the medium of passion.   It is quite primal, for life essence of of creation.  An one can get lost in this and forget them self in the heat of the moment.   So my lovers are chosen by the simple fact.   On how they can control, dominate me.   An keep me from going over the edge and killing.   So strong minded and physical partners.  <br/><br/>I have carved out a niche within the community as a healer.   I am wrapped and shrouded in a spirit like mysticism.  I am not a leader nor would.  I provide wise counsel as best I can.   The community are my people.   An I would if called upon lay my life down for anyone of them.  As I am a pacifist with in a violent world.<br/><br/> <strong>|| : Where I’ve been : ||</strong>  <br/> My gift is also my curse.   For I have killed, because of it.  I have lost control gone too far,  sucked the very life force all the way drained.   It happened just out of my teen years, having turned twenty.   It had been a shock I lusted and learned the fatal truth of what could happen if I became to dominant.   For I had known since I was sixteen when my condition had manifest itself.  I had controlled it.  Or so I had thought, and thus grown complacent.  Henry Enrique Wilcox was his name.   I will always remember it.   <br/><br/>His death banished me from my birth home.   Cast me adrift in the wastelands.   My own flesh and blood cast me out.   My father, mother and brother turn their back on me in shame and disgust.   Like I am some kind of evil that needed to be driven off.   <br/><br/>From the age of twenty I roamed the wastelands  for nine months.   Finding small communities here and there.   It was pure luck that I survived.  As I look back on it now.   For fortune fell upon me immediately.   A fell into a group of scavengers within a week of being cast out.   My week worth of rations granted near up.    From them I drifted  between small pockets of people.   Trying to survive,  warding off the kreatures and sludge.   Geography I am lousy at.   The names of places visited are lost.  For even in my sub conscious thoughts I have blocked a good portion of that ninet months.     <br/><br/>A clue as to why.  I have nightmares of marauders.   When I first ran across them,  I at first thought them reavers.   Yet my vision is of them dead.   I don't know how I survived,  I have a strong sense I am responsible.   That I caused there deaths.   Yet I cannot owe up to it.  For I cannot remember.   Nor can I grasp that I killed again with my curse.   There is a brand on the nap of the back of my neck.  I believe it was the marauders who had given it to me.   What it signal is lost, like most of it.  Locked away deep within me.      <br/><br/>Then a little over four years ago I arrived Stratclaw.   My wanderings having come to an end.   I finally found a place I could belong.   I carved my niche out as a healer within the community.   I learned I could live with others for a long period and control my urges, my needs.   An there is no greater feeling then belonging.  I have come into my own now.   I have been controlling and ever mindful of not going too far.   An thus no deaths have been caused by me since coming to Stratclaw.      I am now twenty five years of age.   I feel old, life is hard.   Yet life is good,  as said I now belong.   An there is nothing I would not do  for the community and others.  </span>