The Internal Furnace
When you received an invitation once again this year from the owner and proprietor of Camp Nightwing, your heart both leapt for joy and sank with the slightest tinge of fear. Last year around this time, you had taken to the island off the coast of North Carolina where you bore witness to impossible events; ancient horses that had seemingly been brought back from the dead in spectral forms ringed with fire, you took part in a race for life itself against what can only be described as ghouls.
There was terror and heart pumping adrenaline, but you braved it all, and hell, there were even some good times to be had. You had your tea leaves read and your fortunes told, you participated in trick or treating, you made so many new and wonderful friends, and you brought back the horses you had won and tamed to your stables. You fought for them, you proved your mettle in the round ups, and now it seemed like it was time once more to go back to Camp Nightwing.
You half solemnly and half excitedly packed your bags when the time came, taking care to bring plenty of warm clothes to shield you from the chilling wind off the rolling waves and rain that the island was prone to getting, and you packed up your horse’s bags too with plenty of care, taking time to make an itemized list to make sure you forgot nothing and left nothing to chance.
It was October first when you joined a large crowd of other riders and trainers each holding onto one or two of their own mounts to bring to the island to help out. The crowd was abuzz with excitement and some honest and respectable dread, many friends met up among hugs and kisses and formed groups, beginning to plot out their plans for the round ups and assigning themselves to the groups based on previously established friendships and relationships, as well as skill and ability. The ferry was the only way on or off the far flung adrift island, your horse gives you a soft whinny of caution and balks a bit as you step onto the ferry and tried to lead them along, but with some treats and gentle talks, your chosen mount followed you onto the ferry. As your eyes find the distant lights and jagged cliffs surrounding the island, a cold chill ran down the back of your neck and worked it’s way all across your body, though you shiver and told yourself it was just because of the wind and cold sea water splashing up all around you.
Upon reaching the island’s rocky shore, many lanterns were alight and there was a crowd of people waiting to greet volunteers, new and old alike. Multiple voices cried out the same instructions; take a waterproof map of the island, put your horse away in the guest stables before reporting to the largest building on the island, the inn, for a warm meal, a welcome, and instructions. You take a map from someone wearing an official camp shirt, nodding politely as they tell you which path and signs to follow to get to the guest stables, and you lead your horse along.
Your chosen Trotter looks somewhat on edge and you can see the whites of their eyes a bit as they watchfully scan the crowd and listen to the chatter and noises of the other horses, but soon they were tucked away and munching on some grain and hay for the night, shuffling around and nickering to their new neighbors softly through the bars along the stall dividing walls. You take extra care to make sure the stall was up to your code, and neatly pack away all of your tack, checking your inventory once more.
By the time you were finally settled, your laser focus finally broke and you look up to see you were the last one left in the barn. Feeling worried about getting left behind in unfamiliar territory, you pulled up the hood of your jacket, your breath puffing from your nose and mouth like smoke from a dragon as you hurriedly turn off the lights behind you, and pull the stable doors closed to meet up with the rest of the group before you miss out on a hot meal.
As you struggle to heave the enormous, heavy wooden doors closed to bolt them shut, your back turned to unfamiliar grounds around you, something else causes a tingle to run up and down your spine. You once again brush it off, but as you hear a sound behind you, you quickly stop believing it was nothing but your nerves. As you turn around slowly to take in whatever had made that soft sound, you locked eyes with a new and strange Trotter behind you. It was like the ones from last year, but… different. It is dark outside, so dark, and yet this equine’s body was illuminated well in the blackness of the night. Not just the rings of fire from last year’s Hallowed beasts, but this one had embers and light as if from a deep fire, a forge, a furnace burning within it. You can hear it even, see embers and sparks drifting from the animal’s ribcage, as it paces at first in a half circle around you and then stops in front of you, silent save for the crackling of the furnace and heavy exhales of breath in long, drawn out sighs, the air leaving it’s flared nostrils leaving plumes of fog behind as the ghosts of breath left it and died. It’s close enough that you swear you could feel the warmth radiating from within it and you relaxed your shoulders slightly, feeling drawn in and comforted by the sweet warmth against the cold night.
And then it charged.
Before you go anywhere, you should take time to familiarize yourself with our Rules, New Markings, Locations & Event Booths, and don't forget to say hello to your round-up Group Leaders!
A huge thank you goes out to Pandora! for proof reading and editing all of my writing and for generally being my right hand man behind the scenes through every step of planning and for helping me put tons of effort into this year's ideas, and for Pandapop for adding the Internal Furnace edit
