Elisia La`Roche Edit
Basic Profile Information Edit
Physical Features Edit
Residence and Relatives Edit
Place of Residence: The Sartienne Manor in Duskwood
Place of Birth: The Sartienne Manor in Duskwood
Darin Sartienne - Father (Deceased)
Lillian La`Roche-Sartienne - Mother
Anika Sartienne - Younger Sister
Avelynn La`Roche - Maternal Aunt (Deceased)
Garrick La`Roche-Frostwhisper - Maternal Cousin, Bastard Son of Avelynn
Personality Traits and Other Information Edit
Religion/Philosophy: Non-religious, believes in the powers of Darkness, which she wants for herself.
Occupation:Occasional scholarly consultant, owns myriad businesses, exact occupations unknown.
Guild Rank: Agent
Enemies: Anyone who opposes her.
Likes: Enjoys manipulating others to her whim, expensive finery (from clothing to wine to food), and other selfish indulgences.
Favorite Foods: Chocolate covered cherries are a favorite.
Favorite Drinks: Vintage red wine.
Favorite Colors: Red, black, and violet.
Weapons of Choice: Her spell arsenal.
Dislikes: Those who blindly follow the Light and those who get in the way of her plans.
Hobbies: Reading or indulging herself.
Special Abilities: Whispers of her ancestors passed down to her from her Aunt.
Positive Personality Traits: Intelligent and witty.
Negative Personality Traits: Completely selfish, manipulative, and amoral.
Misc. Quirks: Most men and many women are captivated by her beauty.
Professions: Tailoring and Enchanting
Part I Edit
Sunlight streamed in through the lacy white curtains to land on the opulent rug in a vast array of swirling patterns, shifting with the slight breeze. A child sat upon the floor, staring into a darker corner of the brightly painted playroom. Long auburn hair, the color of rich autumn leaves, was plaited into a long braid that nearly reached the girl's waist. She was whispering something into the shadows in the corner, emitting a bubbling girlish giggle every few minutes.
The nursemaid walked past the open door, a basket full of clean linens balanced on her hip. She looked curiously at her charge, and set the basket upon the floor. She crept into the room, listening to the child's fervent whispers and secret laughter. As the nurse bent down to touch the girl's shoulder, the girl whipped around without warning, a horrible sneer twisting her beautiful features. "I know what you did! I saw you!" she sang out, grinning maliciously. With a cry of surprise, the nursemaid staggered backward and hit her head on the bedpost. The girl sprang to her feet, squatted over the unconscious nurse, and then began to giggle again, as if it were some grand game she was playing. As quickly as the laughter had begun, it stopped, and the girl's face hardened once more. Her piercing blue eyes landed on the nurse's wound, a bleeding gash on her head from the fall against the bed post. She dipped her fingers into the blood, and began writing strange symbols around the nurse's motionless body.
As she did so, she remembered the scene that night, as so many nights curled, smoke-like, through her young mind. He came into her room again, slipped his cold hands under her sheets. She had given up fighting against him long ago. She whimpered in protest, weakly, as he did unspeakable things to her. She suddenly heard what she knew he would not, the near-silent patter of feet. She prayed that it would be someone who would stop this.
The nurse walked in, agape at the scene before her. He sprang up, covering her mouth with a large rough hand. His face was only inches from hers, and he was spitting words at her. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she nodded fervently as tears ran out over her cheeks, down his hand. He suddenly looked at her that horrid way he looked at the child, and forced the nurse from the room. Not only had the nurse not saved the little girl, she'd given in as well. This was unforgivable.
The girl had ached to confide in her nurse, her care-taker. But the nurse had gone on pretending nothing had happened. This pain pierced the girl like barbed wire. She had pled for so long to be saved, only for the opportunity to come along and be wasted.
She licked the blood from her fingers and glanced over her shoulder at the corner, giggling. She got to her feet finally, and skipped out of the room, down the stairs, past her mother who was already on her third tumbler of brandy. She burst out into the yard, the wrought iron gate surrounding the house like shackles on her childhood. She continued whispering to no one, the Voices, as she would later refer to them, her only friends in the lonely stark world that was her life.
Part II Edit
The guests milled about the Sartienne Manor, sipping at their drinks and making small-talk with the rest of the note-worthy. Elisia stood before the elaborate full-length mirror in her dark room, lit only by way of a few candles. Her maid -- not the same one as the nurse, for that one was long gone, paid handsomely for her silence -- no, this maid was much older, wrinkles tugging at her watery grey eyes, thin lips puckered like an autumn apple. Wire-rimmed half-moon spectacles slid down the bridge of her nose as she tugged and pulled at the laces of Elisia's corset.
