***

* * *

“Just a little farther.”

On the side of the steepest cliffs in all of Greece, climbs a man who fears nothing.

“Almost there.”

He has not slept in days because of the anticipation he feels for the quest he is on, and, most notably, the prize that awaits him at its end.  Much planning and work has gone into this expedition.  Stealing the map to this place from the Temple of Apollo.  Stowing away aboard a ship sailing for Ithaca.  Sabotaging the main mast so the captain would stop on this island for repairs.  Drugging the ships supply of fresh water so everyone on board would sleep the whole time, giving him transport off the isle when he’s finished here.  (Remembering to not drink any of that water… ’Should have thought to bring my own flask’).  Everything had been planned to perfection.

“One more foot and I am there.”

Now nothing stands in his way as he reaches the cave on the side of the cliff and pulls himself up to stand in front of a huge, dark hole.  He is on top of the world.  This is his day.  He is the King of Thieves.

“Made it.”

He adjusts his hood to hide his face from any onlookers.  Making sure his identity is a mystery.  The only part of his face that isn’t hidden in shadow is his mouth and chin.  Even that part is semi-covered by a mustache and goatee.  Grappling at the back of his shirt, he untucks his cape to let in once again flow gently in the breeze.  Realizing how filthy his attire has become he brushes it off.  His outfit consists of a dark-blue, hooded cape with a broach holding it together; a fancy, dark-purple, long-sleeved shirt; black, leather pants; and black boots.  The broach he wears has a symbol of a golden hand etched on it.  He finishes dusting off and walks through the entrance into a giant chamber.

It’s dark.  He grabs a torch from its place on the wall and lights it with some flint from his pocket.  Once lighted, every other torch in the room magically ignites.  He is stunned at the sudden light and just stares at the enormous room he is standing in.  The chamber is circular in design with many tunnels leading farther into the mountain.  The roof is at least fifty feet above his head, supported by large, golden pillars.  He notes that the pillars are not the only gold objects in the room.  The walls are practically dripping with the wealthy substance.  Gold is the only color on the walls and ceiling.  The floor is the only thing not golden, except for a path of gold that travels from the entrance he came from to the center of the chamber and ends in a large circle.

The King of Thieves walks closer to the circle, he finds himself almost compelled to it.  As he gets within a few feet of the circle, he is suddenly hit by an explosion of light.  He quickly puts his right arm to his face as protection from the glare.

When the blazing light dies down, he peeks over his arm and sees a column of sparkling light emanating from the circle, which reaches to the ceiling.  Many balls of light begin appearing from the walls themselves.  They slowly circle the room and begin to inch their way to the column of light.  The King of Thieves can only stand in gaping awe at this most magnificent sight.  He has truly found the treasure he was seeking after all.

When all the balls reach the column they begin to merge with one another.  The swirling mass they appear to be calms down and takes the shape of a human-like figure hovering a few feet about the floor.  It’s in the shape of a woman.

The King of Thieves’ eyes twinkle as the unearthly features of the woman come into focus.  From head to toe, her skin is a light shade of blue.  Her hair is straighter than any woman’s hair and it is has a light purple tint to it as it reaches all the way down her back.  Her eyes glow white, with the intensity of an exploding star.  Her face has few distinct features but, to the King of Thieves, she has the features of every woman he has ever met.  She radiates with the feeling you get when seeing a rainbow on a cool spring day and she has the warmth of a summer romance.

“Hello.  I am Oracle.”

Her voice sounds like that of a butterfly’s wings opening in the early morning on the branch of a blossoming tree.  If you can imagine that being a sound.

“You must be the vaunted King of Thieves.”

He just stands there.  Awe struck.  When he recovers from his trance his mouth, the only part of his body you can see visually, has the widest smile you can imagine.

“I have come seeking your worldly knowledge.  I…”

"I know all and tell all. I see everything that has been and everything that will be. It is my job and my pleasure to answer any question asked of me.  Be wary though, if no good, only ill, can come from your query, I can choose to say not a word.  Now, how exactly may I help you?"

“I…well…I have come to pick you vast brain, in a way.  I request knowledge about any failed treasure expedition.  I want to hear their tales so I can discover where they went wrong and correct their mistakes to claim their forgotten prize.  You can help me with what I seek, right?”

