Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies

❆ ~ The Lazarescu Girl: Constanta's Tale ~ ❆

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emptyanima:
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Name: Constanta Lazarescu
Meaning: Steadfast; Romanian Surname
Age: 25 Yrs.
Race: Human
Religion: None
Former Steward of Krofburg
Origin: Krofburg, Barovia (Ravenloft Native)

"non ministrari sed ministrare -- not to be served, but to serve."
The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion - Auriel's Ascension - Jeremy Soule 1. Image by Vandal

emptyanima:
All of Anca and Iacob Lazarescu's children were born during the wintertime, but only one survived beyond the week of her birth. Their home, the village of Krofburg, stood defiantly on the slopes of Mount Ghakis, against a force that levels armies; the elements, cold and unforgiving. The Lazarescu couple had pressed on, living as they must (for that is the way of the mountain folk), possessed of the same stubborn spirit as the village itself. They had not given themselves to lengthy grieving, and now, their quiet persistence had brought fruit.

Once the first week had passed, the Lazarescu girl was a source of celebration for her parents. Already, tufts of black hair, like the wings of raven chicks, crowned the young girl's head. Her eyes were strange among Barovian folk, being blue like ice as it reflects the stormy mountain skies. Her parents named her Constanta, for she had been steadfast. Sadly, she would have no siblings; she did not meet the sisters who came before and perished, nor the brothers that came after, though she came close to it once.

There were other forces, darker than the all-encompassing elements, which would deny Constanta this.

❆
Gangly, and on the cusp of womanhood, Constanta was at play in the upper vineyards of the Barovian village. She wielded a fallen branch like a weapon, and was throwing herself into playful fighting with a similarly-armed playmate.

"Die, Gundarakite scum!" She shrieked, while her pretending playmate tumbled and feigned death. As the pair were rolling in the grass, emitting peals of childish laughter, Constanta presently noticed footsteps, approaching, behind her. These were steps she knew well. She stopped her laughter, beginning to shush her bemused friend, waggling her finger in an accusatory fashion. Constanta's cheeks were scarlet as she turned, dusting herself off.

She had been a friend of Laurentiu's for many years. He had always been a little older, a little wiser, and in many ways like an older brother to the Lazarescu girl. Lately however, she had found her feelings changing. She smiled at him.

"Salut, Laurentiu! What brings you to the vineyard?"

"I thought I heard the goats bleating, but it seems I found a pair of lambs instead." Constanta frowned, her blush deepening.

"We were clearing away the litter before seeing to the weeds, weren't we, Lina?" The girl behind her nodded, grinning sheepishly. Laurentiu appeared unconvinced. He paused presently, stepping closer to the Lazarescu girl.

"You have dirt on your face. Let me just..." He reached forward and began running a thumb over her cheek to lift the dirt. Constanta smiled involuntarily, her cheeks still scarlet. Laurentiu patted her shoulder once he was finished. "Now you look a bit more presentable, you mucky creature." The girl frowned, while her friend behind her burst out laughing.

"I was hard at work!" Constanta protested, "Don't talk to me like I am still a child, Laurentiu. I am almost grown." Laurentiu appeared incredulous.

"Enjoy being childish while you can, Constanta. You'll have to start thinking about getting wed and having children, and spending your days washing all their clothes." He grinned, and Constanta sighed.

"I am not being childish, Laurentiu. And..." She frowned. "Maybe I am thinking about getting wed." Constanta looked at Laurentiu for a moment. Laurentiu feigned gagging.

"I'll make sure to warn all the men, then." He turned and bolted, his longer legs taking him away from the girls as they gave chase.

"Hey, stop that, Laurentiu... don't!"

While she spoke of weddings now, she had no way of knowing that even though she would be betrothed to a boy, she would be unwed even seven years from that day.

