Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan
Richard Russell "Rick" Riordan, Jr. is an American author known for writing the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, which is about a twelve-year-old who discovers he is a son of Poseidon. His books have been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 30 million copies in the US. Twentieth Century Fox has adapted the first two books of his Percy Jackson series as part of a series of films. His books have spawned related media, such as graphic novels...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth5 June 1964
CountryUnited States of America
Leo scratched his head. “Well I dunno about Enchiladas-“ “Enceladus,” Piper corrected. “Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?” “Porphyrion?” Piper asked. ”He was the giant king, I think.
Ah... Much better" he said. "Backbiter, Luke called it. An appropriate name. Now that it is reforged comeplately, it shall indeed bite back
He pinched the name tag and ran his fingers under the letters. "Can you read this, mate? It says C-H-A-R-O-N. Say it with me: CARE-ON." "Charon." "Amazing! Now: Mr. Charon." "Mr. Charon." "Well done.
It's first owner...well, things didn't turn out too well for her. Her name was Helena.' Piper let that sink in. "Wait, you mean the Helena? Helena of Troy?' Annabeth nodded. "And it's just sitting in your toolshed?
My name is Zia Rashid.” She tilted her head as if listening. Right on cue, the entire building rumbled. Dust sprinkled from the ceiling, and the slithering sounds of scorpion doubled in volume behind us. “And right now,” Zia continued, sounding a bit disappointed, “I must save your miserable lives.
Amos clapped his hands. “Khufu!” I thought he’d sneezed, because Khufu is a weird name, but then a little dude about three feet tall with gold fur and a purple shirt came clambering down the stairs. It took me a second to realize it was a baboon wearing an L.A. Lakers jersey.
Who are you?" he asked. "I'm a shabti, of course!" The figurine rubbed his dented head. He still looked quite lumpish, only now he was a living lump. "Master calls me Doughboy, though I find the name insulting. You may call me Supreme-Force-Who-Crushes-His-Enemies!
Do you give up?" Shezmu bellowed. "No!" I yelled. "No, we don't give up. We will name you. Just . . . Gosh, you're quite well muscled, arn't you? Do you work out?
So you've got no name?" I asked. "They couldn't think of one ugly enough?" The creature snarled, stepping over the unconscious policeman. "Set animal is too hard to say," I decided. "I'll call you Leroy." Apparently, Leroy didn't like his name. He lunged.
I disobeyed Ra's wishes, and so he ordered my onw father, Shu-" "Hang on," I said. "Shoe?" "S-h-u," she said. "The god of the wind." "On." I wished these gods had names that wearn't common household objects. "Go on, please.
My name is Carter Kane. I'm fourteen and my home is a suitcase.
But who are you?" Percy—" I started to say. Then the skeletons turned around. "Gotta go!" What kind of name is Percy Gotta-go?
This is Buford,” Leo announced. “You name your furniture?” Frank asked.
I smiled at the giant. “Actually, Cacus, I have another secret weapon.” The giant’s eyes lit up with greed. “Another weapon? I will steal it! I will copy it and sell the knockoffs for a profit! What is this secret weapon?” “Her name is Annabeth,” I said. “And she’s one of a kind.