“As I said, I know all and I tell all.  Your request will be granted.  I have quite a few tales that I believe you will enjoy.  I will start with a tale of extremely high value to certain people.”

Oracle begins waving her hands in the air.  Smoke and magic fill the air and condense into a sparkling circle in front of the King of Thieves.  In the midst of the chaotic, swirling mass of mystic smoke an image begins to form.  As the image comes into focus, it begins to move.  The King of Thieves has never seen this type of magic before and is amazed at the power he must be witnessing.  And now Oracle’s story begins.

* * *

Medieval DC: Batman: The Dark Knight
By DJ Ferris

The Viking warship crashed through the icy barrier towards land with all the power of the dozens of burly slaves rowing beneath. The hull rises as is hit an unbreakable form in the water signaling this was where to port.

The savage red-bearded captain shouted to all on deck to throw over the ropes and tie the mighty ship down as well as prepare to cross the land. A young, slim longhaired boy approached the captain and drops in his hand a heavy bag. "This should cover my fee," he said as he picked up his sack of belongings and jumped of the ship’s side.

"Watch out for yourself Vladimir," the captain shouted to his leaving passenger. "Goth is a dangerous place...it is filled with some of the nastiest men, some with the likes a pray to Odin never to see!"

He looked back for only a moment to take in the captain's word, nods and once again is on his way. He looks to the mountain sky and sees that sunset is fast approaching and Balder shall soon finish the day. He turned once again to the ship, "Good luck in your journeys Captain, and may Odin protect you!"

Quickly he turns and begins to dash across the ice and snow.

Hours later in the night hours a dark bat shaped figure rises over a mountain ledge above the village of Goth. A mighty east wind comes and blows his heavy leather cape out into the night.

"Welcome home Vladimir..." he whispered to himself, "May the gods have mercy on your soul." A few running step and he is in the air, nothing but the wind supporting him and in an instant is disappeared into the scenery.

* * *

“What, in the name of Zeus, was that supposed to be?”

“Wasn’t that a tale, like you wanted to hear?” asks Oracle with a puzzled look on her face.

“No.  I wanted a tale that would have some value to it.”

“But the value of that tale is very great.  The town of Goth now has a protector.”

“Oh yeah.  Goth was already bad enough.  Now it has some large bat running around.  I’ll have to remember not to go there ever again.  Although, I will miss it there…it had that best ale in Scandinavia.  But I am getting off track and you have yet to tell a tale that has treasure in it.”

“Well,” says Oracle, thoughtfully, “I have two tales of the greatest treasure in all the land.  Would you be interested in hearing them?

“I must say, you have hold of my interest.  Please, go ahead.”

Once again, Oracle waves her hands and more smoke forms to a circle with an image in the center.
 

* * *

Medieval DC: Azrael
Written by Mike Rehor
Preview written by Les “Lex” Chaon

Marcus De Lint is a happy and content man.  He has his beautiful wife, Sarah; his wonderful son, John; and even a faithful dog; Bruce.  Yes, he has become quite content living in the peaceful village of Saint Dumas.

He walks into the main room of his house and sees his family sword hanging on the mantle over his fireplace.  He is content with it as protection for him and his family.  It has gotten him through many troubles before and he believes that it won’t fail him in any future conflict.

Marcus walks towards a window and his wife and son both down at the river.  Sarah is washing clothes while John is skipping stones for fun.  Marcus smiles.  He wishes he were a painter so he could capture that moment forever.  Off in the distance, he notices that the sun is beginning to set.  It is closing in on time for bed.  He had better go down to the river and get them.

As he steps out the door, he takes another look around his house and breathes in a content sigh as he sees how safe his wonderful existence is.  Then he turns and walks down to the river.  Smiling the whole way.

* * *

Medieval DC: Atom
Written by Lex

“Thalia!”

A boy, nineteen years of age, walks around a corner of a wall and is keeping careful watch of his surroundings.  His eyes dart back and forth, looking for something.

“Come on out, Thalia!”

From behind him comes a muffled giggle and he quickly spins around to examine the area behind him.  There is only the corner from whence he came and a haystack about five yards away.  Deric smiles and begins to creep towards the haystack.  He knows his prey is close.  He can almost taste the sweet nectar of victory.  It’s almost within his grasp.  Just a few most steps and the quarry will be his.

