::Professor Norton Nimnul walks out on stage::
Nimnul: Best Original Villain! I’M the only one worthy of that title! I alone
have the genius, the devastating inventions and the—
::Two guards slap handcuffs on him::
Nimnul: --first ride to the police station!
::Indy walks out, grinning, and comes to the podium::
Indy: Okay, we’re running a little long here, so let’s get right to the
nominees for Best Original Villain:
Professor van der Kaaslechte from The Pivotal Divide by Mayhem
Lord Angst from Mr. Spumoni's Rangerillion
Bela Bandung from PensacolaRanger's Rangerbirds are GO!
Indy: The envelope please…
::A stage hand brings the envelope and Indy opens it::
Indy: And the winner is…Mr. Spumoni for Lord Angst!
Spumoni (surprised, from the audience): Seriously?
::Standing and smiling as per usual he bounds towards the stage, searching out
yet more people he hadn’t waved to::
::Still, it appears that Spu was at least aware of the possibility that he may
win, for he reaches into his sleeve and pulls out an index card and, once again
looking over the top of his glasses, begins to read::
Spumoni: Thank you all so much! In creating a villain for “The Rangerillion” I
knew that it had to be something new and exciting. In past years characters of
calculated intelligence like Ivana Killjoy, devastating brutality like Margo
Haggs, and overwhelming presence and devastating evil like Labartou had
impressed upon me the need for a strong villain to drive the story. In
designing Angst I knew I had to create a character in the mold of these fan
made craftings, and I knew he had to be different at the same time. I knew
he…he…
::At once Spu stops. His arm is cold. He looks to the notecard. It has become
weak and limb, like tissue. As the audience stares as it falls apart,
confused::
Spumoni: He…
::Spumoni tries to continue. In one instant however he grasps at his stomach
and falls to his knees. He forces out his next words in a single sob::
Spumoni: He is here.
::His words give way to a falling tone of hopelessness. With that a consuming
blackness creeps through the crowd, in folds and rivulets it comes between them
and among them::
Angst: Created me, my dear Salazar?
::The voice is omnipresent in the room, yet nowhere at once. A voice that
feigns polite questioning yet brings dread upon many there gathered. At once
the folds of dark mist move upon the stage, gathering behind Spu where he lays
in his misery::
Angst: My, what a silly thing to say…what ignorance!
::The voice collects itself inside the dark mass. Among the crowd many blanch,
yet a few of the Elders are seen to steel themselves. At once the dark mist
collects into a mass of gray and black that reaches out with wisps and
tendrils, and none can now doubt that Angst is among them::
Angst: No, no, no…you have not crafted me at all, you simply unknowingly
served to reveal me, to open not only the eyes but the hearts of the
Rangerphiles to my majesty! For that I thank you Salazar, and all of you for this
acknowledgement of my perfection, for have I not long served this Rangerdom?
Indeed, shall I not now recover my fine form? Shall I not now lift up this
Golden Acorn and come among you all as your Regent? A fine idea indeed!
::The mists roll up and into themselves. They contract inside their own folds,
washing inside themselves like dark currents. In a flash of pale light a form
begins to take shape, and it is at once both terrible and magnificent, for from
spires upon the brow come waves of misery. Lord Angst, Angst the Encompassing,
The Dark Crafter and Regent, Enemy of Fanon, seeks to rejoin the lands over
which he once had claim::
::At once a hand emerges from the tall, dark, swirling form, and it is flesh,
yet terrible and ruined. Spumoni, looking in horror, watches as it comes closer
to the Golden Acorn, coming to grasp the token::
::Yet as the monstrous hand comes down upon the Golden Acorn it at once recoils
in pain and alarm. In that moment of hesitation something stirs inside the rat,
and something animal rises up. He bares his rodent fangs, and in one snap bites
into the horrid flesh of the Enemy::
Angst: Ah! Such behavior, and from one such as yourself! Enough!
::Angst's form waves his hand so that Spumoni is thrown back down to the stage,
bouncing once, landing dazed and holding his jaw. Something has happened
though—the form of Angst dissipates, the motion of the mists ends, and the
Spirit of Crafting comes before them once more::
Angst: It seems that something of the Promise of Kashefipour still rests
over you, my dear Rangerphiles. Yet I still swirl among you, and if this was
not the proper time of my return…
::The spirit reduces in stature and thins::
Angst: …then it will come soon enough, and in a form you will perhaps find
more pleasing. Until then my beloved Rangerphiles, know that I am among you at
all times, and I look forward so much to sitting in sovereignty over you.
::The dark mist circles the Golden Acorn once more, then evaporates into the
far reaches of Rockefeller Center::
::Long moments pass, and eyes settle on the figure of Spumoni on the stage,
half crouched and splayed. He rubs his jaw, stares at the floor, his eyes
closed. With a long sigh he stands and moves to the Golden Acorn. He grabs it
up and nods to the crowd, moving to leave the stage::
It’s so cold, so very cold in his paw
Dr Batorious: Indy signals that we should go ahead and take our break now and
collect ourselves. We'll be right back to the 2007 Golden Acorn awards, right
after this…