Not even in her most violent nightmares could the Lazarescu girl have imagined why.

emptyanima:
Constanta did her best to conceal her disappointment (and bemusement) when her father told her that a boy who was not Laurentiu Sala had approached him to take up the traditional betrothal challenge (admittedly a couple of months prior to their usual period). She knew of Artur Rotariu by name and face (he did not have the same appeal as mischievous Laurentiu), but was surprised that he would come forward. While he greeted her in passing, he rarely spoke with her, usually hard at work on his family's land. She was not surprised that her father had accepted the challenge, however; while Barovians are not in the business of arranging marriages, they are often strong in the encouragement of their children to choose when they are of age, for life is often hard and childbearing years precious. In addition, the Rotarius were not troublesome, and their land yielded a reliable crop each year, no doubt giving peace of mind to any father looking for his daughter to live in health and comfort.


Artur was set a simple challenge, as far as many of these challenges go (disapproving fathers will set tasks of extremely difficult or impossible standard to drive off those he deems unworthy); to drive a lone wolf from the lower vineyard, slay it, and bring its pelt to the Lazarescu's home. He was of stocky build and no stranger to physical work, but care would need to be taken. When he crossed her father's threshold, the creature's pelt draped over his shoulders, Constanta acknowledged him with a small smile. Her father examined the pelt. He nodded.

"We will wait for the Festival of the Joining, of course. It is not so many months away now, and they will pass quickly." He approached the young man, and set his hands firmly on his shoulders. "And Artur? You will take good care of her, or you will get stern words from me." Artur ran a hand over the back of his neck.

"Understood, Domn Lazarescu." Artur looked over at Constanta now. She smiled sheepishly in return.

Then, Anca Lazarescu rose from her work at her loom.

"Come, Tanta. Let me measure you again, so I can make you a new dress for when the day comes."

❆
Constanta was sweeping snow from the doorstep, brow furrowed in thought, when she became aware that she was being watched. She looked up and saw Artur, hoe in hand, turning the frigid earth of the field. She didn't know what to make of him. Then, as though hearing her thoughts, he set down the tool against the fence and approached. Though his stride could be called confident, there was evident bashfulness in his manner, and that worried the young woman.

Why was it me that he chose? Was it even his choice?

Artur did not look at her directly, speaking in a low voice.

"Constanta, walk with me."

"Why, Artur? Is something wrong?"

Artur cringed.

"No... nothing is wrong. Will you come or not?"

She hesitated for a moment before nodding.

"Alright, where are we going?"

"This way." Artur gestured towards the fields, and Constanta followed. They walked in silence for a while, side by side, when presently the young woman felt new warnth despite the chill. Looking down, she saw that Artur had taken her hand in his. She frowned in thought, but did not retract her hand. Eventually, they reached one of the Rotariu's barns, stocked with feed for the beasts to weather the winter months. The beasts themselves were in another barn nearby, giving the pair some privacy. The bales of hay provided some insulation against the chill, taking the edge from the winter which raged around them.

Artur let go of Constanta's hand, working then to push two of the bales close together. He smiled at his handiwork, took a seat on one side, and patted the space beside him. Constanta sat beside him. She felt his hand on hers again and frowned, her prior thoughts returning. Constanta was often introspective, something her father attributed to reading too many books -- all three that she owned were her most precious possessions.

Constanta looked at him, speaking firmly.

"You do not have to hold my hand if you do not want to, Artur."

The young man looked puzzled.

"Is this what you wanted?"

Confusion continued to cloud the young man's brow.

"Constanta, I do not understand..." She sighed.

"You do not have to marry me if you do not want to." He laughed bashfully.

"Constanta, no one made me do this." He smiled at her. "Why do you think I asked your father for the challenge before the betrothal festival?"

Constanta looked at the ground, frowning. Her cheeks were beginning to colour, and not with cold. "I thought that someone else would ask your papa if I waited."

Constanta looked at him.

"Why didn't you come and speak to me, then?"

"Well..." Artur shuffled slightly where he sat. "You were always spending time with Laurentiu, and I thought..."

"Laurentiu?" Constanta interjected with incredulity, laughing. "He doesn't want to marry me. He teases me too much for that." Artur rubbed the back of his neck.

"I was not expecting your papa to accept. I was expecting him to say that he had already asked. Silly Laurentiu." Artur rolled his eyes, smiling now. He looked relieved.

"Silly Laurentiu?" Artur looked at her, his smile broadening. He was the image of a plain, simple Barovian; no one could have accused him of being deceptive or misleading in his ways.

