2. Scion - Demigod.pdf - Scion Hero, Demigod, God RPG - Wladerson

by Carl

Bowen

On the shores of an island kingdom, a young physician-in-training stared at the sky. He’d just put out to sea on a small

sailboat, when a cry of wondrous amazement rose from the city behind him, lifted on hundreds of voices. The young man looked

up just in time to see two ﬁ gures high overhead, silhouetted against the clear blue. They ﬂ ew like birds, one larger than the other,

but they had the legs and heads of human beings. His heart leaping, the young man turned his single sail to follow these beings’

path. The larger of the ﬂ ying people could only be this young man’s father, who’d been wrongfully imprisoned by the island’s

king. Now he soared to freedom where none of the king’s men could catch him. That made the smaller one the young man’s half-

brother—their father’s favorite. It stung the young man to see his father ﬂ ying away without him, but then he and his mother had

never been prisoners. They didn’t share his father’s secrets, which had kept them safe all these years. Only the one ﬂ ying at his

father’s side was privy to that dangerous information.

The physician-in-training followed the receding pair as quickly as the wind could push him, but the ﬂ ying men steadily

outpaced him until they were just shapes in the sky. Yet even at a distance, the young man could see that something was wrong.

One of the ﬁ gures ﬂ ew straight as an arrow, but the other ﬂ ew erratically. That one careered out of control in every direction

like doomed Phaëton in Apollo’s chariot. At the apogee of its reckless ﬂ ight, the ﬁ gure caught ﬁ re and dropped out of the sky

at last. As one went on ahead, the other fell burning into the ocean. Horriﬁ ed, the young physician-to-be changed tacks to make

the most of a favorable wind. Soon—though not soon enough—he found a trail of burnt feathers ﬂ oating on the water.

Donnie Rhodes Jr. sulked on the island of Crete. He’d parted from his Band of fellow Scions to travel to the island of Cyprus

in search of his mother, the Goddess Aphrodite. The others had separated to try to contact their own divine parents, but none

of them had had any success. So while the others had gone their separate ways for a time, Donnie had gone looking for his

mother in the ﬁ rst place she’d supposedly appeared to mankind. Rather, he’d gone to try to draw her out, as he knew he’d never

recognize her if she didn’t want him to. The ﬁ rst time he’d met her, years ago, she’d taken on three different female forms that

night alone. If she didn’t want to see him, Donnie could look in the eyes of every beautiful woman on Earth and still never ﬁ nd

her. He’d spent his life learning this from experience.

When he’d ﬁ rst come to Cyprus, he’d used his money and irresistible charm to ﬁ nd other Scions like himself. They’d all told him

what his Band already knew—that all communications had suddenly ceased between the World and the Overworld and that no one

had seen or heard from their divine parents in some time. Whether this problem afﬂ icted the titanspawn was unknown, but if those

horrors had been cut off from their progenitors, it didn’t stop them from skulking around and making nuisances of themselves.

Only one Scion had told Donnie something he didn’t know. She was a surly, blind, 19-year-old oracle against whom Donnie’s

divinely good looks and glib American charm had initially proved perfectly useless. Still, she was a lonely and self-conscious virgin, so

all Donnie had had to do was pay her special attention and treat her like the most important girl in Cyprus. In two days’ time, she’d

taken him into her bed and into her conﬁ dence, doing her best to please him with both her body and her oracular prowess. She’d

told him he wouldn’t meet Aphrodite again until he’d become her equal and no longer needed the gifts she’d given him. There was

nothing for it, then, but to let the oracle try to cheer him up in her clumsy, exuberant way. He hadn’t really expected to ﬁ nd his mother

in the ﬁ rst place, but at least now he had a reason to stop looking.

