Demitria Rione


High Commander of the League of Lordaeron







Place of Birth

Gilneas City


League of Lordaeron

Grand Alliance

Immediate Family

Evelaide Rione, Mother (Deceased)
Ailen Rione, Father (Deceased)
Nellaria Rione, Sister (Alive, formerly presumed dead)

Demitria Rione is a born and bred Gilnean that emigrated from the City around the time the Worgen outbreak occurred. Unlike her slaughtered or changed brethren, Demitria was able to leave the city relatively unharmed physically; however, the scars she bore after the incident were much more difficult to endure emotionally. 

She currently serves as the High Commander of the League of Lordaeron, working alongside her comrades, friends, and those she has come to know as family in the efforts to restore Lordaeron to its former glory.


Fair-skinned and slender, Demitria is not exceptionally tall, yet her stance is one of unmistakable arrogance; she stands around a mere five foot four inches, though the disadvantage in height only seems to add to her femininity. Loose raven locks drift down her back - nearly to her waist - in a cascade of curls around comely shoulders and a diminutive, lissome form.

Two tiny silver loops pierce the cartilage of each ear and are usually unnoticeable unless an idle movement, such as brushing a wayward curl behind her ear, draws the eye to them. Expressive and meticulously groomed brows rest above a pair of large, albeit not disproportionately so, light blue orbs that hold within them a certain vivacity, wisdom, and are allied to an expression more full of imperious sophistication. A small nose sits above her, possibly, most prominent feature; full lips, darkened to a deep red hue, are frequently pulled into a knowing, if not sultry smirk that all but radiates self-assurance tainted only by the cold and unyielding look in the depths of her icy eyes.

At first glance, the woman's body seems to be unmarred by any sort of imperfections. Upon closer inspection, however, it can be noted that her pale skin does house a few insignificant scars - mostly concentrated around her back, if it is visible to the naked eye. Despite the blatant lack of strength and will to engage in melee combat, the sorceress maintains a fit physical shape whilst still retaining the voluptuous curves of a woman in her prime.

She has a low, eloquent voice that is equally capable of a stern and precise tone or a gentle, elegant lilt. The Gilnean accent that laces each word she utters is heavy and unmistakable, thus making the evidence of her heritage exceptionally easy to pinpoint when she speaks. The sorceress is also virtually always surrounded by an aura of near staggering power, its potency undeniable in close proximity.


Demitria Rione was born in the heart of the Kingdom of Gilneas, the entirety of her childhood spent within the City's limits and very rarely venturing beyond. Her maidenhood, in turn, was also spent with her sister, Nellaria Rione, who is three years her junior. The two were near inseparable in their younger years, and only began to separate when Demitria started to show signs of magical talent at a young age. Her father, one of the lesser known apprentice mage trainers in the City, was ecstatic to say the very least. Under his tutelage, Demitria was able to learn and train as an apprentice throughout the years. The journey to magehood was difficult, tedious, but something she would later come to treasure in her older years. 

The Path Into DarknessEdit

Unbeknownst to anyone but herself, Demitria's knowledge into magic did not end with the last stages of her apprenticeship. Curious by nature, the young woman has been known, even to this day, to rifle through things that she most certainly should not be. Her efforts one day lead her to a most peculiar book, hidden amongst the stacks  in her father's collection and undoubtedly not mean to be found. Demitria fled with the pilfered tome, locked away in her shared quarters with her sister or in a darkened alley at the dead of night, working to find the key to the book's entry. It was unlike any tome she had ever before seen; black as night, the grimoire was menacing in its own appearance, yet somehow alluring in a way she found made her uneasy. The lock on the side of the book was discouraging to anyone that might look upon it, as there was no visible way to open it -- no keyhole, combination, or tools could break apart this binding. Aside from that, the other recognizable feature was the silver engravings upon the book's cover. Metal barbs, filed to a wickedly sharp point and about an inch in length, were embedded into the book, lined up in two short rows that were parallel to the other. Upon the spine of the book, the words were almost illegible: "Through the blood of the willing, the secrets of the unknown come to light."

