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seriousficDick Grayson was just another urchin on the streets of Gotham. Dodging cops and truant officers, running errands for the neighborhood kingpins, and once a year scraping by enough cash to buy a wreath for his parents' grave. It had to be at that graveyard that the guy started following him. It was two days later that the guy pulled him out of a gunfight between Al Capone's men and Sal Maroni's torpedoes. Dick had never seen anything like it. The guy in the black trenchcoat just waded in, rocking people to Sunday with lefts and rights. Bullets seemed to slide right past him. Still, Dick didn't think he could dodge a tommy gun. That's why he gave the mobster holding it a hotfoot.
After that, the guy took him out for a milkshake, then offered to drive him home. Dick explained warily that he didn't have a home. The guy seemed like a straight arrow; maybe he'd open his coinpurse for a sob story. Instead, the man offered him a ride to his place. He didn't seem like the queer type, so Dick agreed. If you'd hadda look at that car, you would've too.
The man, Bruce, turned out to be Bruce Wayne, private eye. The Commish of the police kept him on retainer for sorting out the problems that the cops couldn't touch. And mister big fancy-shoes private eye liked Dick's verve. He offered him a job.
Dick accepted. Sure, it was a steady paycheck, three square meals, a roof over his head, and a chance to take it to the bastard mobster who'd killed his parents. But more important, that gum-smacking, redhaired, prim 'n' proper secretary of Bruce's seemed to like him.
Of course, a good girl like the Commish's daughter would probably never go for a rough-and-tumble guy like him, 'specially when she could have any guy she wanted at the drop of a hat, but stranger things had happened at Oracle Investigations.
Throughout history, there have been women persecuted for their power. Call them metahumans. Call them witches. Hated and feared by a superstitous world, they disguise themselves to do what they know what in their heart is right. Defend against Viking aggression. Protect the defenseless.
Barbara of Gordon wasn't one of them. She was a baron's daughter, beloved by her people, due to be married to one of Ser Bruce's squires. Then the Vikings came. They razed her town, killed her father, left her for dead. A witch nursed her back to health. Taught her to scry. Taught her to use birds to pass along messages. With a power passed along since the oracles of ancient Greece, she sees the Viking attacks before they happen and summons secret heroines to defend her people.
Dinah, who traveled to the Orient following Marco Polo's path to learn the martial arts. Helena, Barbara's contact in a Sicilian secret society dedicated to robbing from the rich to give to the poor. Barda, an escapee from Baba Yagi's orphanage. Cissie, an archer seeking her father, a wandering adventurer who sired many children across Europe and left each of them a green-quilled arrow. They know each other only by the birthmark that reveals their extreme power. A birthmark in the shape of a bird of prey.
It wasn't easy being a slave. People didn't exactly appreciate you. But no matter how bad things got, Bion and Maeja kept the faith. They'd been rewarded with a son, a baby they'd found in the reeds, and that was good enough for them. It was Pallas who doubted, who scrutinized, who dared to ask what kind of gods would let the innocent suffer while propping up monsters like Nikomedes Gaius Caesar.
What he got, for his parents' faithfulness, for his own skepticism, was both gift and curse. His heritage revealed, no mere man, but the son of a god. Zeus, whose lusts were well-known? Athena, who stressed that wisdom was his greatest gift by far? One of the Fates, even, who would warn her son that danger approached by the queer tingling in his skull? It didn't really matter. What mattered was that his adopted parents would get the life they deserved.
He entered into the gladitorial games to make the necessary money, and with his powers was able to make swift work of his opponents. But he couldn't bring himself to kill them, no matter what that goblin Nikomedes's thumb said. His winnings were denied him, but they were also denied the gamemaster. A robber. Luck was with Peter. The gods had smiled upon him.
But each gift, also a curse. He came home to find his surrogate father dead, hunted down the man responsible to find him the same robber who'd stolen from the games. Then he truly understood. With the wisdom of Athena, he saw that he'd been given his powers not for material gain, but to do what even gods could not. With the eyes of a mortal he'd look for evil, and with the power of an immortal he'd punish it.
