The night was dense with fog, the air thick with an acrid stench that clung to the skin like oil.
Lyerin's hooves crunched over shattered glass and cracked concrete as he dragged the eldritch horses through the abandoned city streets.
Their twisted bodies, bound tightly in coarse ropes, scraped and thudded across the ground. A slick trail of black ichor seeped from the creatures, staining the road like dark blood.
The sickening squelch of their flesh against the concrete echoed in the desolate silence, the only sound in the eerie stillness of the fallen city.
Neigh! Neigh! Neigh!
Lyerin's ear ignored their calls, he was moving slowly with his breath controlled and steady. He pulled with a slow, deliberate strength, his muscles tensing and relaxing in a rhythm as familiar to him as his own heartbeat.
The eldritch beasts were massive, their bodies grotesque amalgamations of limbs, eyes, and fangs.