"Silly not to ask you." The colour of her cheeks darkened. He looked more solemn for a moment. "But I know it was not good of me to go to your father first. We still have some months before the festival, so... maybe we could try?"

Constanta considered him carefully. Smiling, she nodded. Artur sighed in relief. "That's good." He took a breath. "Yes, that's just swell, Tanta... can I call you that?" He was full of all the earnestness of a puppy; it practically radiated from his rough but youthful features.

"Yes, you can."

He seemed to pause for a moment, as though recalling a word of wisdom, and cleared his throat. When he spoke again, his voice was lower. "Good." He repeated, a sense of sheepishness still lingering. He stretched forth a hand, running broad, work-calloused fingers through her hair, then allowed his thumb to rest against her cheek. It was not an entirely natural movement (Constanta wondered to herself if he had rehearsed this beforehand), but he was surprisingly gentle. His thumb moved slowly down her cheek and towards her mouth; all the while, there was a look of focused concentration on Artur's face. She could almost hear his heart in his mouth. He opened his mouth a little, and Constanta looked up, as though expecting him to speak. Instead, she felt his mouth against hers, his tongue darting around hers like a salmon fighting its way upstream. While his technique was unrefined (which even Constanta, lacking experience, could tell), she could not doubt the boy's enthusiasm. She became faintly aware of his free hand hovering over her chest, drawing closer as the youth kept adjusting his expectations on how far her bosom was from reach. She took the opportunity to interlace the fingers of her free hand with his, gently resting them both on the straw seat.

She had surprised herself that her reaction had been to return his advance, and not to turn away. Pulling back, Artur looked cheerily dumbstruck for a moment.

"Er, sorry... I hope that was fine. You looked a bit nervous. Are you?"

"I was, a little." She smiled shyly. "But less now."

"Ah, good... good. Sorry, I am not so good with words as you, Tanta. But maybe I will be, if you help."

She nodded, very much more at ease. While he was no poet, his sincerity had its own charm. He kissed her again, then looked skyward out of the barn. "Ah, there's not going to be light much longer. I'll get you to your papa before he beats me." Constanta laughed, taking his hand for the duration of the short walk back.

Heading inside her father's home, she cleared her throat and looked at her parents.

"Tanta?" Her mother looked at her.

"Mama. Papa. I think I will love Artur. So... do not worry, if you were." Iacob Lazarescu arched a brow.

"I thought you did, girl? That's why he would have asked..." He frowned. "I hope you haven't been naughty."

"No, papa, I haven't."

"Well, I hope not. I already have one woman full of child to worry about, don't I?" He pulled Anca, who was stood beside him, into his arms where he sat, his large, rough hands clasped about her belly. Anca laughed, before a more somber looked reached her, as though she had caught herself. Iacob sighed. "I know, I should not get too excited so soon, Anca, but I cannot help myself. This time, I am certain, this one will be strong, like Constanta here."

Constanta rubbed her eyes. She had long wanted siblings, but the troubles they knew before her birth remained with them afterwards. Despite this, they were smiling. Perhaps, she thought, Artur and I can be like this. Her thoughts again turned to the boy she was to wed. He was right, I am fond of Laurentiu, but he doesn't look at me that way. Better to put that behind me and grow. To marry means to leave girlish things behind. She went and embraced her mother and father, before going to her preferred corner of their communal room and taking one of the three books she owned in hand (they had cost dear, and she prized each one), losing herself in it as the year drew to a close. As the months passed, she spent more time with Artur, and each time, she was more and more convinced that this had been the right choice. As winter loosed its grasp on the mountain village, she knew that she loved him.

That night, she lay down to sleep, and dreamt of a day that would never come.

emptyanima:
Spoiler: show((I wasn't present for this event, as it took place in 2009. Please enjoy this more as a snapshot of an event that happened in the server's history, that has had its effects on my character, and others in play, though it may not be entirely true to what took place.))

Terrible screams, more terrible than any Constanta had ever heard, filled her head as she woke. Her weariness instantly dispelled, she cried out.

"Mama, papa! What's happening?" Her mother rushed to her, swelling with child as she was, and threw her arms around her.

