Post by Nathan Saniti on Apr 4, 2014 19:09:09 GMT -5
The Dark Arcana – Chapter 20: Judgement
The Wanderer skittered about the shadows once the festivities of Trauma 151 were said and done. The staff, save for the easily avoidable janitorial crew and even easier to avoid night security guards, were all that remained in PCW arena. Even his stealthy footsteps echoed more than he wished in the now vacant halls. He rounded a corner, but had to quickly retreat to prevent detection from a pair of eavesdroppers musing at the grumblings coming from beyond a door they perched in front of. From what he could gather with his glances, they looked to be members of the cleaning crew. He checked again. Yes. They had mops, brooms and a bucket with them. His temper flared. The gall. Why couldn’t those busybodies move about their business? What he needed lie in the clutches of the aforementioned man grousing in that room.
Finally, the door flew open, catching the onlookers (onhearers?) quite by surprise. An incensed N. Saniti fumed silently at them, his eyes nearly staring daggers into their souls. “Don’t the two of you have a urinal cake to lick somewhere?” The wonderful hybrid expression of shock, shame, and offense would have amused the Nathan double in any other situation. Tonight, however, his mood was an odd mixture of disbelief, frustration, and a dash of maddening triumph at the goings-on of the match signing.
The janitorial duo seemed to be very interested in their shoes suddenly as they gathered themselves to carry on. The doppelganger glared as he watched them trundle off, calling him most likely very unflattering names in what he could only assume was Spanish. As they turned the corner at the opposite end of the hall, the Wanderer finally poked himself into sight. “Such an awe-inspiring temper you have, my friend.” He strolled down to his protégé, smirking the entire way. “I’d have loved to see you actually act upon your rage. It always amused me so.”
“They are beneath me. Even my ire would be wasted with that blue collar offal.” He scrunched his expression, just now realizing whom he was addressing. “What brings you here, Wanderer?”
“Among other things, I require the trophy. I believe it was called an Icey, or something equally unimpressive.”
“Ah yes. Well, the trophy isn’t in MY possession. It’s in the grasp of the real Nathan Saniti. Or he at least knows where it is.”
“Have you checked his locker room?”
“I have not,” stated the charlatan Nathan. “I have been obsessed with trying to figure out just how he goes from reality to reality with such aggravating ease. I can’t shatter a mirror by throwing him through it if he can merely enter into it on a whim unharmed. If I can’t do that, then I am at a severe disadvantage with our match at Mass Destruction 4.”
The wanderer nods his head in agreement. “You need an oculus potion, and perhaps with just the right mirror, you could trap him in it permanently.”
A look of twisted glee overcame N. Saniti. “Indeed.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “There will no doubt be bloodshed during our match. If I douse one mirror with the spell and get his blood on it before shoving him into it…”
“This realm will be yours finally. Once we resuscitate Rasputin, the three of us can wreak glorious chaos until time itself ends.”
“Yes. Rasputin. Just how much do you believe we can trust him?”
The Wanderer smiled, his white teeth a glaring contrast to his pitch black complexion. “About as far as I could comfortably shit a rat. He wishes to awaken the Dark Arcana. In order to do that, he must first be made whole.”
“Then why bother giving him the trinket he needs for his resurrection?”
“Because once he has risen anew, he will be vulnerable. THAT is when we can strike him down forever.”
“I’m confused. You want to wreak havoc by his side, yet you also wish him destroyed?”
“I know. Both sides of the equation are tempting beyond belief.” The Wanderer calmed his maddening glower. “Imagine the Dark Arcana joining forces with us as well. All of reality would be our plaything. Take Rasputin’s power or allow his existence in order to gain even more power? Oh! The possibilities are unending!” He wrung his hands a bit at the thought of the grand and horrifying unfolding of all of the tangents he envisioned. You see if your better half left anything useful in his locker room. I’ll gather the ingredients for your oculus potion. We’ll meet back here a few hours before the event to ready things properly.”
N. Saniti narrowed his eyes at the Wanderer. His dealings with him as his apprentice left his with enough knowledge to throw many caution flags in the air. The Wanderer was never one to stick to the straight and narrow path. No, he was more likely the type to skip from road to road, blazing his own way in a nonsensical pattern that only seemed reasonable to him. He was also one not to be trusted, as his own voice revealed tonight. Precautions needed to be made either way.
