Jolly Gutters
A black horse dashes frantically across a muddy plain, struck with fear, the driving force in its legs.
A bolt from a crossbow flies through the air and strikes its side. It tumbles into the mud, crying out in pain. It halts after a brief slide forth, squirming in pain and struggling to raise itself off the ground. But it keeps slipping in the mud.
And as it struggles, a looming figure approaches it.
"Yeah..." Gutters says, approaching the fallen horse with a posse of Cleaver-Men behind him. "Yeah, you'll do..." He waves one of the group over, motioning towards the horse. The subordinate steps forward and crouches down, drawing a knife.
He cuts a hole along the horse's neck. And then he begins to gag, forcing himself to vomit.
A mess of black sludge and swarming insects drops from his mouth, onto the horse's wound. They immediately begin invading its body, spreading their filthy essence throughout its organs. Black sludge begins secreting from the horse's eyes.
And its struggling ceases.
"This one's mine..." Gutters says, approaching the horse. Behind him, behind the posse, the rest of the Cleaver-Men stand atop a muddy hill, many with afflicted horses of their own, the horrific blood of the Cleaver-Men coursing through their bodies.
Gutters smiles as he pulls a bell from his coat pocket.
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