Advisors cluster around the throne like grapes on a vine. The half dozen on the left shout at the half dozen seated on the right. When the advisors on the left pause for a breath, those on the right respond with a verbal assault of their own. "I have heard enough," King Pelias announces, silencing the rabble. "State your arguments for who should be sent to retrieve the Golden Fleece from Colchis."

A young, brash councilor wearing a brown beard speaks first. "The younger one looks to be better in a fight," he states. "The other is sickly and frail."

The king nods in agreement amid the whispering men but shifts his head to regard an advisor on his right. This advisor, older than the first, sports a clean chin and even cleaner pate. "True enough, but this youngster is merely human, while the pale one's features only vaguely resemble that of a mortal man."

A murmur of agreement flows through the assembled councilors.

"The curly haired youth claims royalty," one of the councilors on the left insists. "He claims to be the son of our former king, Aietes."

King Pelias winces at the sound of his deposed cousin's name.

"The black haired one is royalty," an advisor on the right reminds Pelias. "He claims to rule the Kingdom of Paup."

"The stranger with one sandal!" yells the group on the left.

"The stranger with one glove!" shouts the group on the right.

"Silence!" bellows Pelias. The advisors bow their heads and fall silent. "I have given this quest to my brother's son, Jason. If he completes it, I must give him the throne of Iolcus."

A murmur rumbles through the throne room but ceases as the king prepares to continue.

"The stranger, however, only requires use of our amphitheater for three nights," the king states. "My decision is this: both will make the journey. Whoever survives and returns with the Fleece will receive his reward."

Pelias shakes his head in disgust. "Would that I could slay them both and feed their corpses to the stirges, but alas, the laws of our feast honoring Poseidon prevent it."

The young, bearded councilor raises his voice. "But, sir, which will survive the journey?"

The king strokes his beard. "A man that survives such a journey must traverse a sea of wonders. The centaur, Chiron, raised young Jason from a whelp, but the gloved one hails from a dimension they call Neverland, which I can only assume resides slightly about the Netherrealms. He sleeps in a bubble, collects the bones of slain, man-elephants, and keeps a hairy, long-armed goblin as a companion. Surely the screech of the harpies or the crash of the Symplegades will not phase one such as he."

The councilors mumble and nod in approval of their king's wisdom.

"My lord," the young advisor begins, "what of thy daughters? Do you not worry that the pale creature might return from Colchis and demand to wed one?"

The king rubs his chin. "Somehow... somehow, I doubt that will happen."