<div class="floatleft">(http://img.csfd.cz/files/images/film/photos/158/304/158304905_7952d4.jpg)</div><div class="floatleft"><strong>Character Name/Alias</strong>: Koschei, Peter (Alias)<br/><strong>Wearing</strong>: Cloth pants and bandages around his fists; no shirt.<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Family Home, on his way to Snow Whites Castle<br/><strong>Tagging</strong>: Strange Occurance</div><br/><hr/><br/>Grunts and pants echoed in the basement of the Romanov Mansion, as deep below, a young man stood, fists bandaged as he threw harsh jabs and punches against a cushioned tree trunk that stood within the room. Panting and sweating, the man continued to jab and punch at the target in front of him, teeth gritted as every ounce of fury and anger radiated off him, like waves of fire ready to turn whatever touched him to ash. It wasn't until a few moments later that he finally ceased, giving heavy breaths as his blonde hair, ragged with sweat, covered most of his vision. He had been at this for hours, strengthening his toned body, training to become stronger then before. Littered with scars, the man trained regardless of the pain he felt, no longer wanting to feel helpless and weak.<br/><br/>Helpless and weak like when he was but a young boy.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><em>"This is for your own good Koschei. You must endure to make your family proud." An older man, arounds his forties, with long blonde hair combed back, continued to recite this same phrase in an even tone, even as he inflicted curses and hexes upon his only son, for hours on end, his screams echoing inside the basement of their home.<br/><br/>Koschei's fists grabbed at nothing, pulling at the chains that bound his wrists as he only continued to scream at the top of his lungs, feeling as if they were bleeding from the inside. This had been happening ever since his tenth birthday, and now at the age of fifteen, it still continued.<br/><br/>His tired blue eyes looked towards his father, pleading silently once the spells had stopped to let him go, but all he could see was the cold, dead emptiness that his father held for hm, and screamed out once more when he began again. <br/><br/>Again, and again.</em><br/><br/><hr/><br/>Koschei hadn't realized how much he had reacted to such a memory, his eyes, once burning with rage momentarily, now saw that he had thrown a fist against the marble wall next to him, the marble cracking beneath the power of his fist, pieces falling to the ground. He didn't care, his ragged breaths coming out in waves, fury still in his blood. It had been years since he had been through such a horrible fate, yet it felt as if it was only yesterday. The scars along his body still reminded him of what had happened, and knew that he could never escape it. How could he, when he still lived in this wretched place, his Family home?<br/><br/>Despising his family, killing every one of them for allowing such a tradition to continue, he hated them, loathed them with all his body and soul. He was glad that he had killed them, taking his time to torment them all he had wished like they had to him!<br/><br/>And yet he was bound to this place, unable to leave. He always could, he knew that, but it was engrained in him forever, the torture, the torment; he couldn't leave no matter how much he wanted to. It was with him like the scars across his body.<br/><br/>"Damn it all." His hushed voice echoed through the basement, pulling his now bloodied hand away as his eyes glanced over the large mark of his families crest along his forearm, before walking over near by the stairs of the room to pick up his discarded shirt he had worn before he began training. Combing his bloodied hand through his ragged hair, he made low stride up the wooden stairs.<br/><br/>The basement had stayed as it had been when he was given those horrible 'lessons'; damp, dark, cold. It had marble along the walls that had shed and fell to the ground, concrete floors that would stain easily with blood and other fluids, and an odor of death that couldn't be washed off. It was something that haunted Koschei for his entire life, yet he couldn't turn away from it, it was like a piece of him, unable to break away.<br/><br/>Just like this house, it seemed.<br/><br/>Moving up to the door of the basement, he closed the door, only to end up in the Foyer of the large home. It's appearance was much more regal and pristine then the basement was. Marble walls and columns were strung about the mansion, with expensive furniture and paintings along the walls and tables. Ornate vases were set on every table, showing just how wealthy Koschei's family was, with multiple rooms, and a staircase that led to a second floor, and even a balcony that over looked the gardens they had behind their property.<br/><br/>All of it was his, yet he wanted none of it. He wanted nothing more then to be rid of this place, and the memories that it brought him, yet he couldn't; it was bound to him like a leech to his skin, unable to break away no matter how much he wished it, willed it.<br/><br/>Taking a red apple from the kitchen, Koschei took a hasty bite out of the fruit, his thoughts wanting to stem away from his parents, to forget, and in that moment, it seemed he would get his wish.<br/><br/>In that moment, it overcame him, the odd feeling that washed over him the moment he set foot in the house. “A gate’s been opened...” Taking long strides towards the nearest window, he could see it, ripples within the sky, magicks flowing through every corner of the world, for the briefest moments, before vanishing.<br/><br/>It was time for Koschei to truly see what the world had in store now, didnt he?<br/><br/>Walking over towards a hand-carved table, he picked up an instrument, a wand, made of pure oak. It looked simple, non-threatening to the untrained eye, but to a wizard, a magicks user, it held so much power.<br/><br/>He gave a flick of his wrist, effortlessly, and in an instant his clothes were changed, from that of bloodied bandages and pants, to a silk woven suit, black as night. A clock settled along his shoulders, as his face was covered by a mask, shaped to resemble a skull (http://festival-collection.com/wp-content/uploads/c/04/Skull-Mask-(08).jpg); it was his reputation after all, to be “The Deathless”.<br/><br/>With a harsh flick of his wand, he disappeared within an instant, on his way to the source of the distortion; Snow Whites Castle.