Lazar Vodenicharov

A Hungarian mostly-gentleman who seems mostly detached from the clans' squabbles and instead chooses to tend to the cemetery and the recently deceased. Untrustworthy, so they say, and the shotgun under his pillow suggests the feeling is mutual.


Full Name: Lazar Demeter Vodenicharov
Age: 38
Hair: Greying brown
Eyes: Brown

Status: Alive
Occupation: Gravedigger and cemetery groundskeeper
Origin: Pest County, Hungary
Allegiance: Independent

First Seen: —
Last Seen: —

Description: Though he works mostly with the dead and spends most of his days meekly patrolling, Lazar almost looks more like a farmhand than anything else. 6'6" tall, broad shouldered, carrying himself with a certain air of confidence, despite looking generally quite worn-out otherwise; stubble lining his jaw and grey-brown hair far from kempt. His facial features alone make it fairly clear he's not from around Dornie, and if one were to go by them alone, Eastern Europe or Russia would seem a likely origin, Hungary being his actual place of birth. His clothes often look far too rich for his blood and status, though their worn and poor state easily makes up for that.


  • Aliz Balogh - Mother
  • Tibor Vodenicharov (†) - Adoptive/possible father
  • Sharla Ingham-Vodenicharov - Wife, status and whereabouts unknown

Portrayed by: Vladimir Vdovichenkov


Lazar's life was started on somewhat of a sour note, born in a Hungarian brothel to a woman who did not intend to take care of him. He was thrust into the care of a man who could neither confirm or deny fatherhood, but kept the child either way, having just about enough money and a vague wish for a legacy but not for a wife. He was in charge of the local cemetery, and Lazar silently grew up amongst the grieving and the dead. People will always keep dying, and as such it was a stable business, but stable is not often what children yearn for. Lazar was no different, and as he got older, he started wandering off-site more and more often, whenever he was not helping his father. Marketplaces in particular caught his eye, and he would spend what little money he could gather on seemingly insignificant, trivial things from wayward trader stalls. Objects of little monetary value, but spoke of times that were, objects created with care, or simply objects with no other place to go.

When he was thirteen years old, the man he had come to know as his father died of pneumonia. Being unable to take over the man's tasks all on his own, Lazar came to live with an acquaintance who was less charmed by his growing collection of mostly useless items, and the larger part of them was thrown out. The rest? It was wrapped up in a bag two years later, and came with Lazar when he ran away from his village after being pressured to return to the cemetery home. He had no idea what he wanted, but it was certainly not to return there.

The life of a bandit is not generally a safe one, nor one that leaves your face looking very pretty.

Travelling wasn't easy, and though he found people to travel with more often than not, it was anywhere but safe. Falling in with the wrong crowd being the easiest thing to do, before long the boy had joined a haphazardly formed group of bandits. It wasn't a successful bunch by far, and the other members often died before he could even memorise their names, but through terrible acts and honorless crime it taught Lazar that if anything, he wanted a quieter life back. Even if that required treachery.

So, one night near the coast, already years into his new, rough life, he took off with all of the money he could and bought his way onto a ship. Never staying in one place, he started travelling with a different kind of people- traders. And be it through luck or talent, he seemed to be pretty good at it. He made a small fortune through buying and selling odd and eccentric items - anything he deemed interesting enough, during which he picked himself up a tame hooded crow and a relatively adoring wife in England, and eventually settled for travelling in and around the United Kingdom in particular at the age of 35.

Until he and a hired help came near Dornie, that is. Having dropped his wife and money off in a relatively safe settlement a few days earlier so as to keep her and his financial safety net safe in case of bandits, fate threw something much worse at him instead; a particularly bad mannered troll destroyed his carriage and his wares with it, the aftermath of which fortunately distracted the beast long enough for him and his fellow traveller to get away. Lazar knew Dornie was close and sent his one associate to alert his wife while he made his way to Dornie with nothing but a shotgun in his hand and his crow on his shoulder.

But no help ever came to pick him up. Weeks later, and with no money or contacts, Lazar had little choice but to stay in Dornie more permanently than he'd intended. Previous experience led him, a handful of years ago, to take over for the then current gravedigger, who died a mere few months after his arrival. Lazar has been a quiet but contributing member of the Dornie people ever since then.


Lazar's life has shaped him in more ways than his parents ever could have. He's grateful for the experiences he's been through, but it did leave him a little weary of more things than he can count. Perhaps it is that weariness that turned him into a man of many distinct on/off modes; he tends to either trust a person fully or distrusts them completely, he is either 100% sure of his case or left feeling entirely clueless. One moment he may be perfectly calm, then one single thing may prompt him to attempt to rip someone's throat out. That said, the latter is a state not often seen from the gravedigger, and few have seen him actually get that far. He is far from unstable, generally seen as a reserved sort of man who enjoys the company of others, as long as it is on his terms.

Judgement does not come easy for him, unless it involves what he would consider genuine acts of evil. He is far from a saint, or even from being morally inclined at all, but he likes to think that his firm belief that 'what goes around comes around' keeps things how they should be. In reality, that can often do more harm than good.

Smidges of his love for rare oddities and precious items of all sorts from when he used to travel remain, and it's arguable that he is perhaps most amiable when he allows himself to indulge in the habit. It is a welcome distraction.


Though Lazar can sometimes be seen being followed around by a hooded crow, it is far from his familiar. In fact, not only is Lazar not a mage, he doesn't even like the thing. He's had it since it was but a one day old hatchling, bought from a travelling merchant as a gift to his wife. Having been told it was a nightingale prior to the sale, the recipient was more than a little disappointed when the feathers properly came through and proved Lazar a fool. The bird saw him as its parent for reasons he will never understand, and its loyalty outlasted the wife's. Even after Lazar took the liberty to break the bird's wings twice to make sure it didn't get any thoughts about flying off, it hops after him like a content puppy, feeding on table scraps and occasionally being taken for a shoulder ride.

The one thing it IS good for, however, is serving as the equivalent of a yappy guard dog. It may not be able to jump high enough to peck your eyes out, but it'll caw and screech at strangers nonetheless if it finds them wandering the cemetery after closing time.