The girl arrived at the Daggerfall Orphanage by cart. “Another refugee?” asked the head mistress. “Aye, says ‘er name is Marcella” replied the carriage driver “Her parents lived in Cyrodiil, but were killed in a Thalmor raid. She survived by hiding behind one of them statues in the temple of Mara. Count of Bruma said I should bring ‘er here, y’know, ‘cus she’s a Breton and all.”
“Such a pity, but she’s obviously a clever young lady” replied the mistress, “We’ll take her.”
Marcella’s experience at the orphanage was not uncommon, she spent her days doing chores, tending her studies, and befriending the other children. The Great War ended just after her fifth birthday, a year after she left Cyrodiil. The news seemed to bring delight to everyone in the city, everyone except Marcella. She hated the elves of the Aldmeri Dominion will all the passion a five year old girl could muster. She had watched them kill her parents, her friends, and her old life. Not her prayers though, the elves could never take those away.
And pray she did, young Marcella. She knew first-hand how fragile life was, but took comfort in the fact that the Divines watched over her. She visited the temples of Dagerfall every day throughout her childhood, and she pledged herself into priesthood on her fourteenth birthday. As a Priestess of the Divines, she was trained to reach enlightenment through the Gods, and restore health and life energies to their children. The Temple encouraged forgiveness of past transgressions, but Marcella always held her contempt for the Aldmeri Dominion close to her heart.
A decade later, something happened that would change her life forever. While washing the shrines in her temple, an image flashed into her mind. The image seemed to linger for hours, when in reality it was only there for a brief moment. It was a battlefield covered in snow, but she did not recognise the soldiers. On one side were men made entirely of Ice, but with flame burning where their heart would be. They were few in number, and not very organized, but each looked fearsome and mighty. Leading them was a great bear wearing a crown of tooth and claw. On the other side of the field were numerous soldiers, well organized and human in appearance but… darker somehow. Behind them loomed shadowy elven figures, who seemed to control the legions of dark men with their whispers. The image left her when a great winged shadow soared over the battlefield and devoured the entire field with a great maw of razor teeth. “Woah” she said.
The visions continued to come to her over the coming weeks, but each one was more vauge than the last. She couldn’t discern any meaning from them. Then one day, a courier arrived with news from Skyrim, apparently the Jarl of Windhelm had slain Skyrim’s High King and was now in open rebellion against the Thalmor and the Empire. All of the sudden the visions came back, all at once. It was too much, she fell to her knees, but the images finally began to make sense in her head. Then she heard what sounded like her father’s voice, but it seemed to be coming from the sun. “Fear not child” it bellowed “I am Akatosh, and I would speak to you.” Marcella was paralyzed with bewilderment, the Aedra had not been heard from since the first era. “You must go to the birthplace of humanity, to the place where the lands are cold, and the men are colder. There you will join this struggle and decide the fate of humanity. Should you fail in this, your kind will ultimately be overpowered by the elves. Go now, without fear for we are watching.”
Marcella awoke hours later in her chambers under the temple. Should she tell anyone about what happened? No way, they would probably think she was delirious after passing out like she did, or worse they’d think she was mad. “Maybe I am mad” she said quietly to herself. “No, that was real. What kind of servant of the Gods would I be if I just ignored them?” She decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, and bring only her garbs, her scepter, and some provisions for the road. She decided it would be easier to slip away if she dressed as a beggar, and she was very familiar with beggars as a servant of the temple. She found herself a patchwork outfit, some foot wraps, and a bag to store the rest of her kit. The scepter was heavy, but she dared not leave without it. Essentially a mace made out of ancient dwarven metals, every priest and priestess had to forge their own. It was their badge of office, and was never meant to see any actual action, but Marcella knew that hers would eventually break that tradition.
She set out in the dead of night, and hired a carriage when she got to the next town. It seemed like an eternity before she finally crossed the border into Skyrim, and the air became colder and crisper with every mile. The carriage stopped at an inn along one of Skryim’s roads, and she went in to buy a bed for the evening. While talking to the inn keeper she peered out of the window and spotted a curious man skulking towards the horse hitch. She pardoned herself from the conversation, and went outside to investigate, leaving her things in the inn. She saw the man un-tie one of the horses, and thought nothing of it. “Good-day friend” she called out to him. He whirled around in shock, with a look of fear on his face. He then cut the reins of the horse he was unhitching, hopped on with lightning speed, and raced away.
“HORSE THEIF!” she yelled. She chased after him on foot for about 5 minutes until she reached a steep hill. She was a fast runner, but no mere human could keep up with a steed. As the breath returned to her, she began to hear a sound. Not one sound, but a clamor of sounds. Something distinct, that she’d heard before. Finally she realized, she was hearing the sounds of battle.
Marcella climbed the road leading over the hill, and on the other side was an incredible sight. The horse thief was de-horsed and surrounded by soldiers of the imperial legions, and he wasn’t the only one. Further off, a group of about 10 men and women were also surrounded by legion soldiers, these men were clad in a uniform of sorts; obviously they were the rebels that the Divines had sent her to help. She snuck into the trees and decided to creep closer to the scene, but the forest had its fair share of imperial scouts hiding amongst it. She stopped by a tree to take a closer look at the captured soldiers, that’s when she heard the shuffling of leaves behind her, and felt the pommel of an imperial sword hit the back of her head.
Marcella awoke on a cart, sitting across from Ralof of Riverwood.
See the build at Character Build: Priestess
The girl arrived at the Daggerfall Orphanage by cart. “Another refugee?” asked the head mistress. “Aye, says ‘er name is Marcella” replied the carriage driver “Her parents lived in Cyrodiil, but were killed in a Thalmor raid. She survived by hiding behind one of them statues in the temple of Mara. Count of Bruma said I should bring ‘er here, y’know, ‘cus she’s a Breton and all.”
“Such a pity, but she’s obviously a clever young lady” replied the mistress, “We’ll take her.”
Marcella’s experience at the orphanage was not uncommon, she spent her days doing chores, tending her studies, and befriending the other children. The Great War ended just after her fifth birthday, a year after she left Cyrodiil. The news seemed to bring delight to everyone in the city, everyone except Marcella. She hated the elves of the Aldmeri Dominion will all the passion a five year old girl could muster. She had watched them kill her parents, her friends, and her old life. Not her prayers though, the elves could never take those away.
And pray she did, young Marcella. She knew first-hand how fragile life was, but took comfort in the fact that the Divines watched over her. She visited the temples of Dagerfall every day throughout her childhood, and she pledged herself into priesthood on her fourteenth birthday. As a Priestess of the Divines, she was trained to reach enlightenment through the Gods, and restore health and life energies to their children. The Temple encouraged forgiveness of past transgressions, but Marcella always held her contempt for the Aldmeri Dominion close to her heart.
A decade later, something happened that would change her life forever. While washing the shrines in her temple, an image flashed into her mind. The image seemed to linger for hours, when in reality it was only there for a brief moment. It was a battlefield covered in snow, but she did not recognise the soldiers. On one side were men made entirely of Ice, but with flame burning where their heart would be. They were few in number, and not very organized, but each looked fearsome and mighty. Leading them was a great bear wearing a crown of tooth and claw. On the other side of the field were numerous soldiers, well organized and human in appearance but… darker somehow. Behind them loomed shadowy elven figures, who seemed to control the legions of dark men with their whispers. The image left her when a great winged shadow soared over the battlefield and devoured the entire field with a great maw of razor teeth. “Woah” she said.
The visions continued to come to her over the coming weeks, but each one was more vauge than the last. She couldn’t discern any meaning from them. Then one day, a courier arrived with news from Skyrim, apparently the Jarl of Windhelm had slain Skyrim’s High King and was now in open rebellion against the Thalmor and the Empire. All of the sudden the visions came back, all at once. It was too much, she fell to her knees, but the images finally began to make sense in her head. Then she heard what sounded like her father’s voice, but it seemed to be coming from the sun. “Fear not child” it bellowed “I am Akatosh, and I would speak to you.” Marcella was paralyzed with bewilderment, the Aedra had not been heard from since the first era. “You must go to the birthplace of humanity, to the place where the lands are cold, and the men are colder. There you will join this struggle and decide the fate of humanity. Should you fail in this, your kind will ultimately be overpowered by the elves. Go now, without fear for we are watching.”
Marcella awoke hours later in her chambers under the temple. Should she tell anyone about what happened? No way, they would probably think she was delirious after passing out like she did, or worse they’d think she was mad. “Maybe I am mad” she said quietly to herself. “No, that was real. What kind of servant of the Gods would I be if I just ignored them?” She decided to sneak out in the middle of the night, and bring only her garbs, her scepter, and some provisions for the road. She decided it would be easier to slip away if she dressed as a beggar, and she was very familiar with beggars as a servant of the temple. She found herself a patchwork outfit, some foot wraps, and a bag to store the rest of her kit. The scepter was heavy, but she dared not leave without it. Essentially a mace made out of ancient dwarven metals, every priest and priestess had to forge their own. It was their badge of office, and was never meant to see any actual action, but Marcella knew that hers would eventually break that tradition.
She set out in the dead of night, and hired a carriage when she got to the next town. It seemed like an eternity before she finally crossed the border into Skyrim, and the air became colder and crisper with every mile. The carriage stopped at an inn along one of Skryim’s roads, and she went in to buy a bed for the evening. While talking to the inn keeper she peered out of the window and spotted a curious man skulking towards the horse hitch. She pardoned herself from the conversation, and went outside to investigate, leaving her things in the inn. She saw the man un-tie one of the horses, and thought nothing of it. “Good-day friend” she called out to him. He whirled around in shock, with a look of fear on his face. He then cut the reins of the horse he was unhitching, hopped on with lightning speed, and raced away.
“HORSE THEIF!” she yelled. She chased after him on foot for about 5 minutes until she reached a steep hill. She was a fast runner, but no mere human could keep up with a steed. As the breath returned to her, she began to hear a sound. Not one sound, but a clamor of sounds. Something distinct, that she’d heard before. Finally she realized, she was hearing the sounds of battle.
Marcella climbed the road leading over the hill, and on the other side was an incredible sight. The horse thief was de-horsed and surrounded by soldiers of the imperial legions, and he wasn’t the only one. Further off, a group of about 10 men and women were also surrounded by legion soldiers, these men were clad in a uniform of sorts; obviously they were the rebels that the Divines had sent her to help. She snuck into the trees and decided to creep closer to the scene, but the forest had its fair share of imperial scouts hiding amongst it. She stopped by a tree to take a closer look at the captured soldiers, that’s when she heard the shuffling of leaves behind her, and felt the pommel of an imperial sword hit the back of her head.
Marcella awoke on a cart, sitting across from Ralof of Riverwood.
See the build at Character Build: Priestess