Elisia stood regally, her head held high, accustomed to the torture of the times. She braced against each pull, not even letting out a sigh as the corset squeezed the air from her lungs. A deep crimson gown was pulled over her head, a slim velvet bodice with a slightly scooped neck, and satin skirt. Finally, she was ready, her hair pulled back into a sophisticated knot with curling tendrils framing her face, rouged lips, and lightly charcoal-lined eyes.
When she walked into the room, the men circled her like vultures. Her icy eyes stayed detached from the scene before her, seemingly elsewhere. She politely greeted the guests one by one, as she was expected to do. Suddenly, her father's voice resonated behind her.
"Elisia, do you remember Mister Varden?" Her father gave her a sugary smile that told her exactly what he was up to. She did not flinch.
"Yes, sir. A pleasure," She responded, curtseying slightly in his direction, dipping her head, and lowering her eyes briefly. Varden, a man of about forty-five, grinned at her as if she were a prized jewel he wished to own and display. He took her hand, bent low over it, and brushed his rough thin lips against it. She tried to suppress a shudder.
"Miss Sartienne. Ahhh, your beauty is spell-binding! Please forgive me my belated manners," he crooned to her, licking his lips slightly. Elisia shivered. "Would you like to accompany me to the balcony? I have an arrangement that I would like to speak with you about."
Elisia looked between her father and Mister Varden, suddenly yanking her hand away and narrowing her eyes. "I won't be bartered for like a head of cattle, sir. It is not my father's permission you need, it is mine. And I will never, ever, so long as I live, give it to you," She spat, and turned to walk up the stairs.
She knew her father was trying to mend the scalding her words had given the man, and recognized the heavy footfalls outside her bedroom door. He sneered at her. "Do you want to end up some old maid? That man--" he struggled to keep his anger from bubbling over "--that man is very, very wealthy. And you've insulted him! He wants to marry you, you little wench! I could hardly believe the good fortune. And then you spat all over his offer as if he were something vile. Perhaps you need to be taught to be grateful!" He moved suddenly closer to her, raising his hand, a familiar pose, a familiar glare in his eye.
The fear left her. She turned to him slowly, her eyes flashing icily. Her jaw jutted forth, as she placed a hand on each hip defiantly. "And I suppose you are the man for the job?" she sneered in his face. He drew his hand back and struck her hard, causing her to hit the floor. She pushed against the floor immediately, dabbing at the bit of blood that dribbled from her lower lip. He moved over her roughly, his hand reaching for the skirt of her gown. Her eyes flashed again, dangerously, and she started hissing something he couldn't understand. She hated him. She despised him. She wished him dead. All the usual curses against the vile man who--
There was a burst of something fiery and he hit the wall. White light flashed through her mind and then all was dark. She wondered if she'd died. There was no sound, nothing. Silence. Not even the whispers responded.
Part III Edit
She clutched the ad in her hand, ripped from The Stormwind Sentinel. She frowned up at the tavern door, wondering again if she had the right place. Its name indeed was "The Slaughtered Lamb," sign lit by a dim glow from the windows. She had never been in a common tavern before in her life. She cringed at the thought of its patrons: dirty, sweaty, rough common-folk spitting into spittoons and gulping ale from grimy mugs. She shuddered as she pushed open the wooden door.
Oddly, the tavern was quiet. A bartender cleaned glasses behind the bar sleepily, glancing up at her as she entered. She tugged her hood lower, and quickly scanned the room. A young man sat hunched over a mug of ale, appearing to be asleep, in the far corner. Seated at the table on her right was a dark, hooded figure, perched on its seat alert and aware. From the darkness of the hood peered two red, glowing eyes, fixated on Elisia. She glanced down at the ad once more, and then strode toward the table.
"Lady Cilandra, I presume?" Elisia inquired quietly. She placed the ad on the table in front of the figure.
"Elisia. Elisia La`Roche." Her mother's maiden name. "I came here seeking the apprenticeship listed in the newspaper."
Part IV Edit
Anika wept for her father as the pallbearers slid the black casket onto the struts that would lower him into the gaping maw dug from the dirt. The veil before her face was identical to her mother's, whose eyes were as dry as parchment. She had not shed a single tear for the dead man before them.
The priest's voice was solemn and gentle as he read the eulogy, the words but a blur in Anika's mind. The air around her became thick, the colors of the grass, the earth, the flowers, the sky, and even the people becoming more vivid and rich. She stood next to her mother stiffly, ever the young lady on display her mother constantly pestered her into being.
Elisia will pay. She killed Father, Anika thought, her eyes roving from the sudden vivacity around her to the polished black coffin perched on its rails. But how would she have known magic?
She thought about what Elisia had said, only days before the tragedy. She had come into the room, a tormented look upon her face, and asked Anika if Father had ever been inappropriate with her. Stricken, Anika asked Elisia how she could ever accuse him of such a thing. Elisia's eyes welled up for the first and only time Anika had ever seen. Elisia had slapped her younger sister, hard, across the face and stalked from the room. It was the last time she had spoken to her.
Spreading lies about him. She is insane. I do not know how she knew magic, but I know it was her. Her disappearance only proves it. But Mother... why would Mother cover for her? Why would Mother have said that Elisia was overcome with grief for her beloved Father?
Anika willed the thought away. She placed a rose on her father's casket and watched with tear-filled eyes as they lowered him into the ground, his final resting place upon Azeroth.
Origins of The Gift Edit
Elisia opened the heavy double doors to her boudoir and swept into the room. Calling for Syva, her succubus, she unclasped her robe with shaking fingers and slipped on a black silk dressing gown, the fluid fabric hugging every curve. She settled onto her chaise lounge, reclining in front of floor-to-ceiling picture windows that overlooked Duskwood, dark trees swaying with the breeze. The burgundy velvet drapes parted to reveal gauzy black curtains that matched the ones hanging from the bedposts.
Syva appeared, her hooves clicking softly over the marble floors, leathery wings gently beating.
"Merlot, Syva. The thirty year vintage," Elisia instructed, full ready at this point for the comfort of her most expensive cask of wine.
While Syva fetched it, Elisia decided to bathe in her marble tub, longing for the heat of the water to steady her nerves. The curve of her hips swayed as she walked toward the bathing room.
She let the black silk puddle on the creamy marble floor, bending over to draw the hot water. She uncorked a vial sitting on the edge of the expansive soaking tub and poured a dollop of the thick liquid into the flow cascading from the gold-plated faucet. Immediately the bath began to bubble and foam, the aroma of dreamfoil permeating the air.
She stepped in and sank into the steaming, scented water, the tension easing slightly. Just as she settled in, Syva appeared with her wine and a glass. The demoness tapped the small cask and let it pour into the glass, the dark merlot tumbling over itself. She placed it into Elisia's waiting hand. Elisia dismissed the succubus with a single nod.
She swirled the glass slowly, watching the dark liquid spin before bringing it to her nose and inhaling deeply. The scent was pungently dark. Finally, her lips touched the rim as she sipped the rich, heady liquid, letting it bathe her tongue before sliding down her throat.
By the time she drained her third glass, her mind was swimming. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, feeling herself sink into a dream-like state -- not quite sleeping, but not quite awake, either.
"A witch, Lilly. Your sister is one of those witches! And she's been in OUR house. With OUR children! I don't care. I'm sending for them."
Her father's face was a mottled purple, callousness piercing his words like rusty barbs.
"No Darin... please... they'll burn her!" her mother pleaded for her sister's life, on her knees before her husband, sobbing. "Please Darin! Please!"
He pushed her away from him. "She is a witch, Lilly. A witch in our own family! Damn it, I won't cover up for your witch whore of a sister," he snarled, his voice terrible but his face worse. He called for the servant boy, his voice clipped and his blue eyes cold as he instructed him to ride from their estate in Duskwood to Stormwind and bring the authorities back with him.
Lillian's small frame was wracked with sobs as she held herself tightly, auburn locks plastered to her once-pretty, now well-worn face. Her eyes were dark shadows of what they once were, haunted by the man she married.
Little Elisia pressed her face through the slats of the mahogany banister, her large, glittering blue eyes filling with tears at the sight of her mother so besieged by grief.
Just then, a hollow knock came from the heavy front doors. Lillian wailed, and Darin slapped her, hard, his cruel eyes flashing.
"If you say anything to her, Lillian, so help me Light you will live to regret it. Get up to the bedroom," he commanded, pulling her up by the hair and pushing her toward the stairway. She stumbled up the stairs. Elisia slid behind a corner, tears cascading down her small pink cheeks, watching her mother climb the stairs one at a time, hand over hand on the banister. Darin waited until she had disappeared down the hallway before opening the door. Elisia peeked around the corner to watch, wondering exactly what he meant by witch. Did she cast spells? What kind of spells? She couldn't imagine her beloved aunt ever hurting anyone.
Her favorite aunt had arrived, fiery red hair tumbling in curls that reached to her waist. Sea green eyes shimmered from behind kohl-lined lashes as she offered Darin a polite smile. Her skin was the color of cream, dappled by a smattering of freckles. She bowed her head to him.
"Hello, Darin. May I come in?" She said, her head cocked slightly to the side. She seemed to be able to feel the tension hanging in the air. "Where are Lilly and the girls?"
Darin opened the door wider after his eyes swept the landscape behind her. She stepped through and started to shed her cloak. Elisia's heart leapt. She knew her father would be angry if she tried to talk to Aunt Avelynn, but she could hardly contain herself.
"Annie is sleeping and I think Lilly is dress-shopping in Stormwind," he lied, keeping his voice even. The sheer emotional void in his pale eyes startled Elisia. It reminded her of the nights when he came to touch her... but no, she would not think about that.
"And Elisia?" She asked, her eyes wary. Yes, she knew something was not right.
"Her room, I suppose," her father said, shrugging.
Elisia wiggled and struggled against the urge to bound down the stairs into Auntie Avelynn's arms. Avelynn started to climb the stairs, a milky white, delicate hand on the banister.
"No, Avelynn," he said, his voice soft and deep, with an eerie quality in it. He grabbed her sides and pulled her off the first stair step. "No."
Her pale brows knitted and she regarded him suspiciously. "No?"
Wrapping his large hands firmly against her hips, he pushed her against the wall. Elisia wanted to scream, but she dare not make a sound. She knew what was happening. She knew that odd sound in his voice and what it meant. Like he was trying to be nice, but he wasn't going to be... he never was when he talked like that.
Avelynn pushed hard against him. "Darin! What in Light's name do you think you're doing?" she struggled against him, digging one shoulder into his barrel chest. He pinned her arms against the wall and leaned in to kiss her.
"Darin, Darin no! You are my sister's hus--" He silenced her with the mashing of his lips against hers. He would take whatever he wished, and no one would protest. He was king of his household, and by Light, he would have what he wanted tonight without consequences, since he knew what would happen to her.
What he didn't expect was the utterance of what sounded like muffled, garbled words, and the unexpected pain in his stomach. He doubled over, letting her go, screeching "Witch! Witch!" She dashed up the stairs, spying Elisia's cobalt blue eyes welling with tears. Sweeping up the small child in her arms, she darted into Elisia's bedroom, locking the door behind her.
Heavy footfalls pelted the stairs and the floor outside the door. Elisia wrapped her arms around her aunt and sobbed. Avelynn held her while Darin pounded the double doors, attempting to break through them.
"My dear child, look at me, look at me..."Avelynn spoke, her light green eyes as calming as the seas crashing against the shore. She took Elisia's small hands in both hers.
Some time after the pounding stopped, Elisia could hear the front door open. The messenger boy was back, guards in tow. The sound of heavily mailed feet clattered up the stairway and toward the bedroom. Voices rose and fell, but Elisia couldn't hear them. All she could hear was the soothing, sweet sound of Avelynn's voice.
"Elisia, sweet Elisia... how young you are!" Avelynn kissed both her cheeks, still grasping her hands. "I'm going away. But I'll always be with you. Always. I promise you that. You may not understand that now, but you will. I leave you with a gift, Elisia, a gift that lives inside you so that you will never be alone."
Elisia could do nothing but cry, her tiny body wracked with the force of her grief. Grief for her mother, her aunt, herself.
Avelynn began to softly chant as the door bent and bowed with the force of the guards' blows. A strange purple glow surrounded the two of them, passed from woman to girl as the words grew in intensity. Elisia heard strange whispers entering her mind, saying things she did not understand. They filled her thoughts. Just as the door burst open did the last of the gift pass.
"I love you, Elisia. Please remember... I will always be there..." The guards ripped her away. Darin sneered in her face as she was hauled past. "Burn at the stake, witch. You will no longer corrupt my wife or my children."
The last view Elisia had of her beloved aunt was the serenity that washed over her face as she allowed the guards to carry her, flaming curls haloing her face. Her eyes locked with Elisia's as the whispers wrapped their way through her mind.
"I am here, little one, and this is where I shall always be, no matter what happens to my worldly body."
Years later, Elisia would discover what had happened that night to her closest friend and most beloved relative... they had burned her alive. She did not even cry out as her body was consumed in flame, the papers said. So strong was the corruption of this witch that she smiled... yes smiled as the flame ate through her flesh -- but was not powerful enough to stop it. The columnist went on to make light of the fact that all warlocks talked big, but none of them could prevent the inevitable.