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General Information
Character Name:
Oleg Zdravkova
Type of Character:
Adult
Age:
46
Date of Birth:
27 October 1875
Blood Status:
Pureblood
Residence:
Harewood House
Family:
Father: Sergej
Mother: Vlada
Uncle: Aleksandr
Cousin: Grigor, Nadežda, Liliya
Late wife: Katya
Wife: Ruslana
Children: Lev, Danika, Dragomir, Wiosna, Serik, Natalya
Occupation:
President of Argentum Memoriae - Britain
Personality & History
Personality:
Oleg holds himself with the confidence that is natural to all Zdravkova men, but his is tainted by a childhood of overindulgent praise and the loss of a destiny. Once the golden boy, he nurtures a deep sense of entitlement, shattered by the rearrangement of heirship through his uncle's seize of power and a wound that never healed.
Instead, it festered into cold, hard anger that simmers with lingering resentment, just underneath the surface and never entirely veiled. Outwardly he is loyal to the Zdravkova family, Aleksandr's rule and line of succession. He portrays the dutiful branch leader, but his devotion is knotted in bitterness for the loss of what he believes to be rightfully his.
He hides it under an exterior of calculated charm. As a capable leader and businessman he knows how to play the game, winning over outsiders and potential business partners with charm and intelligence that he has turned into a tool. He is opportunistic and calculating, using every possibility to strengthen his position.
In private he is driven by his hunger for power and status, to prove his superiority and worth, a silent hope to tip the scales back into his favour. He demands perfection and absolute obedience, especially from his three sons, exuding a quiet air of unquestioning authority and control. Should he be disappointed he reacts with ruthless coldness, leaking out in small, cutting remarks, or at his worst, through bursts of physical violence.
History:
Five years passed and Vlada still hadn't given her husband an heir. A girl, the firstborn and not what Sergej wanted, then miscarriage after miscarriage. Bound to inherit the family seat, Sergej is impatient, worried even. He needs an heir.
When Oleg is finally born on a stormy autumn day, he is celebrated as the family's greatest treasure, the boy that would allow Sergej to pass on his legacy one day, and is treated as such. From an early age on, Oleg learns that he is important. He likes that.
Eight years pass and Oleg proves to be an eager child, clever and quick to pick up on lessons and skills, revelling in his parents' admiration and approval. He is the golden boy, leaving his older sister and younger brother standing off to the side. Everything he needs, everything he wants, he gets. Most importantly off all — attention.
And he knows he deserves it because he is better than the others, he is the heir, he is the important child. He is smarter and more determined, hungry to excel if only to come out on top and prove his siblings' inferiority, especially his younger brother's. The spare.
Sergej's rise to power comes suddenly, sooner than expected.
Nonetheless he steps into the role of Head of Family, an uneven transition and one he isn't prepared for. He is too eager, too greedy and ambitious. The Zdravkova name begins to weaken.
Oleg watches. At first with a son's admiration and pride, for a man he had believed to be infallible and invincible. The manifestation of impeccable Zdravkova strength and virtue. But he listens too. To the whispers that echo through the palace, of instability and dissatisfaction, of stirring unrest and anger. Loud by the time his tenth birthday had passed.
His unwavering believe begins to crumble from underneath, a quiet voice at the back of his mind that he ignores. Until his uncle Aleksandr takes things into his own hands.
Sergej is killed, Aleksandr claims the throne and just like that, Oleg's entire world collapses.
No longer the heir, no longer the most important boy of the family. That title now falls to his cousin Grigor, and Oleg rages. In one night he lost his father and his future. He grows angry, resentful and meaner than before. He tantrums and screams but he has no other choice than to fall in line, enduring punishment and reprimand for the first time in his life and, slowly, it breaks him into obedience.
His bitterness never ceases though, festering in the core of his heart and into rigid anger, for what was stolen from him. It's a grudge he never laid to rest, just barely buried underneath family loyalty and duty. Still, he lingers in the shadows of his quiet desires.
When the time comes for the long-awaited business and family expansion, Oleg sees his chance. Maybe Britain would be the salvation he'd been pining for.
Prompt Response:
Oleg let the enchanted journal drop back onto the display desk with a thud, moving on to the shelf to his right. The wooden floors creaked beneath his heavy steps, the only sound in the shop. From behind he could feel the keeper's eyes bore into his neck.
He didn't acknowledge him. A curt nod had been his only reaction to the spindly man's greeting upon his entrance, a brief assessing pierce of a gaze before Oleg had begun his search.
He needed a notebook, something secure and unbreachable, preferably self-organising. Either with blood or mind magic, he didn't care. Maybe Diagon Alley hadn't been the right place to seek out however. It lacked a certain...edge. The things they sold here. Not quite what he was used to. It all seemed a little limp, lacking the sharpened bite of magic that intrigued, soft and weak.
Oleg let his gaze skim over the shelves with little interest. He picked up another notebook at random, turning it over once before putting it right back. Self-turning pages. How innovative.
He released a quiet breath through his nose.
Maybe somewhere else.
As he made to leave, he was stopped by the shopkeeper, hurrying to block the door.
"Sir, I request you empty your pockets. I have reason to believe you have taken something without pay."
Oleg stared the man down with cold steel in his eyes, face unmoved but simmering with barely contained anger. Wordlessly he took a step closer, forcing the shopkeeper to press himself flat against the door, stammering.
Oleg ignored his continued attempt to inspect his belongings, cutting him off. "Step aside." His voice was quiet, barely controlled rage, dripping with authority. He let his wand slip from his sleeve and into his hand. The colour in the spindly man's face drained, gaze widening. "Now."
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