"Tanta, Tanta..." She trembled violently, pulling the young woman from her bed, "We've got to run, now. Leave your clothes and your books, there's no time." Worry choked her voice, as it began to seize Constanta's.

"Where is papa?" Anca's brow was etched with worry.

"I can't find him. We need to find him and leave... Krofburg is overrun."

"Wh-what, what's happening? Invidians? Gundarakites? What's happening, mama?"

"D... d..." Anca trembled more violently. Constanta held her tightly. "Demons."

Constanta's blood froze.

"Papa! We have to find him!"

"Tanta, please, we have to be careful. I cannot... I cannot lose you." She cupped a protective hand behind her daughter's head for a moment, shaking.

"We cannot lose papa either! Stay here, mama, for the baby... I'll find papa and come back here, I promise." Anca wept.

"Tanta, please, it's too dangerous..."

"I can't stand by and do nothing, mama. The baby needs you, and we need papa." Constanta took her cloak and threw it over her nightclothes. She then took a leather belt and wrapped it about her waist, shoving her mother's sewing scissors and a knife into its pouches. Then, she ran into the village, which was blanketed with a smoke-filled, bloody sky as the sun tried to begin rising for dawn. As soon as the door was behind her, fear took her. Fire tore its way through the village, and the people were running in terrified panic from their homes. And then, she saw them. They belied description, terrible in their near-humanlike visage. But these were far from human. Hellspawn ran amok through the village Constanta loved.

Her heart felt as though it was in a vice grip. Would they come for her if she called out? She had no choice; still, she cried out. "Father? Where are you?" In the corner of her eye she saw movement. She forced herself towards it. Relief reached her as she drew close, recognising the silhouette she saw.

"Lina! I'm so glad you're alright! Listen, we have to run now..." She touched her friend's shoulder, preparing to turn her about. She was bemused by her silence.

Lina turned. Constanta screamed.

The girl that was once Catalina Negrescu stared back, though she did not have eyes, only tongues of flame in hollowed-out sockets.  Lina made sounds that were inhuman, and Constanta leapt back. The abomination lurched forward after her.  At that moment, the building next to them was seized by the flames, and it tore through the thatch in moments.  Still aflame, beam and thatch tumbled down, burying Catalina. She gave a terrible scream before being burnt away to bone and ash. Constanta covered her mouth and nose, smoke and sorrow stinging her eyes. Clambering to her feet away from the flames, she ran, somehow regaining the will to press forward.

"Papa!" She screamed, "can you hear me?!" She could not hear a response over the screams and the cacophony of the abominations. Her voice hoarse, she called again, fearful tears streaming down her cheeks. And then, she heard it, faintly at first, a familiar voice. She ran towards the voice she knew so well, whether chiding or in praise.

"Tanta! Tanta, I am here!" He bellowed. Constanta threw her arms around him as she reached him. He held her tightly as she sobbed. "I am so glad you aren't hurt. Where is your mother?"

"I told her to wait at home for us. I hope the fire's not gone that far...!" The two sprinted towards their small but well-loved home, and strained hope quickly turned to terror. The house was indeed aflame. Anca Lazarescu was sprawled in front of it, her skin pale. One of the demons was moving away from her.

"What have you done to my wife?!" Constanta could sense her father's rage rising within him, and she restrained him, pulling him instead towards Anca. As she tried to lift her, Constanta could see now that her mother's head was bleeding. She pressed her ear to her mother's breast and sighed in relief when she heard her heart beating. Then, Constanta stiffened. She moved a hand to her mother's belly now, desperate now to feel the movements of the child within. She found only stillness.

"No..." Constanta whispered, her heart racing with this new fear. Her eye travelled downwards, then pricked with tears. She sobbed.

The cry caught her father's attention, and for a few awful moments, he took in the sight of his daughter, weeping over the bloodied skirts of the woman he loved. He couldn't speak at more than a whisper.

"Anca..." He took his wife in his arms and wept. Constanta had seen him cry on few occasions before. It was always at times like this. He trembled in grief and anger, before meeting his daughter's eyes. "Constanta, I must take your mother to safety, but it will slow me. I need you to run on your own, girl."