The next morning, Donnie had excused himself to run down to the coffee shop on the corner, but he’d climbed into a cab

instead and headed for the airport. There he’d found a ticket already waiting for him—reserved a week ago—with a note that

said only, “She’d be proud of you.” The ticket was for a one-way trip west to Crete, where Donnie had been considering

stopping on his way back to the US, so he took it. Once there, he’d headed straight for the coast and the high-class bars and

nightclubs that best reminded him of home. To the uneducated spectator, of which there were many, it might have looked like he

was living it up and drinking his cares away like any other tourist. Beneath the surface, though, he sulked. He wanted to ﬁ nd his

mother, but he couldn’t. He wanted to be better than his mother, but he wasn’t. He wanted to live in a world that wasn’t beset

by monsters intent on destroying it, but he didn’t.

So since he had a few days before he had to get back and tell his Band what he hadn’t found, he intended to sulk in high style.

His second night in Crete, Donnie visited Talos, the most exclusive new club in Heraklion. It took up the top few ﬂ oors of a

newly renovated building downtown from his hotel and was dotted by private balconies that looked out over the city. When

Donnie showed up, the security staff snapped a picture of him with a camera hidden above the door and ran it through a facial-

recognition system. On-site computers checked it against a database of paparazzi photos and satellite TV entertainment news

footage while simultaneously running a credit check on the name he gave the doorman. The computers deemed him rich and

famous enough to enter.

Inside, Talos was no different from any other cloistered haven of debauchery. Music played. One bar served drinks; another

served drugs. A knot of nubile youths danced in a sunken section of the ﬂ oor in the center of the club. Older people sat on sofas

or at tables on the mezzanine levels around that. Nearly invisible waitresses wove in and out of the crowd like worms in the

earth, and highly visible prostitutes gathered around the richest and best-looking prospects like lionesses around their kings.

Donnie breathed in the smoky air and relaxed just a little. This was more like it.

About an hour later, Donnie had loosened up enough to actually leave his table and mingle. He bummed a cigarette lighter

from a greasy piece of Euro-trash who was living his life like one long bachelor party. He danced with two of Hugh Hefner’s

cast-off girlfriends, who were desperate for company closer to their own age. He bought a round of drinks for an Italian rock

star’s entourage and celebrated the release of the singer’s ﬁ rst American single. He steadfastly avoided the spoiled hotel heiress

who’d used him and dumped back him when he was a freshman in college. He spiraled ever upward through the club until

he found himself breathing its most rareﬁ ed air among its richest patrons. He’d almost made his escape onto a vacant private

balcony when a stentorian voice called out from a nearby table.

“Donald Rhodes! As I live and breathe!”

Donnie suppressed a ﬂ inch and turned slowly. He recognized the voice as that of one of his father’s old friends—a Texas

businessman-cum-congressman who’d gone to college with Donald Senior.

“Senator!” Donnie replied, manufacturing enthusiasm. The older man sat at a small table with a mirror behind him. He pushed

a waitress out of the way with one hand, while his other hand clung to an angular, delicate wineglass. A middle-aged woman sat

next to him, watching with queasy fascination as a pair of prostitutes slithered over a hirsute 60-year-old at a nearby table.

“Get over here, boy!” the senator boomed. He waved Donnie over, spilling ouzo in his drunken gesticulation. “I didn’t know

you were in town!”

“Just got here yesterday morning,” Donnie said. He took the annoyed waitress’s place by the table but ignored the man’s offer

of a chair. The woman at the senator’s side looked up at him, and Donnie gave her a brief, distracted smile with no feeling in it.

Her eyes widened just slightly in nervous appreciation, and color rose in her cheeks. She looked down at her drink. “Yourself?”

“Last week,” the senator said. “You should’ve told me you were coming. We could catch up. How’s your old man?”

“Still Republican,” Donnie murmured, glancing up at the mirror then over his shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll see you later.”

“Nonsense!” the senator said, banging a palm on the table. The woman with him ﬂ inched. “Have a seat, boy. Let me buy

you a drink! What’re you having?”

“I’m ﬁ ne, thanks,” Donnie murmured. He crushed his cigarette out in the marble tray on the table and looked at the woman

on the senator’s left. She met his eyes warily and smiled like a teenager. “Who’s this?”

The senator looked at the woman like he’d forgotten she was there. “This? This here’s Ellen. My wife.”

“Your wife ?” Donnie said with disingenuous delight. This news came as no surprise to him. “ Really now?”