No longer Pallas Philon, slave, or gladiator, or even citizen. He had been transformed by the gods into a spider-man, as Arachne before him. And as the Amazing Arachne, accompanied by the loyal Maia Jacinta (who paid homage to fiery Aphrodite while secretly worshipping Hestia... or is it the other way around?) and mischevious Felicitas (a thief in service of Hermes), he sets out to defy the empire itself, restore the senate to power, and defeat whatever monsters plague the people.
It's a dirty job, but hey, it's his responsibility.
After that, the guy took him out for a milkshake, then offered to drive him home. Dick explained warily that he didn't have a home. The guy seemed like a straight arrow; maybe he'd open his coinpurse for a sob story. Instead, the man offered him a ride to his place. He didn't seem like the queer type, so Dick agreed. If you'd hadda look at that car, you would've too.
The man, Bruce, turned out to be Bruce Wayne, private eye. The Commish of the police kept him on retainer for sorting out the problems that the cops couldn't touch. And mister big fancy-shoes private eye liked Dick's verve. He offered him a job.
Dick accepted. Sure, it was a steady paycheck, three square meals, a roof over his head, and a chance to take it to the bastard mobster who'd killed his parents. But more important, that gum-smacking, redhaired, prim 'n' proper secretary of Bruce's seemed to like him.
Of course, a good girl like the Commish's daughter would probably never go for a rough-and-tumble guy like him, 'specially when she could have any guy she wanted at the drop of a hat, but stranger things had happened at Oracle Investigations.
Throughout history, there have been women persecuted for their power. Call them metahumans. Call them witches. Hated and feared by a superstitous world, they disguise themselves to do what they know what in their heart is right. Defend against Viking aggression. Protect the defenseless.
Barbara of Gordon wasn't one of them. She was a baron's daughter, beloved by her people, due to be married to one of Ser Bruce's squires. Then the Vikings came. They razed her town, killed her father, left her for dead. A witch nursed her back to health. Taught her to scry. Taught her to use birds to pass along messages. With a power passed along since the oracles of ancient Greece, she sees the Viking attacks before they happen and summons secret heroines to defend her people.
Dinah, who traveled to the Orient following Marco Polo's path to learn the martial arts. Helena, Barbara's contact in a Sicilian secret society dedicated to robbing from the rich to give to the poor. Barda, an escapee from Baba Yagi's orphanage. Cissie, an archer seeking her father, a wandering adventurer who sired many children across Europe and left each of them a green-quilled arrow. They know each other only by the birthmark that reveals their extreme power. A birthmark in the shape of a bird of prey.
It wasn't easy being a slave. People didn't exactly appreciate you. But no matter how bad things got, Bion and Maeja kept the faith. They'd been rewarded with a son, a baby they'd found in the reeds, and that was good enough for them. It was Pallas who doubted, who scrutinized, who dared to ask what kind of gods would let the innocent suffer while propping up monsters like Nikomedes Gaius Caesar.
What he got, for his parents' faithfulness, for his own skepticism, was both gift and curse. His heritage revealed, no mere man, but the son of a god. Zeus, whose lusts were well-known? Athena, who stressed that wisdom was his greatest gift by far? One of the Fates, even, who would warn her son that danger approached by the queer tingling in his skull? It didn't really matter. What mattered was that his adopted parents would get the life they deserved.
He entered into the gladitorial games to make the necessary money, and with his powers was able to make swift work of his opponents. But he couldn't bring himself to kill them, no matter what that goblin Nikomedes's thumb said. His winnings were denied him, but they were also denied the gamemaster. A robber. Luck was with Peter. The gods had smiled upon him.
But each gift, also a curse. He came home to find his surrogate father dead, hunted down the man responsible to find him the same robber who'd stolen from the games. Then he truly understood. With the wisdom of Athena, he saw that he'd been given his powers not for material gain, but to do what even gods could not. With the eyes of a mortal he'd look for evil, and with the power of an immortal he'd punish it.
No longer Pallas Philon, slave, or gladiator, or even citizen. He had been transformed by the gods into a spider-man, as Arachne before him. And as the Amazing Arachne, accompanied by the loyal Maia Jacinta (who paid homage to fiery Aphrodite while secretly worshipping Hestia... or is it the other way around?) and mischevious Felicitas (a thief in service of Hermes), he sets out to defy the empire itself, restore the senate to power, and defeat whatever monsters plague the people.
It's a dirty job, but hey, it's his responsibility.
