On the March
13th of January 2007 A.D.
It is a bit awkward to be pressed into a decision like this unbidden still dressed for war, the head of the 'Dragon'-Who-Was at your feet. But with that thing whirring in the background you can understand the urgency. You glance at the others for a sign, but Lydia is the only one to catch your gaze while Harry grits his teeth against the pain of Tiffany's probing fingers and she is busy with said healing. Guess that makes it my call, yay... the thought does not end on as sarcastic a tone as it had started, there's a part of you that enjoys being the one to give the nod, like the Pope crowning kings of old.
"I think someone without prior commitments would work out best for Vegas," you give the nod to the scholar, keenly aware of the first impression he'd given both you and Lash, a Black Friday sale on souls.
Hope he stays bought.
Neither Charon or Adkin seem overly troubled by the proclamation, but then one of them they are both old hands at playing the game. No sense being seem as a sore loser when you can profit from the new regime.
It starts not with lyrics but with music that fills the reservoir where Orpheus once dwelt, so loud that you wonder if they can hear it from the surface, an urban legends in years to come. This are the echoes twisted back upon themselves and transmuted into the roar of cheering crowds, the glory and the power, intoxicating might a million sins deep.
As Alexander Harrowmont steps towards the double vortex at the center of the center of the reservoir the music shifts flowing backwards through the ages. Only senses sharpened the better to detect treachery allow you to hear the handful of familiar notes from Elvis to Jazz before that to the kind of songs that cowboys might have sung out on the range. All the rest of it is as unfamiliar to your ear as the sight of the Valley must have been to the settlers coming up from the south or riding east from the coast, the voices of people passed out of knowing save perhaps for a few shards of pottery or a style of flint-knapping yet without whom half the continent would not have been livable.
What had it cost them? you wonder, but for once feel no urge to ask and peer through eyes of flame.
For a moment the scholar looks distracted, like there is something int he music only he can hear, then he plunges his hands into the blackness despite the shouts and gasps from everyone beside Harry who still isn't paying much attention and you... because you stopped breathing.
Idiot what was he...?
The music dies and from Harrowmont's bloodless lips a proclamation issues: "Three things I vow above all wants and desires: to hold the gate, to keep the peace and feed the hunger everlasting!"
To perhaps even his own surprise judging from his expression draws back his hands to find them unharmed.
A show of greater loyalty? you wonder, before Tiffany confirms it snipping good-naturedly, for her at least: "One hand would have been enough you know."
"I... I wanted to be sure." That is as far as he gets before the cauldron at the lower point of the opening explodes into splinters of black iron screaming though the air at supersonic speed.
Essence it already half shaped to catch and hold them in your mind, when you realize what this is, a test, a chance to show the power he had been given. You do not hear his fingers snap, even your hearing isn't that precise, but you see the motion and you definitely see the pieces shifting in mid air, like a swarm of black butterflies shifting their course to sail over under and between you.
"It worked... it actually
bloody worked! I can't believe it, I mean I can, I mean..." Harrowmont wipes brushes some dust off his trousers, not that he makes much of a dent, but it's enough to regain his composure. "Alright I've been anointed by the spirit of the land. Yet I cannot help but think that king sounds more compelling in song than common speech and I do not think Dragon suits me, even without taking into account the failings of the one who bore it before. Marquis would be appropriate given my new duties, but it is a touch
continental for my taste. Marcher Lord perhaps? Yes that rolls off the tongue better, I shall be the Marcher Lord of Las Vegas."
Lydia makes a face, but he does not seem to notice it.
That's where you heard the title before, on that documentary about the piecemeal conquest of Wales.
"Now, having decided what I shall be adressed as, let's see if I can keep my title and my head for more than a day," he continues with a rueful smile that makes your doubts recede a bit. "From my understanding the city is faced with three major concerns at present: the anti-terrorist state of emergency and the presence of mortal authorities, the power vacuum left by the destruction of my predecessor and his most loyal followers and, one assumes, every greater power being poised to invade. Whatever delaying tactics our common foes have seen fit to make use of to prevent outside players stopping this abominable act if would be too much to hope that they would be so considerate as to continue to shied Vegas until I have my feet. Ladies, gentlemen, elder," he nods in the direction of the still silent Charon. "I am open to any counsel you may be inclined to share."
In the silence that follows you can distinctly hear Harry whisper to Tiffany: "You know I think the pain is getting worse. Can you just knock me out now?"
What counsel does Molly offer to the new Marcher Lord of Las Vegas?
[] Remove the last of the Red Court as a show of strength
-[] Exile
-[] Death
[] Meet with representatives from the Library of Congress in person
[] Make use of Arlene's skills to start unwinding the human trafficking in the city, that stream of power can be compensated for
[] Write in
OOC: And with that we are almost wrapped up here. Technically Molly and Co could leave right now, but I am not expecting you guys to do so without at least a bit more wheeling and dealing. 