"Yes, papa." Contanta's sight blurred with tears.

"Good girl. Make for the mountain path, just at the edge of the meadow. I'll meet you there, love." Constanta nodded, then rose, tearing away.

As she ran, she looked over her shoulder at the burning village, the smoke again stinging her eyes. Suddenly, she felt something beside her, and she screamed.

"Tanta! It's me..."

"Oh, Artur..." She paused for a moment to embrace him tightly. "I am so afraid..."

"We all are, Tanta. But we are both alright..." Hand in hand, they made for the meadow, running as fast as they could. Then, she saw it. The demonic being that had she had seen close to her mother. The one that doubtless caused her sibling's demise. Sensing them close by, the demon turned. The young Barovian couple cried out in fear.

It began to give chase.

"RUN!" Artur cried.

Together they raced through the meadow. The demon, unphased, pressed on after them. As they ran, Constanta felt her legs begin to give way, and her steps became increasingly unsteady. The boy at her side could feel her beginning to slip. He tried to steady her, then turned back, brandishing a grain sickle. "You won't touch her!"

"Artur, no!"

Taken aback by the sudden movement, Constanta tumbled onto the grass.  Pushing herself up, she took the knife from her belt and turned. Somehow, Artur had embedded the sickle in the demon's arm. He had not made his escape, however; he could not. The demon's claws were embedded in Artur's neck, pressing more and more tightly. "Artur!" Constanta ran forward. But what could the girl have done? As she drew closer, she saw blood oozing from his neck, his mouth. He struggled to wrest the sickle from the demon's arm. Giving a pained inhuman cry, the demon threw Artur to the ground and retreated, no doubt to deal with the sickle itself.

Constanta hurried to meet him. She threw herself to her knees, then took her mother's sewing scissors from her belt. She scored into the hem of her dress, then ripped it, taking the fabric and attempting to stop more blood oozing from the boy's neck. Artur tried to speak, but the claws had damaged his vocal cords, his throat almost crushed. He reached out a paling hand for Constanta's cheek, and she held it there with her other hand. Her sight blurred with new tears. She kissed his fingers as the light went out in his eyes, his hand becoming limp and heavy in hers.

Sobbing, she embraced him and kissed his brow, his blood staining her clothes, then she set his hands gently at his sides. Then, with some effort, she set him upright against a nearby tree. She ripped another shred of fabric from her dress and bound it about his mouth. The image of Lina, made a mockery, filled her mind. She made a warding gesture over him.

"They will not take your body, I swear it."

As she stood, she could sense something was behind her. It gave a low growl, filled with anger. Her eyes went wide. She turned.

The sickle was still stuck fast, and the demon bled, seething with rage.

Constanta ran, and she could feel it at her back, its hot brimstone breath at the back of her neck.

"Constanta!" It was her father's voice. She turned as she ran.

Her mother and father were close by now, and while her mother stumbled, her eyes red from crying, she pressed on. Perhaps, driven by the loss of one child, she was ever more desperate to secure the safety of the one that remained, and this sustained her.

The demon was growing more and more frustrated with the implement the now-dead Barovian lad had left embedded in its arm, but still it pursued her, vengeance not sated. Constanta took the knife from her belt and turned, aiming to take it by surprise, though fear gripped her tightly. It was likely that it would deal with her in the same way it had Artur. She drove it into the demon's face, the blade stuck fast in its eye socket. It shrieked. Constanta turned to keep running, hoping to have purchased enough time to properly break away from its pursuit. She felt something hard press against her feet, and she fell, twisting her ankle as she landed. She winced, trying to scrabble away through the damp grass, noticing for a moment the rock that had been her downfall. Breathless, she looked behind her as the demon closed the gap she had made between them. It leapt for her, bloodied claws shining with lethal purpose. Too late, Constanta saw him.

Iacob Lazarescu had placed himself in the space between them, stood between his daughter and the hellspawn. The creature pushed him to the ground as he brandished his militia blade. Constanta heard steel meet flesh, and cries both human and inhuman. Constanta turned where she lay. Her father's blade had made the demon's chest its scabbard. The hellspawn's features were frozen in death, mouth agape. Its claws, however, had also pierced flesh, stuck fast and deep across Iacob's bloodied torso.

Anca cried out.

Constanta pulled herself through the dirt, helping her mother to lift the demon's carcass from Iacob's body. He breathed, but he was pale and bloody.

"Papa..." She took her mother's scissors to her skirts once more, trying to bind his wounds. He placed a hand on hers, weakly shaking his head.

"Constanta," he murmured. She looked upon him tearfully.

"You saved me." He took her hand more tightly, but his breaths became shallower, speech more difficult.

"Artur... he will take care of you now. He's a good lad." Constanta tried to smile through her tears, nodding. What would it profit her to make her father's passing any more difficult? Their parting was already painful enough.

"Yes, papa."

"Good girl," he murmured, faintly now. His head sank heavily to the earth beneath. He reached for Anca's hand now, gasping in pain. Taking it tightly, he looked upon his wife, a thousand unspoken apologies behind his eyes. Then, he gave up the ghost.

❆
Krofburg lay in ruins, bereft of life. Huddled together upon the meadows, the survivors held fast to one another, united by their grief. Together they mourned, for so many had lost so much, and so swiftly.

Constanta held tightly to her mother as they watched Iacob and Artur be buried. Guilt overwhelmed the young Barovian woman's heart; surely, she was to blame for both of their deaths. Both of these men had died for her sake. She looked up at her mother's face, and silently wept anew.

Anca Lazarescu was not crying. While she held her daughter, she did not look at her, instead staring into the wide beyond, still as a corpse. Her body was a tomb, and so much of her now lay in the grave, so that little of her remained. She, like the village, was a shadow of what once was.

Krofburg was a widow swathed in black, struggling in grief. It is no wonder that they seized upon the offers of help, vulnerable as they were. The demons were gone now, the cult of Azazel vanquished, but another painfully human force would soon have its grasp upon the village.

The Bellegarde Consortium.

❆
--- Quote ---Krofburg had been under the corrupting influence of Azazel [...] The people of Krofburg turned into abominations and demonic beings roaming freely [...]
Now, where once the realm of Azazel was, lies a destroyed village. Mostly empty as only a few stray wolves or birds cross the areas from time to time.
~ The Destruction of Azazel, DM Corvus
--- End quote ---

emptyanima:
As the weeks and months passed, with the aid of the Consortium (and a handful of locals and outlanders), Krofburg once again took shape in the mountains. New brickwork and buildings, however, could not wholly conceal the damage inflicted upon the mountain folk. Grief left many of them looking too old for their bodies, while the horrors they had witnessed kept many of them from sleep. Their rough features were afflicted with unfathomable tiredness. For some, staying in the village was not an option.

“Forgive me, Constanta, I can’t stay.”

Laurentiu Sala spoke without sarcasm or mischief. He carried all his few possessions in a pack over his shoulders, looking down at Constanta with sadness behind his eyes. Sorrow was evident in her own features; he had long been a friend to her, despite his teasing, and she would miss him dearly. She could not be angry at him for leaving. She could not be angry at anyone.

“I understand.” She paused, considering for a moment, and tried to smile. “Vallaki is not so far away.”

“You’re right. I will try to visit, when I can. When I am not busy with the garda.” Constanta’s smile wavered.

“Be safe, won’t you?” She suddenly hugged him tightly. Laurentiu returned the embrace after a moment.

“You won’t have to worry about me.”

*
Several visits were planned, but none of them came to fruition over the years. Constanta threw herself into work, first alongside her mother at her loom, and later accompanying caravans as they traversed the road between Krofburg and Vallaki. She did not consider joining the Consortium; while at first their efforts to help rebuild were welcomed, it became more and more apparent that where their offer of friendship had seemed an outstretched hand, that hand now gripped tightly at Krofburg’s throat. Men toiled in the mines. While the village had some wealth, most of it was theirs. They had become so tied into Krofburg’s way of life, to simply cut them out would be a death sentence to the village.

The Bellegarde continued to dig. They had no notion just how much wealth was concealed in the mountains… or how violently it would make itself known.

Strange omens began to beset the village. Strange sights, stranger births.

Change was coming to the village once more.

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