“Yep!”

“How long have you been married?”

“Ten years!” the senator hooted.

“Happily?”

Ellen frowned at that, but she missed the look on the senator’s face—a ﬂ ash of guilt with an undertone of something else.

Panic, maybe. It disappeared in a blink, but not before Donnie saw it.

“Yeah,” the senator said. “Of course!”

“That’s great. That’s just fantastic.” Donnie smiled at Ellen like nothing was amiss. “It’s good to see married people sticking

together these days.” Ellen smiled back.

“Hell yeah,” the senator said, slapping the table again. “Oyez!”

Donnie pulled out a chair. “So, you guys have any kids?”

“No,” Ellen said. Her voice barely carried over the ambient noise.

“Not yet, but we keep on trying! Every chance we get!”

“None, huh?” Donnie put on a fake mask of amusement and confusion. Here goes , he thought. He concentrated and gave

the senator’s mind a little push. “So who was that young girl you were with last night while the wife was away?”

“Oh, just some prostitute,” the senator blurted out before he realized what he was saying. “I didn’t get her name.”

“What?” Ellen gasped. The senator turned to stone.

“Ellen, I didn’t mean…”

“You told me you were visiting your great uncle Nikos!”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Donnie said. He stepped back, swiped a drink from a passing waitress and gave a quick mocking

bow. Then, drink in hand, he made his way to the private balcony at last with a smile on his face.

She came to him eventually as Donnie leaned on the rail watching the door. He set down his drink—his third… whatever it

was—and faced her with narrow eyes and crossed arms.

“Did you really catch my husband cheating last night?” she asked.

“Nope.”

“So how’d you know he was?”

“Lucky guess,” he sneered in disdain. “The distinguished gentleman hasn’t changed much.”

Ellen closed the glass door and came out with a lit cigarette in hand. Nowhere in evidence was the shrinking violet who’d

been sitting at the table. Her body swayed as she strolled across the balcony, her gait rolling like she was walking on water.

Donnie ﬂ icked his last cigarette butt over his shoulder toward the street.

“You don’t look happy to see me,” the lady said. “Weren’t you expecting me to follow you?”

“What are you even doing here?”

The laugh Donnie got in response was all feline passive-aggression and malicious bemusement. “I’ve left my two-timing

husband, of course. I came to reward you for saving me from that sad, bitter life.”

“Right,” Donnie said. “Can we cut the crap instead?”

The provocative, sultry expression disappeared from Ellen’s face, and she frowned. “Well, you’re in a mood.”

“It’s getting late, Marie,” Donnie sighed. He looked over Ellen’s shoulder toward the balcony’s glass door. “Just come on

out and tell me what you want.”

Ellen’s face smirked. “As you like it, spoilsport.”

At that, Ellen’s body lurched up onto the tips of her toes, and her mouth opened wide. All the breath inside her blew out at

once, visible in the air despite the night’s muggy heat. The vapors congealed into the lithe form of a beautiful young woman with

café au lait skin and a cascade of auburn hair in tight curls. She wore a green Mychael Knight dress cut just high and just low

enough to seem modest without being too serious about it. Her name was Marie Glapion, a daughter of Erzulie. When Marie

emerged, Ellen passed out in a heap in the corner behind her.

“So how’d you know?” she asked again. She squatted, making the hem of her dress rise dangerously up both thighs, and

plucked the cigarette from Ellen’s ﬁ ngers.

Donnie sighed. “I saw you in the mirror when I was talking to the senator.”

“I was afraid you had.”

“So what do you want?”

“You, of course,” she said.

Donnie stepped away from the balcony rail and centered his weight over the balls of his feet. Reluctantly, he kept his

distance. “For your very own?”

Marie didn’t answer.

“I didn’t think so.” Donnie ﬂ exed his ﬁ ngers, sorely missing the comforting weight of Eros and Anteros by his sides. He probably

could have gotten them past the club’s security if he’d thought he’d need them here. “So how do you want to do this?”

2. Scion - Demigod.pdf

Plik z chomika:

Inne pliki z tego folderu:

Inne foldery tego chomika: