Celia Anetta Azurra is a cleric of Iomedae, the goddess of Valor, and she looks the part. A long-legged pale-skinned beauty, rough around the edges in scale mail, Celia appears more warrior than woman. A sturdy commoner's longsword hangs from her hip, and the holy symbol of Iomedae hangs around her neck. A tattoo of a sword curls its way across the left side of her face, hilt and handle half-encircling a concerned eye.
In all truthfulness, life could have gone a very different way for Celia. She had lived in Westcrown her entire life and had followed the tenets of Asmodeus to their most holy written word. Her family were all devout Asmodeans and each one of them paid their dues to the House Thrune, that lived in far away Egorian so detatched from what was happening in the old capitol of the empire. Nothing was bad; everything was good. If things continued as they were, she would live and die a washer woman in the Parego Dospera like her mother and grandmother before her.
And then the priest came, and threw his talk of freedom and valor and hope around. Celia made the mistake of finding herself invigorated by his words-- by his teachings of honor, glory, law and sacrifice. If it weren't for the longsword on his hip and the winged sword on his neck, Celia would have guessed he was a true Asmodean. But he worshipped a different god-- a goddess named Iomedae. He had come to Cheliax to find crusaders to travel to the Worldwound, and Celia found herself at his sermons... and then found herself dreaming of fighting demons on the plains of Sarkoris. The man invigorated her with his words. She met with the priest many times to speak on the nature of religon and to debate the merits of law and good themselves. Soon, she became a practiced theologian and even learned her way around the art of swordsmanship with the priest as her mentor. Celia couldn't wait for him to take her away from Westcrown.
That would never happen.
The priest was a revolutionary and took his time to settle roots in before he began his work. Whatever it was, it didn't last long, and Celia never learned what he had done. The Hellknights came for her one night and took her to the Citadel. They tortured her for hours and spit her back into the street with the imprint of a blade across her face, a burn scar from the heated sword of an overzealous inquisitor. The priest disappeared completely. She never saw him again.
Since then, Celia has been less inclined to believe the Asmodean mantra. Her family, estranged from her after the event and too afraid to publically ask questions, stayed at arm's reach. With nowhere else to turn, Celia turned to what she had begun to believe in-- the rule of valor and Iomedae. She turned the old priest's lie into the truth, at least for herself. Tattooing a sword across her face to hide the pocked burns the Hellknights had put on her, Celia is prepared to bring about change in Westcrown any way she can-- if it's to overthrow the Hellknights, to end the night terrors, to dig out even a glimmer of hope... Celia's become the revolutionary, now, but perhaps her fate won't be the same as her mentor's.