It took days and multiple bouts of frustration until the idea finally came to her. On impulse, Demitria slid her bare arm between the barbs, though there was little room for her to do so without being scratched. Almost immediately after the limb was put into place, the barbs latched onto her as if they had come alive, sinking into her pale skin. An intense feeling of panic settled over Demitria, but still she did not dare rip her arm from the confines, and instead hopelessly watched as the blood was drawn from her. Just as she was beginning to feel lightheaded, the barbs lifted, leaving behind multiple puncture wounds in her forearm. The sight was all the more gruesome with her blood now stained upon the metal, though she soon came to realize that the impenetrable latch had come undone. So caught up was she in her own shock and panic, Demitria had not even noticed that it was opened. Once the wounds from the tome had been properly dressed and hidden away to avoid questioning, she opened the grimoire for the first time. The words that lay within disturbed her to say the least. Written in a careful script, the painted words and images upon each parchment were a shocking crimson, as if the blood that was drawn from her had soaked into each page and formed what now lay on the paper. 

From then on, Demitria studied with renewed vigor, only this time, her efforts were hidden and discussed with no one. Over time and with continuous research, she sobered to the idea that what she was doing was frowned upon and not precisely accepted in society. While she never quite halted from continuing her practice, even going so far as to attempt the occasional spell in secluded areas she knew would never be traced back to her, Demitria was still discouraged. Her efforts were little more than dabbling, and always done in a way that would never compromise her safety or reputation.

Gilneas' FallEdit

More time passed, and then Demitria's beloved kingdom was overturned. Ironically enough, and foreseeable by none, Genn Greymane's own ambition had lead to his city's downfall. The worgen ran rampant, Gilneans were slaughtered, and Demitria just barely escaped alive. She witnessed countless of her friends fall, each death more gruesome than the last, and eventually was separated from her family. The chaos was staggering. Eventually, she was able to run back to her family's residence, a simple hole-in-the-wall type house, and lock herself away in the cramped cellar. How long she remained there was anyone's guess, but the traumatizing event left Demitria scarred, and even now, the simplest raps on a wooden door might cause her to jump and go into a panic, remembering all too easily what it was like to be in such a cramped space and hear the vicious worgen ripping apart everything she held dear.

From there, Demitria will tell the rest of the story as being "a blur and horrifically surreal." Her evacuation, much like being in hiding, required a good deal of calculation and stealth; the latter of which she was none too skilled in. Freedom lay just beyond the gates, she knew, following the path where the other civilians had hopefully escaped. But before that, however, she was halted by one of the rampant worgen. But no, she realized, this one was... different. It took several moments, but when she met the glaring gaze of the bloodthirsty animal and saw crystal blue eyes, the very same as her own, staring back, it dawned on her that she was seeing none other than Nellaria Rione, her beloved sister.

The realization came just as the animal did. Demitria had no time to think, simply act. Murmured incantations gave way to fiery spells, flung at the charging worgen's feet and causing it to yelp, effectively cutting off her sister's path.  Still, she rounded the charred remains and snapped her jaws, trying once more to reach the woman across the way. With every ounce of life in her, aided by the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Demitria flung spell after spell and eventually, the barrage became intolerable. Nellaria Rione, her childhood partner, younger sister and friend, fled into the woods and disappeared from sight.

Dirt-covered, battered, exhausted and broken in every sense of the word, Demitria followed the abandoned path out of the city and eventually caught up to the refugees at Keel Harbor. During that time, she was nearly starved and almost dead on her feet. Having been thrust into a situation that she knew next to nothing on how to react or survive, her basic instincts were her guide, and even then it seems she had less than an inch of life left within her once she rejoined her kin.

Needless to say, the entire experience shaped Demitria into a different woman with a new perspective on life and its hardships. While the incident in Gilneas played a monumental role in who she is today, it also stole a piece of her; a piece that will forever remain in the memory of the life she was forced to leave behind. 

The Journey to StormwindEdit

Traveling to the Kingdom of Stormwind was a mixed experience for Demitria. Most of her was still coming to terms with the pain and loss she had experienced at Gilneas, but a part could not deny the obvious curiosity that came with discovering new lands. Traveling by boat was something unknown to her on its own, but going beyond the Wall at all was unthinkable. However, a good portion of her time on the boat was spent locked in a cramped, spare room, replenishing her strength when she could and slowly but surely easing back into her regular diet to cure her malnourishment. 

Her arrival in Stormwind was generally uneventful. Pushing aside her normal curiosity of a city she did not know, Demitria made the proper arrangements for a temporary residence in Stormwind. Having little to no coin to her name, the one-room living quarters were nothing short of homely. She managed to make a living by running insignificant errands for various shopkeepers around the city, tasks more fit for a courier than a trained sorceress. So deep was her depression that those miniscule errands were the only reason she had to leave her room, and once they were finished, she returned once more to solitude. 

Enlisting in the League of LordaeronEdit

For weeks on end, Demitria spoke to no one and did very little besides going through the motions. Eventually, she berated herself and took frequent walks among the city, trying to enjoy the luxuries it had to offer. Even that did not last long, however, and Demitria once more found herself within the confines of that small room. It was one day during that time that a revelation came to her. The book she had been studying from was undoubtedly lost in the chaos of Gilneas, but regardless, her decision was made. From that day forth, Demitria swore to herself that no longer would she fall victim to uselessness. A greater calling urged her, and although she knew that the choice may result in her violent death, she once again threw herself into studies of shadow and later, fel magic. Gathering the information was difficult, to say the least, and soon she had to grow accustomed to shady dealings and masked persons. Her knowledge expanded, and so too did her desire to find a purpose with it. 

The first time she came face to face with the iconic symbol of the House of Menethil was seeing it embedded upon the chest of an armored man in the Cathedral. Many a time had she witnessed organizations of different values, goals and people wandering the streets, but none seemed to quite catch her eye. Days passed, and soon her interest was piqued upon seeing the same crest appear more and more. Hushed whispers were exchanged between her and a few random locals, a brief conversation that lead to the discovery of who the uniformed men and women were. 

On a whim, Demitria approached the man at the steps and inquired about his order. He spoke briefly, clearly, and she could not help but be intrigued. Her internal struggle did not last long; soon, she was expressing her wish to join their ranks. He lead her inside the Cathedral and began assaulting her with questions about her past, her experience in combat, and unique abilities. Each was answered promptly and carefully, and it was not long before she was thusly accepted into the order as a fledging initiate. While the environment was one she was not suited for, and admittedly one that she likely never would be to some extent, she flourished over time with her determination to see the northlands reclaimed to back her.


Years later, after the divorce of her first marriage, Demitria was given the honor of taking up the mantle of High Commander after Kerdic Lothinil stepped down from the position. With Cartres Portiave acting as her Major, and many others at her side as officers and confidants, Demitria has vowed to uphold the legacy of her predecessors and continue the perpetual fight for Lordaeron -- and Gilneas, by extension. Since then, she has also begun to suffer from her extensive use of fel magic to the point where the woman fears that the effects will eventually become fatal. To stymie and further prolong her life, Demitria has opted to return to magehood, albeit with much difficulty and occasional slips that nearly render her useless in terms of battle. Most of her time during the recovery was spent bedridden, fighting the corrective nature of the magic she had indulged in for so long. With her redemption and resurgence of the use of arcane, Demitria has since touched on a heightened level of power and potency, attributed to both the cleansing and her progressively ambitious pursuits related to the arcane.


Impulsive and loyal to a fault, the Gilnean woman is imperious and possesses a strength almost exclusively born from one who believes entirely in the value of independence. Her arrogance is easily attributed to both her Gilnean heritage and her upbringing as a sorceress, further augmented by her successes in various magical pursuits over the years, fueled by her perpetual ambition. Often known to be charming, she values loyalty above most other traits -- and especially as it concerns those the loves or calls kin. Patriotic to an almost insufferable degree, Demitria is a firm believer in love of country. Despite her bouts of kindheartedness, she is equally capable of cruel brutality, though rarely exhibited outside of instances particularly personal to her.

Possessive of a sharp tongue and equal wit, she has been known to nurse a more devious, playful side in her time with lighthearted banter -- usually around those she finds herself most comfortable with, a difficult status to attain in and of itself. She is intelligent and often domineering, often preferring to go about things her way, but she is not without a sense of diplomacy to those that have earned her respect. For those that have achieved the opposite, however, she is never above just revenge, but strives not to hold a grudge - an endeavor whose success depends largely upon the individual in question and their relationship.

Only those she truly cares for are allowed the understanding of a much more kind side, one that with it brings a stalwart loyalty and almost overbearing desperation to protect those that care deeply for her in turn. Often known to place herself in harm's way gladly and without hesitation for her loved ones, within her burns an unquenchable passion that rages like the heat of a chaotic wildfire.

Alongside her outstanding hatred and contempt for Forsaken units, she has a curious quirk in her behavior that often stands as a stark contrast to her dedication to kinship: namely, her visible discomfort around shapeshifted worgen.

Romance and RelationshipsEdit

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