The Wanderer skittered about the shadows once the festivities of Trauma 151 were said and done. The staff, save for the easily avoidable janitorial crew and even easier to avoid night security guards, were all that remained in PCW arena. Even his stealthy footsteps echoed more than he wished in the now vacant halls. He rounded a corner, but had to quickly retreat to prevent detection from a pair of eavesdroppers musing at the grumblings coming from beyond a door they perched in front of. From what he could gather with his glances, they looked to be members of the cleaning crew. He checked again. Yes. They had mops, brooms and a bucket with them. His temper flared. The gall. Why couldn’t those busybodies move about their business? What he needed lie in the clutches of the aforementioned man grousing in that room.
Finally, the door flew open, catching the onlookers (onhearers?) quite by surprise. An incensed N. Saniti fumed silently at them, his eyes nearly staring daggers into their souls. “Don’t the two of you have a urinal cake to lick somewhere?” The wonderful hybrid expression of shock, shame, and offense would have amused the Nathan double in any other situation. Tonight, however, his mood was an odd mixture of disbelief, frustration, and a dash of maddening triumph at the goings-on of the match signing.
The janitorial duo seemed to be very interested in their shoes suddenly as they gathered themselves to carry on. The doppelganger glared as he watched them trundle off, calling him most likely very unflattering names in what he could only assume was Spanish. As they turned the corner at the opposite end of the hall, the Wanderer finally poked himself into sight. “Such an awe-inspiring temper you have, my friend.” He strolled down to his protégé, smirking the entire way. “I’d have loved to see you actually act upon your rage. It always amused me so.”
“They are beneath me. Even my ire would be wasted with that blue collar offal.” He scrunched his expression, just now realizing whom he was addressing. “What brings you here, Wanderer?”
“Among other things, I require the trophy. I believe it was called an Icey, or something equally unimpressive.”
“Ah yes. Well, the trophy isn’t in MY possession. It’s in the grasp of the real Nathan Saniti. Or he at least knows where it is.”
“Have you checked his locker room?”
“I have not,” stated the charlatan Nathan. “I have been obsessed with trying to figure out just how he goes from reality to reality with such aggravating ease. I can’t shatter a mirror by throwing him through it if he can merely enter into it on a whim unharmed. If I can’t do that, then I am at a severe disadvantage with our match at Mass Destruction 4.”
The wanderer nods his head in agreement. “You need an oculus potion, and perhaps with just the right mirror, you could trap him in it permanently.”
A look of twisted glee overcame N. Saniti. “Indeed.” He rubbed his chin in thought. “There will no doubt be bloodshed during our match. If I douse one mirror with the spell and get his blood on it before shoving him into it…”
“This realm will be yours finally. Once we resuscitate Rasputin, the three of us can wreak glorious chaos until time itself ends.”
“Yes. Rasputin. Just how much do you believe we can trust him?”
The Wanderer smiled, his white teeth a glaring contrast to his pitch black complexion. “About as far as I could comfortably shit a rat. He wishes to awaken the Dark Arcana. In order to do that, he must first be made whole.”
“Then why bother giving him the trinket he needs for his resurrection?”
“Because once he has risen anew, he will be vulnerable. THAT is when we can strike him down forever.”
“I’m confused. You want to wreak havoc by his side, yet you also wish him destroyed?”
“I know. Both sides of the equation are tempting beyond belief.” The Wanderer calmed his maddening glower. “Imagine the Dark Arcana joining forces with us as well. All of reality would be our plaything. Take Rasputin’s power or allow his existence in order to gain even more power? Oh! The possibilities are unending!” He wrung his hands a bit at the thought of the grand and horrifying unfolding of all of the tangents he envisioned. You see if your better half left anything useful in his locker room. I’ll gather the ingredients for your oculus potion. We’ll meet back here a few hours before the event to ready things properly.”
N. Saniti narrowed his eyes at the Wanderer. His dealings with him as his apprentice left his with enough knowledge to throw many caution flags in the air. The Wanderer was never one to stick to the straight and narrow path. No, he was more likely the type to skip from road to road, blazing his own way in a nonsensical pattern that only seemed reasonable to him. He was also one not to be trusted, as his own voice revealed tonight. Precautions needed to be made either way.
