"The Fate of Nemea"

Log Date:
	8/23/00
	[NOTE: The RL date of this log notwithstanding, it is a backscene
and IC dates to before Julian's return as Julian Nemeides to Haven.]

Log Cast:
	Jenara, Momus (NPC emitted by Jenara), Julian, Moirae (NPC emitted
by Jenara), assorted NPC servants

Log Intro:
	It is not even remotely so great an upheaval as the ones brought 
upon the Empyrean race by the recent war with the Varati -- but the turmoil
undergone by the wealthy, scandal-tainted merchant House Nemea nevertheless
has had far more personal impact upon them than practically any of the great
doings of the war. 
	The tensions between the Deus of the House and his Dea -- Erasmus
and Dulcinea Nemedies -- have been impossible to ignore. Equally impossible
to overlook has been the misery of the darkling child Moirae, brought back
from the family's visit to Haven and kept under practically constant lock
and key by her uncle the Deus.
	And absolutely impossible to miss has been the raid led by the 
long-lost prodigal son of the House, the darkling Julian, which has had
catastrophic results. The Deus Erasmus is dead, the Dea Dulcinea with him.
Those who have raided Nemea's country estate under Julian's command have
more or less melted into the countryside, leaving the stunned servants of the
House to pick up the mess as best they can... for the Praetorian Guard has
seized Julian under suspicion of murder.
	That was a week ago. And House Nemea has tried to get over the shock
as best it can since then, awaiting word upon the fate of the man who's 
appeared seemingly out of nowhere to turn their lives upside down. Some of
the servants, loyal to Erasmus, have lingered in the place out of interest
in whether their positions can be assured by his older brother... but most
of the remaining servants are genuinely concerned about the darkling Nemeides
and wonder when he will be coming home. 
	Wondering the same is the darkling girl Moirae -- who cannot help it,
since Julian is, after all, her father....

----------
Soft morning light pours into a pretty domestic scene. White marble columns 
  echo with a soft child's lullaby sung by a pretty mongrel lass. Better 
  dressed than in the past Jenara holds the small squirming bundle that is 
  Momus singing softly trying to get the fussy child to sleep. An older girl 
  tucks a strand of midnight hair behind her ear and works on her sums.

A week's worth of quiet mornings; after the storm that descended upon House 
  Nemea, this week's been almost a blessing. But not entirely, for no one in 
  Nemea's walls can for very ignore the pressing question of what exactly the 
  fate of Nemea will be now. The Deus is dead. So is the Dea. Oh, to be sure, 
  there is kin out there in the Empyre of the old Deus, Timoteus; kin, too, of 
  his wife. But ever since the scandal involving Julian much of the rest of 
  the family has chosen to ignore this particular branch of their blood, no 
  matter how wealthy Timoteus and his brilliant son Erasmus have managed to 
  make themselves. How much longer will they continue to ignore them, though? 
  Will the rest of Nemea descend to pluck away what wealth this House has left?
The questions have been swarming like gnats through the servants that have 
  remained ever since the raid -- some Empyrean, some Mongrel, all of them 
  willing to grudgingly wait and see what happens. And foremost among the 
  urgently whispered questions is:
Will Julian be Deus?

Moirae looks up at Jenara and smiles though the expression doesn't really 
  reach her eyes.'He just won't settle down without..Mother" she sighs heavily 
  on that last words..determined not to cry. Again. "She would always sing to 
  him..and me" The young mongrel nods saying gently "I know child..I know. 
  Soon enough yer Da will be here.." she doesn't add..I hope. Though it hangs 
  in the hair like a foreshadowing of doom. Some of the older servants have 
  been talking in whispers about the House being cursed. Jena only see's years 
  of sorrow breeding more sorrow..

Oh, aye, there's more than enough fuel for suspicion of curses. The oldest 
  brother, dead in the war. The youngest brother, murdered by his own wife. 
  And now the middle, darkling brother... banished for fifteen years, 
  wingless, so violently and suddenly arriving on the scene. Will the 
  Praetorians let him go, or will the House lose him as well?
It would seem, however, that on this winter morning Nemea is not yet going to 
  lose its last remaining son. There is a commotion outside in the courtyard; 
  someone shouts. Someone else drops a platter in surprise. And with nothing 
  more in the way of fanfare, Julian Nemeides arrives once more at his 
  ancestral home.
"Just let me know where my daughter is," his voice sounds out gruffly from the 
  corridor, once he's inside and in earshot of the young Mongrel woman and the 
  white-winged girl who have been so anxiously awaiting his return. "I'm 
  telling you, I'm fine -- yes, yes, thank you--"
In an Empyrean house, doors are often more of a hindrance than a help in the 
  most public of the rooms, in the way as they often get of those with wings, 
  who must take care not to catch them in the doors through which they must 
  pass. And thus there is no door in this particular room to be opened, to 
  reveal the travel-worn, haggard figure of Moirae's father. He is simply, 
  suddenly, _there_.

Moirae jumps up at the familar sound..slate dropping to the floor with a 
  clatter, charcoal dusting her nose and tunic.."Father!" she yells in both 
  happiness and relief and sorrow..all mixed up together. The young girl 
  throws herself into arms she is confident will hold her. Previously 
  threatneing tears now spilling down her cheeks. Jenara rises 
  quickly..hushing the suddenly crying Momus. "my lord!" she murmrus..surprise 
  and relief echo'ed on her features.

Julian does, indeed, catch and embrace the young girl as she flings herself at 
  him, managing without consciously thinking of it to position his arms such 
  that he doesn't unduly catch her wings. He grunts at the impact of Moirae's 
  slight form against his own, but manages -- more or less -- to conceal a 
  wince of slight pain as he does so. "Easy there," he murmurs huskily, a 
  trifle sheepishly. "I'm a trifle... over-fragrant, amorita." And he _does_ 
  rather... reek, to put it delicately. Julian is clad in the same garb he'd 
  worn over a week ago, and it is now considerably worse for wear, as though 
  he's had to spend the intervening time sleeping in it. He is considerably 
  dirty... but also pale underneath the layers of dust and grime, and there's 
  a barely healed bruise darkening his right temple. Over Moirae's raven head, 
  then, he peers tiredly in Jenara's direction, a ghost of a smile curling one 
  side of hs mouth. "Don't start, I beg you," he rasps. "I'm no lord, Jenara. 
  My family pretensions to the contrary, we're commoners."

Jenara laughs softly and nods..callng the little darkling.."Coem now 
  Moirae..let yer Da breathe. " she calls out for servants to bring water adn 
  a change of tunic at least. Moirae for her part could care less how you 
  smell. Not after all the upset of the last weeks. She scrubs at the tears on 
  her face and nods..reluctantly letting her father go. She frowns at the 
  bruises and makes of hardship.."are..are you alright?" she asks softly 
  terrified you are going to die on her two.

He hasn't exactly had an opportunity to do it yet, and so now Julian takes the 
  time to gaze down fully at the girl before him, slackening his hold on her 
  but not quite releasing her entirely; his hands linger upon her slender 
  shoulders. Moirae. His daughter. The terror hiding behind her eyes is 
  evident to him, and his own soften as he lifts up one hand to touch her 
  cheek. "I'll be fine," he promises gently, "as soon as I can have water, 
  food, a bath, about a year's worth of sleep, and then perhaps another bath."

Jenara smiles slightly and moves a bit away with crooning to the fussy Momus. 
  Moirae stares up at her Father as if not quite beliving he is actually here. 
  Disdanful of dirt and grime she hugs him close again.."I'm glad you are 
  here" she says simply. Food, water are forthcoming..servants hovering around 
  the doorway unwilling to disturb this reunion. Jenara gestures for them to 
  come in and lay the items on the table. Bread, meat, fruit and wine...a 
  basin filled with warmed water and towels..and a clean tunic are all laid 
  out.

Truth be told, from the look of him, Julian rather looks as if it were _he_ 
  who'd fallen down the cliff a week ago -- and bounced against the rocks on 
  his way down. But he smiles crookedly down at Moirae, telling her just as 
  simply in reply, "I'm glad I'm here, too." With that, he lets her go at 
  last, turning towards the food and the water and the clean tunic he's been 
  brought. His expression and voice are under perfect control, but he cannot 
  entirely disguise the stiffness of his movements -- especially as he turns 
  swiftly to the water, first of all, seizing up the pitcher as if he hasn't 
  had a drop of the life-giving liquid all throughout his absence. For all 
  that he has more or less behaved with the same refinement his family members 
  have exhibited, he hefts the pitcher up in both hands and drinks straight 
  from it thirstily. Half of it is conquered with barely a breath between 
  swallows before Julian finally pauses, lowering the pitcher and surveying 
  the room at large. Jenara. Fretful little Momus. Moirae. And the rest of the 
  servants in a gaggle in the entryway. All of them, staring anxiously at him 
  -- or in some cases, pretending to try to not do so. "How fares the House?" 
  he asks, his velvet tenor slightly less hoarse, as though the water has 
  restored him some of the proper use of his throat. "And all of you?"

Jenara nods to the servants in the doorway . Most smile at Julian, happy to 
  see him here at least. There are some who's smiles do not reach their eyes 
  though..who's bows seem forced and stiff. At Jenara's direction they offer 
  their soft welcomes and then go back to their tasks. Jenara sets Momus down 
  before addressing the new Master of the House."the House? It fares 
  ...adequately. Day to day buisness is bein' conducted with little trouble 
  though much work that can only be handled by family memebers has piled up." 
  She spreads her hands "We've done the best we could." She rests a fond hand 
  on Moirae's shoulders "Espeically this one. She too charge of the Empyrean 
  servants when the Guard came to question. Very grown up she was..all calm 
  and controlled. Ye would hae been proud." The half-grown girl smiles 
  silently and get's food on a plate her father. Jena doens't need to say it's 
  been hard. That much is obvious.

"Any further... difficulties?" Julian does not elaborate, but then again, he 
  doesn't really need to. Possibilities ranging from the location at last of 
  his brother's body, to a force of Praetorians seizing the estate in the name 
  of the Emperor, to a force of his more distant kin descending en mass on the 
  place to seize the House rather than let it fall to the control of... one 
  such as himself all come fairly readily to mind, and he doesn't doubt that 
  these same possibilities have been stark and clear in the minds of those all 
  present. But, speaking of more distant family members...
Setting the water pitcher down, he begins to turn towards the platter of bread 
  and cheese Moirae is assembling for him.. only to catch himself and study 
  each of the faces watching him in turn. "You raise a good point, Jenara," he 
  says quietly. "If there's business to be handled that only one of the blood 
  can handle, we might as well settle who that family member is going to be. I 
  take it none of my other... relations has come calling?"

Jenara shakes her head as she retakes her seat."Not yet dom'us. Though I nae 
  doubt they will. Still yer claim is greater than theirs." She reaches into 
  Momus' cradle and pulls out a bit of folded partchment sealed with 
  Dulcinea's seal. It has your name upon it...and that of a legate? "She left 
  this fer ye. I think she had it done when we were still in Haven..."Tyche 
  but that seems so long ago now. She hands it to you "They've nae found..it" 
  refering of course to Erasmus' body..and there's some fear in her voice 
  though she hides it well.

Julian's finely cut mouth twists for a moment at the suggestion of his having 
  the greatest claim upon the House; exactly how solid a claim, after all, can 
  a wingless darkling have upon the title of Deus, even if the House in 
  question isn't truly noble? But he goes very still at the sight of the 
  parchment the redheaded Mongrel woman produces, however, and his twilight 
  eyes go a little wide in his haggard face. As if in a dream, he lifts a hand 
  to take the parchment; then once again he shakes himself, turning to face 
  the few lingering other servants. "Leave us be," he requests in hoarse 
  tones. "If you please... let me talk with my daughter, and Jenara. Tell the 
  others... I'd like the House to meet tonight. To speak of what we do next."

Bows, then, and curtseys as well, and murmurs of "As ye wish, dom'nus". And 
  the other servants scurry off, leaving Julian standing there ever so 
  slightly bemused of eye; had he expected this kind of treatment? Only when 
  he is alone with the two youngsters and their caregiver, however, does he 
  let himself break the seal on the document and unroll it.

It's a legal documnet. One in which Dulcinea gives sworn testimony under oath 
  that one Julian Nemeides did _not_ ever attack her and was wrongfully 
  deprieved of wings and heritage by his brother Cleon. She further testifies 
  and gives evidence of such with a letter written to her by Cleon a year 
  after Moirae's birth stating that said brother _knew_ she was not attacked 
  and that Moirae is indeed Julian's child. That letter is held in strictest 
  confidence by a legate curently in Haven.

Jenara simply sits still..watching. As does Moirae, eyes so like Julian's huge 
  in her face. Jenara perhaps knows what the document holds but she doesn't 
  let on.

Twilight eyes scan the words written upon the parchment... and for the longest 
  time, Julian is silent, his expression unreadable save for a sudden pained 
  intensity to his gaze. That spark subsides again as swiftly as it had come, 
  leaving something which might be grief in its wake; battered as he is of 
  appearance and visage at the moment, it could also well be exhaustion. At 
  last, with an almost careful and tender touch, he re-rolls the document and 
  tucks it for the time being into a pocket of his breeches, unwilling to let 
  it off his person. "This... is a trifle late," he rasps then. He could 
  perhaps have gotten back sooner, had the Praetorians had this document to 
  review along with the testimony they'd received. But he does not say this 
  aloud, unwilling to think more than absolutely necessary of the week he's 
  just spent in the custody of the Guard. "But not... unappreciated." Then he 
  looks at Moirae again, taking in that wide-eyed stare of hers and the food 
  she's so anxiously assembled. "Thank you, my dear," he murmurs. "I... 
  _should_ eat that, shouldn't I?"

The young girl nods..white wings twitching in agitation. She hands you the 
  plate. Hands only trembling a little. Still looking at you as if you are 
  going to go *poof* any second. Jenara smiles at the child and pats her 
  shoulder. She gather's up the now sleepy Momus and kissing his downy head 
  leaves the room for a bit to put the child down for a nap. Effetively 
  leaving Father and daughter alone for a bit.
Moirae perches on the edge of the table..feet swinging. "Are..are you going 
  to stay?" she asks softly, earnestly.

Julian stands there with the plate cradled in his hands for a few moments, 
  looking down into his offspring's anxious features. Only after Jenara slips 
  out with his fretful nephew, however, does he at last sink down onto the 
  nearest low couch, balancing the plate on one palm. This _is_ an Empyrean 
  home, and the couch is made for someone with wings; feeling just a trifle 
  odd upon it, he merely sits on the end of it rather than actually reclining. 
  And besides, he's just been handed food. He passed ravenous two days ago; 
  now, Julian is to the stage that he is almost too hungry to stand the sight 
  of victuals. Thus he has to force himself to eat slowly and cautiously, and 
  in between swallows he says softly, "Perhaps not immediately... but I will 
  need to return to Haven soon, Moirae."

Moirae nods and takes a seat near you. "Can I come with you?" she asks softly. 
  She's grown a bit since you last saw her..taller. Longer hair. Still in that 
  awkward adolecent stage of being to long and too short..too everything. 
  She pauses and asks softly.."did you kill Erasmus?"

The first question provokes a smile from the half-starved Julian, as he 
  continues his tightly controlled and deliberately methodical assault upon 
  the contents of the plate; if he does not keep tabs on every single little 
  action of his hands, he knows, he may well forget himself and tear into the 
  bread and cheese like an over-hungry hound. The second question, however, 
  makes him pause and study his daughter, blue eyes to blue. "I... did not 
  forget what you asked me, before," is his first answer. "I came to give you 
  back the opportunity that..." _'Ware, Rook; it's not exactly kind to speak 
  ill of even a hated brother before an innocent child,_ he thinks then as he 
  catches himself. And then he goes on gruffly, "That your uncle had taken 
  from you." Then, his face extremely somber and his tone utterly grave, he 
  finishes softly, "What did the servants tell you, of that?"

