The Baron Marcus Website

Emily and the Visit
The Holy City - Administrative Capitol of the Host - Cosmic Ethereal Sector 01a 81-10-6 CE
Emilee was an angel. Emilee was working late. The dim glow of her ecto-monitor was the only light in the office, making the surrounding cubicles appear like a black labyrinth extending infinitely all around into the darkness. The irony was not lost on her. Since the war had finally touched the Holy City, lights in the great towers of the Host had been routinely darkened at sunset. Although the Great War had been officially declared over, the air raids continued as rogue princes of Hell refused their orders to capitulate to the Host, and continued launching their massive bi-plane bombers and attack zeppelins in sporadic but damaging skirmish assaults. The darkness in the city of the Holy Host extended beyond its mighty towers. Things change with fear. Even angels are subject to certain laws of nature. Fear had created 'certain' opportunities for 'certain' interests in the Holy City, and dark opportunism shares a fine line with the more enlightened elements of power. Emilee was a clerk in the ‘Ministry of Information and Compliance’. For an eternity it had been a backwater job. But since the later part of the war, the department (previously the ‘Holy Archive’) had been renamed and moved to the central towers of the Great City. She hated it. She longed for the more simple times in the outer spheres with their beautiful fresh countryside and the many timeless temple ruins. Ancient creatures, fauns, centaurs, forest spirits and any number of fairy folk could be found in abundance. It seemed every stone turned would be inscribed with ancient beauty and mystery. Every piece of wood split would emanate the rich aromas of lush healing resins. Benevolent magic, as fresh as the wind of late spring, permeated everything and every creature there. But that was long ago. And to an angel - a senior angel from before The Fall - the concept of 'long ago' is very very long ago indeed. As before, despite her status as a senior Angel, her position today was that of a simple clerk. In contrast to her higher 'Angel' caste, the 'Angelics' (common citizens of the heavenly spheres) were not truly angels. However, like angels proper, Angelics could manifest wings. Wings were usually retracted for convenience and taste - after all this was the CE - the common era - and this brave new world didn't lend itself to such medieval indiscretions (unless necessary). Almost all of Emilee's work colleagues were common Angelics. That never bothered her. She got along with almost everyone. Minor office politics aside, the company of her workmates made the job survivable. A while ago, she had been reprimanded for uttering a 'name of god' in the presence of an enforcement official. This had pretty much guaranteed that she would be nothing more than a clerk forever. Secretly she was proud of herself though. She was caught quietly saying a name of god aloud while on a tea break at the Ministry shortly after her transfer. Her beating was short and light - probably on the account of her status. Secretly she even imagined full conversations with god – and although admittedly god never really spoke back to her, it always left her with a warm giddy feeling in the pit of her stomach, like the ancient Magic in the countryside of her previous posting. She knew it was something important and special - worth keeping alive despite the risk. She took off her spectacles and rubbed her eyes as she leaned her office chair back. She gently ran her finger along the thin scar on her shoulder, a remnant of her punishment. She knew that with the inevitable modernizing of the war between Heaven and Hell, more sectors and spheres of paradise were mobilized. This lead to the integration of many cultures - some of them conflicted despite their similar good will. Laws were enacted to diminish the 'sensitive' issues between the many cultures of Heaven - eventually leading to a ban on the public utterance of "any name of god". It was generally accepted that all cultures were referring to the same being - but a name is a powerful thing, and despite the very few actual conflicts, it was considered more politically correct to enforce the ban - the enforcement of which, for a lesser angelic, could be death. She was startled for a moment by the radio announcement piping from her workstation ecto-monitor. The 'News of the Host' trumpeted in with the headlines. She hated that too - you could not turn it off. By law, the national news was occasionally broadcast on every medium - work and recreation. It was accepted that it was the duty of every citizen to know the news of the war. Since the defeat of Hell and the general armistice, the news shifted its focus to the fighting of the rebellious insurgents who refused to lay down their weapons. Emilee wondered what the News sector (her neighboring department) would broadcast about if the insurgents finally gave up. The news always made her feel uneasy and tense. It seemed that so much had been built around the war that certain institutions might actually be at a loss without it. Strangely (and thankfully) there seemed to be some static interference building on her workstation. "At least I won’t have to put up with that crap tonight" she mumbled under her breath. "I'm sorry Emilee - I'm afraid I have that effect on some equipment" said a deep voice from the blackness behind her. She drew a quick breath and spun around in her chair. Before her was Gabriel. THE Gabriel. Archangel - ancient - prime member of holy parliament FUCKING Gabriel! Emilee sat dumbfounded, her mouth agape. She had never seen an archangel in person. Of course she had seen Gabriel on very rare occasions in the papers - but HERE? in PERSON? The great ones can appear any way they like - often appropriate for the occasion. But unless they wish it otherwise, you can know who they are by the 'feel' - and often features that they keep common for expedience of social utility. He stood before her, tall, wavy grey hair trailing out behind his ears beneath a black fedora. His dark broad shoulder double breasted blazer was mantled by a light grey trench coat. He wore black gloves. The only hint of his greatness was the tiny wisps of smoke around his impeccably polished shoes beneath the tapered slacks of his black zoot suit. Gabriel moved closer into the flickering light of Emilee's workspace. "...and I'm sorry to have startled you Emilee. I would not be here if it was not an issue of grave importance and great secrecy."

TO THE GAME