“It’s time for dinner you two,” says Deric’s mom, Delphyne.  “Now come on inside.”

Deric turns back around to face his house, a great disappointment in his eyes.  “But Mother, I almost had her.”

“Maybe next time big brother,” says Deric’s younger sister, Thalia as she jumps out of her hiding place in the haystack and darts for the house.

“Come now, Deric,” says Ladon, Deric’s father.  “You and Thalia can play later, all right?”

“Yes, Father,” says Deric with a smile on his face as he heads for the door of his house.  He always has time to play with Thalia.

Deric and his family sit down at their table and enjoy a wonderful dinner while entertaining each other with the events of the day.  And so it passes, as it does every night in their small house in the middle of Corinth, Greece.  The gods have truly blessed this family with happy times.

* * *

“You call that treasure, oh wise and omnipotent Oracle?” asks an agitated King of Thieves.

“The greatest treasure,” smiles Oracle.

The King of Thieves just grunts at Oracle’s attempts to play games with him.  “What I wouldn’t give to be on an old fashioned treasure hunt right now.”

“You are still not satisfied?  I do have a tale with a hunt in it, if that is what you desire.”

“I desire for you to…”

His worlds are cut short by a new image that appears on the magical smoke in front of him.

* * *

Medieval DC: Emerald Knights
Written by James Pedrick, co-plotting by DJ Ferris
Preview written by DJ Ferris

A battalion of soldiers passes over the rise peering down upon the residence of one of the King's closest friends. A stocky elderly man leads his horse through the battalion and takes in the view: a vast farmland and a mansion fit for a king. He also sees running from it another pair of soldiers fighting for all their life to make it up the hill.

"Where are you two going?" The leader cried as his faced turned a deep red.

The soldier's cries grew louder as they came up the hill, "RUN! RUN! THE MAN IS A MANIAC!" They ran past the soldiers and into a ditch finding whatever cover they could.

Before they could be yelled at some more, hundreds of arrows shoot into the air hitting random target on their hill. "The man has gone insane! Come, we attack!"

"Milord? There maybe a small army inside, possibly one greater number than..." Before he could finish the spit was slapped out of him and he fell of his horse to the ground below.

"Surely if there was an army, a battalion or even but a few soldiers we would have seen them by now..." He rides around the men pointing their horses to the slope. "I've known Oliver for a great many years and if anything he is alone. Now...ATTACK!"

Swords rise and hooves fly as they charge down the hill and through Oliver's wooden front gates. Groups of two or three would take a hallway and knock down tapestries hung upon the stone walls.

From out of nowhere Oliver leaps onto a horse and pulled on the rider's neck. The horse stops and stands sending the two backward on the floor.  Oliver used all his leverage to gain the top position and his fists were in motion. After the soldier was bloody and out cold he takes his sword preparing for more onslaught.

He stalked the hallways searching for unusual shadows, listening for hooves and footsteps. There in the main hall is the leader and he approaches for the kill. His sword rises his feet move, he is merely moments away...and then the rest of the battalion bombards him with arrows focused directly on him.

The leader turns his horse to face him. "Oliver, I am sorry to say that for the crime of murder we must arrest you and have you hung."

"I did nothing Mordred," he said slicking his long blonde hair back. "You and I know that you framed me and I shall not rest until it is proven."

"Quite an accusation...especially for a dead man. You may as well give up now."

Oliver looked around fondling his goatee searching for a place of escape.  Then to the soldiers. Then to Mordred and again to the soldiers. Before it could be realized his hands were in motion and his sword flew through the air at Mordred. Arrows from all around hit Oliver piercing his flesh and leaving him to fall to the floor.

"See you in Hell Oliver." Mordred then turned and rode away. The soldiers roll barrels of black powder and spread it across the floor dropping a torch in the trail as they hurry out.

Oliver could see no way out but through an open window leading into the mote a story down. He wraps himself in a torn tapestry and with all the strength his crippled legs could give he jumps out.

The water around him is freezing compared to the atmosphere inside his former home and he uses all his effort to drag himself to shore. He pulls his body along through the long grasses away from the inferno and rests in a ditch.

From there he sees Mordred and his men ride away victorious, wallowing in their pride. "You shall pay on your life Mordred, of this I swear..."

* * *

“I am still waiting for you to answer my request,” says the King of Thieves in aggravation.  “I asked for a tale that deals with wealth in some form or another.”

“Well, would a tale about a king suit your desires?”

“Actually…that might work.”

“Okay then.  I’ll tell you the story from one year ago of how the King of Ireland got his crown.”

“No!  Anything but that!  Not Ireland!  Not…Superman!”

* * *

Medieval DC: Superman
Written by Lex

The sounds of battle have subsided for a moment as a pause comes over knight and warrior demon alike at the atrocity that has just occurred.  Knights on the battlefield lower their swords, but not their guard, in silent prayer.  The warrior demons smile a vicious smile and subdue their urges to laugh.

All is quiet except for one lone man who kneels holding the broken bodies of the only two people he loved in this dark world.  He softly weeps as memories of his time together with them flood his mind like a tidal wave.  His heart is torn asunder by the pain of their passing and the morning has left rage and sorrow where kindness once was.

“Foul demon.”  The words drip with anger mixed with intense sadness as they part his lips.

“Why, Prince Clark,” says one of the demons.  “You’d think you were upset that your parents lie slain at your feet by, I, the demon Riot.  For now you are the Superman, king and protector of Ireland.  King Jordan and Queen Lara were only standing in your way.”  The demon looks like a withered corpse.  Dark gray skin, falling off in some places and long, white, straggly hair that looked like it was falling out.  His muscular, rotting frame has very few pieces of clothing on.  Mostly tattered rags that might’ve been clothes once.  The peculiar thing is that every single demon in the area looks exactly the same as that one.  Not one difference among them.

Prince Clark stands from where he knelt with crimson fire burning from his eyes.  Two beams of pure, red heat erupt from those eyes and scorch the demon that then simply crumbles.  He looks around the battlefield and nods his head, signaling for the knights to continue their attack.  The rest of the demons become slightly stunned at the quickness of their brother’s passing and pause for a moment.  That moment gives all the battle-weary knights an opening to slice into the demons with whatever weapon they are carrying.  Each demon falls to the ground under the assault and quickly crumbles to ashes like the first did.

There is only one demon remaining in the area and Prince Clark has it by the neck up against a tree.  The demon, being a little short, is lifted a few feet off the ground but doesn’t seem to be in pain because of it.

“You are the last one here, demon,” says the young Prince.  “And with you gone, your kind will be gone from this kingdom forever.  You will no longer terrorize the good people of this land.”

“You…do not understand, whelp.  We demons here are only creations of the Master Riot.  You can kill as many as you like, but there will always be more.  And you will never find the Master.”  The demon begins to laugh and then crumbles into dust.

Prince Clark falls to his knees, frustration and anguish etched across his face.  “I will be rid of you, Riot, someday.  But now, I have a kingdom to run…”  He stands back up and walks back to his solders and sees the bodies of his parents being placed in a carriage.  “…And a funeral to plan.”

* * *

“I’ve had enough of these games.  This was a complete waste of time!”  He turns to leave the chamber.

“Perhaps you would like to hear a story of a slave-turned-pirate,” says Oracle, trying to regain his attention knowing it is a lost cause.

“Not interested.”

“Then maybe you would be interested in learning what a slave in Egypt, a girl in Greece with more than one personality, a young Hindu priest, a rich boy in England, a homeless girl in Siberia, and a dark elf girl in Scandinavia have in common with the gods they worship.”

“I said not interested.”  The King of Thieves exits the cave, disappointed and very, very angry.

“Oh, you will be,” says Oracle.

And now that the chamber is empty of life once more, it goes back to the way it previously appeared.  Except there is the faintest of sounds…almost like laughter.

END

* * *

Medieval DC: Atom created by Les “Lex” Chaon
Medieval DC: Emerald Knights created by James Pedrick and DJ Ferris
Medieval DC: Batman: The Dark Knight created by DJ Ferris
Medieval DC: Azrael created by Mike Rehor
The King of Thieves and the Oracle concept created by Les “Lex” Chaon
Medieval DC: Superman concept created by Les “Lex” Chaon