I: Oracle
Oh fairest and wisest of muses, Calliope
Thou hath sang of Achilles wrath, and of Odysseus' wanderings.
Also thou hath regaled bards with the tales of Heracles' Labors, of Orestes' sins, and Theseus' exploits
But oh muse, you have not sung of Chrysaor
Son of Medusa and Poseidon, King of Iberia
Through me oh muse, relate his journeys
Delphi was frightening place in the eyes of Chrysaor. While most men gazed in awe of the pillared sanctuary perched upon the site of Apollo's slaying of the python, Chrysaor recognized something most men did not, that the oracle was the home of fate. For a man to know his future is hazardous, Oedipus, that poor soul being the finest example. While having a fate is a cause for eternal fame it is also a harbinger of suffering in one's life. Pushing his philosophizing aside Chrysaor drew upon his courage and strode to the temple of the Oracle.
Upon entry Chrysaor was met by an aged priest who greeted him with callous words "You bear the implements of a warrior; I presume you come for the results of a duel. Thus is the question of all you Cretan men of war"
Chrysaor responded carefully "Oh exalted and holy priest, you misjudge me, I am Chrysaor son of Poseidon and the Gorgon Medusa, words I need not speak with shame. I ask you for not the results of a duel but for information regarding my place in the world of men."
"Very well" responded the priest, who led Chrysaor into the holy sanctuary. The holy room was bare except for some containers of burning incenses that cast a white hanging smoke about the room. In the center sat the oracle, a dark haired young maiden sitting in a cationic state. As soon as Chyrsaor entered the oracle began to speak in an absent airy tone, delivering her prophecy:
You, stout hearted warrior shall sit upon a distant throne
But first you must wander in the northern to find your fate
In the land of Thrace you will make a grave error
To be bound in servitude as punishment,
But in service you shall find two boons.
Chrysaor rode north that evening.