Moirae nods. A vague sort of childish hate burns her eyes for her hopefully 
  dead Uncle/STepFather though. "Jenara swore to any who would listen that 
  M-m-mother." she stammers softly "attacked him and they both 
  fell off the cliff. That's what she says. That's all she'll say" She pauses 
  "The other servants won't contradict her to her face but the Empyrean 
  servants whisper that you did it..and..and..I hope you did..he _deserved_ to 
  die.." she finally stammers out spewing childish venom borne of years of 
  indifference at best...cruelty at worst.

With that coming out of a child who looks unnervingly like himself, Julian has 
  to set the food aside, his appetite rattled if not actually diminished by 
  the vehemence in his daughter's outpoured words. And he sits there 
  listening, not entirely certain whether to give her the answer she seems to 
  want... or the truth. The entire concept of fatherhood is still very new to 
  him, two Mongrel children in Haven under his protection not withstanding. 
  Finally, though, Julian opts for honesty. If this girl wishes to live with 
  him... if he wants to have any prayer of teaching her that the ways of the 
  Children of Air are _not_ the only ways in the world by which one must 
  live... he cannot lie to her. Not about something as personal as this. "I 
  wanted to, amorita," he admits, normally velvet tenor accents drained and 
  husky. "I tried. We dueled on the cliff; I did wound him. He... wounded me 
  as well, for that matter." Well, he won't lie, but this, at least, he will 
  understate. No need to tell the girl how his brother's last strike had sent 
  fireworks shooting through his skull, leaving him stunned and reeling just 
  as Dulcinea arrived, seemingly out of nowhere, for her fatal charge.

The child nods digesting this slowly, dark blue eyes take in your face. "So 
  Mother did kill him?" she asks softly..somewhat rhetorically. She knows the 
  ansewr. Which is easier to handle? That her Father killed her hated Uncle or 
  that her Mother went slightly insane and killed herself taking Erasmus with 
  her. Moirae pours you another glass of water handing to you..urging you to 
  take your plate again. She's not a little girl. She can handle this. 
  "Did..did Mother say ahnything?" isher next question. Basically. She's 
  asking you what happened..and she trusts you tell her the truth.

The glass of water urged upon him is enough distraction for Julian to avoid 
  answering that immediately -- but even the delightful bliss of clean water, 
  even if it is little cooler than the ambient temperature of the room, isn't 
  enough to keep memories from flashing across his thoughts. Erasmus' wing 
  slamming hard into his side -- he should have known that his brother 
  wouldn't hesitate to employ his mighty wings against him. Especially because 
  he didn't have wings of his own and was limited to fighting on the ground. 
  His head seeming to take the full impact of his fall, though he clung for 
  dear life to the hilt of his sword. And then, Dulcinea plummeting down out 
  of the night air, wild-eyed, her scream of his name hauling him back from 
  the gray edge of unconsciousness. "She... called out my name," he answers 
  hollowly, but without removing his attention from his daughter. Stunned 
  though he had been at the end of the fight, he can still clearly remember 
  everything that had occurred. "Then she struck. They went aloft. I... 
  couldn't reach them. Not when they went into the air."
And as he lets himself confess this, telling himself for perhaps the 
  thousandth time this entire past black week that he cannot recollect a time 
  when he'd more keenly felt the loss of his own wings, Julian abruptly 
  realizes that his weariness is creeping up sharply upon him. He just... 
  stops, his attention dropping to the glass he holds in one hand and the 
  plate he's been given in his other.

Jenara walks back in just in time to see you droop. She gather's up Moirae and 
  sends her off to tell the servants to prepare a bed and a bath in whatever 
  order Julian wants it. The efficent young woman plucks plate and glass from 
  your hands and then clasping your hands to tug you up."that's enough fer nae 
  Rook..it's off tae bed and a bath fer ye. Ye can sleep fer a week iffin ye 
  like. I'll nae have the other's draw yer curtains till yer ready t'wake aye? 
  I'll have food left by the side o'the bed. Just eat , sleep and heal..the 
  rest will keep ye ken?" The saucy lass gives you a look that _dares_ you to 
  argue with her.

