[PensacolaRanger presentation]

 

Spumoni (surprised): 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: [b][i] Created me, my dear Salazar?[/i][/b]

 

::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: [b][i] My, what a silly thing to say…what ignorance! [/i][/b]

 

::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: [b][i] 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![/i][/b]

 

::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: [b][i]Ah! Such behavior, and from one such as yourself! Enough![/i][/b]

 

::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: [b][i]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…[/i][/b]

 

::The spirit reduces in stature and thins::

 

Angst: [i]…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.[/i]

 

::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::

 

[i]It’s so cold, so very cold in his paw[/i]

 

::PensacolaRangers, long since retreated to stage left, pops out and waves::

 

PensacolaRanger: Okay, my part's done!  Next award!

 

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…