Boris
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The sun was beginning to set, painting dark color and shapes on the Sunrise Mountain's as Boris and his entourage of slaves and hunting dogs arrived at the site of their hunt. Boris paused here; his great black thoroughbred stepping about as it came to the sudden stop. He waited for the horse to still and then the slaves with a slight hint of frustration upon his unnoticeable features. He swept back his hair with his hands, drawing it back before bowing his head in silent prayer. The servants waited patiently, knowing better than to question their master's strange routine. They were dressed plainly, in black robes, though these were made of much better material than an average slave would have. They were well-bred men, clearly of Mulan descent, who seemed to be able to hold the great hounds, that seemed to be more wolf than dog, at bay with their mere presence.
Boris returned his glance upwards, towards the sunrise, and made a simple forward sweeping motion with an extended ring and index finger before his large hands returned to grip the reigns. He was a well-built man, strong and mean looking, and one who exerted an aura of discipline and rigor through his mere presence. A sheathed hand and half sword were attached at his hip, not particularly noticeable compared to the extravagance of the servants, and his own leathers, also dyed black. At the sign of the motion, the servants whistled in unison, a sharp, shrill whistle, and the wolves set off in a hurried frenzy across the rolling vistas.
The great beasts rumbled across the great plateau, their sleek black coats returning a soft glare from the final rays of the sun. Boris and his horse followed after, whistling to the dogs as they spotted a small pack of gazelle of in the distance. Without further command, the dogs sprinted after them at breakneck pace. The horse continued at the same pace, as the servants hurried along behind them. Boris lost sight of the dogs briefly in a small valley, but was proud to see when he reached the crest that the dogs had done their job well. One gazelle was dead, and was being eat by the dogs, and another five lay nearby, neatly killed by the dogs. Boris called for a servant to bring the drink and he quickly returned with champagne, and a glass from a velvet lined and padded box. The servant removed the cork, letting the foam fall to the ground before pouring a glass and offering it to Boris. He held it high, standing over the kills, and drank slowly as the sun disappeared at last to the west.
Boris pointed at two of the finer kills, and the slaves gathered them, soaking their robes in fresh blood as they hefted the two corpses in pairs. Boris remounted his horse and whistled again to the dogs, they consumed the other three still on the ground. Without another word, Boris turned his horse south and rode towards and a circular outcropping of fang shaped rocks. He stopped there, while the servants and dogs continued on to his estate without a second glance back at him. He dismounted and tied his horse to a withered tree, approaching a great bonfire in the center of the ring. He removed his gloves to warm his hands, when a cold voice behind him spoke. "A good hunt?" he asked, looking at Boris with stern resolution. Boris turned on his heel and bowed.
"Yes, the Beast Lord was good to me." Boris replied respectfully. The man circled him slowly, the light of Bonfire casting his face in shadows occasionally. He was a feral looking man, his head was shaved, his teeth sharpened to be fangs, his body covered in red tattoos, the marks of countless kills. Around his neck was a string of teeth of various beasts he hand slain. He stopped, staring Boris dead in the eye. "You've made no progress. I grow weary of waiting for you Boris," Boris made no reply to this. "You are a devout man, I know this Boris, and you seek the same goals as we do, though your methods are… slow at best."
"I try, they are not willing to abandon the zulkir for their own true authority."
"You must stop trying to do your duty through their pathetic laws, the Beastlor–"
"The Beastlord only seeks one goal there, my methods are slow true, but the collapse he seeks will come, and that will be a bloody day that the people will not be expecting, nor be recovering from."
"Your opinion does not matter, you are being replaced."