"Don't... call me that here," Julian mutters querulously, looking a little 
  stunned _now_ at the briskness with which the young Mongrel sends his 
  offspring hurrying off and then hauls him to the position that at the moment 
  can only be dubiously labelled 'on his feet'. He wants to say more, to 
  remind Jenara that this is not Haven -- and letting the moniker he uses 
  among Haven's thieves out into the ears of the servants _here_ is not 
  exactly prudent. But he is unutterably weary. Aches and pains in seemingly 
  every one of his muscles, courtesy of some of the rougher Praetorian Guards 
  in the city, are protesting his trying to get up again. His feet feel almost 
  as though his boots are on fire, after the hours he's spent walking all the 
  way back to the estate from the city limits, denied transport by the Guard 
  and too proud to seek a ride from any wagons that passed him on the road. 
  And what comes out is more peevish than commanding, more ragged than stern: 
  "I can't sleep for a week... I must speak with the House. You might have 
  failed to notice, but we appear to be lacking in extra Dei around here..."

Jenara snorts. "We've lasted this long..we can be waitin' a bit more. The 
  House will nae crash 'round yer feet..though ye look ready t'collapse." As 
  for the moniker. Well Jenara knows who's about and who's not. She'd not have 
  said it if she did'nt think it absolutely safe. Tsking under her breath she 
  slides under your arm to offer support for truly you don't seem like you can 
  make it on your own. "ye can speak wit the House tomorrow" she softly 
  insists.

"Nonsense," is the Rook's gruff dismissal of the ridiculous implication that 
  he might be incapable of moving under his own power. He got _here_, did he 
  not? He does not, however, resist as his arm is suddenly propped up by 
  supportive shoulders... and as he finds himself guided inexorably out of the 
  atrium and up the stairs. It occurs to him to wonder exactly where the 
  Mongrel girl thinks she's taking him -- surely his family can't have kept 
  _his_ chamber, all this time? And he couldn't exactly sleep comfortably in 
  either of his brothers' rooms, or in Dulcinea's chamber... but the question 
  doesn't get voiced, for a rough, dull surge of weariness rasps across his 
  mind. His head spins. From a distance, Julian hears a voice he supposes must 
  be his own demanding, "Wake me... before evening. The House must choose a 
  Deus. Hold it together until Momus is of age..."

Jenara sighs and murmurs "yes yes ye crazy man.." she's humouring you now. She 
  leads you toward one of the guest suites. Guiding you toward the bed she 
  sets you down..pulls off your boots for you. Another servant enters draws 
  the curtains to darken the room and then leaves silently. Jenara pours more 
  water into a basin for you..pours a glass of water and leaves it by the bed.

One last lingering corner of Julian's mind suggests that Jenara is not 
  appreciating the gravity of the situation; curse it, Nemea needs a Deus. 
  They'd be mad to want _him_, and besides, he has to go back to Haven. Who 
  would he trust among his kin to take over the House and _not_ insure that 
  Momus won't join his parents in an extremely early trip to the afterlife? He 
  must...
There's a bed. A _bed_, and he hasn't lain upon, sat upon, or even _seen_ 
  anything more comfortable than hard wooden chairs and an uncompromisingly 
  hard wooden bunk for a full seven days. Julian retains just enough awareness 
  to prevent himself from falling too ungracefully across that bed, letting 
  himself ease stiffly down into a horizontal position rather than merely 
  sprawling over the mattress. But even before his boots are off... he is 
  deeply asleep. The last surviving son of House Nemea, wingless, filthy, and 
  battered... but home.

Jenara watches the sleeping man who will be Deus if she has anything to say 
  about it. A soft weary smile that hedges back both sorrow and hope touches 
  her lips and she slips out on cat feet closing the door softly behind her.

[End log.]