Without truly knowing Siorus Cadigan’s history, this story might not carry the same impact for the casual reader. Still, it is one of my favourites and a defining moment in his life. In reading it over, I think it details more of his ‘story’ than most of what I write for him.
Siorus is a character I role play. I like writing stories for him–he doesn’t like me sharing them. Tough luck, Rus, this one is heading out there.
Thedas belongs to BioWare. Siorus and Lostwhithiel belong to me. Sol belongs to Jenn Burke. She and I share all the other characters mentioned. Picture credit: Rolling Grape Vines
((1 Harvestmere, 33 Dragon. Lostwhithiel Castle))
A shadow flickered across the ground at the periphery of Siorus’ vision. He spun, shield raised, and caught the edge of a blade. Steel rang against steel, sharp in the quiet of early morning. A dagger poked between shield and sword and Siorus twisted into the strike, knocking the slender blade aside. Then he twisted back again, shield ready to catch the sword. A boot connected with his shin, the force of the kick nearly enough to tip his balance. He would wear a bruise for a week or more and the mark would be well deserved and familiar.
Skipping back a step, Siorus paused long enough to gather his will, then leapt forward, shield leading his charge. His opponent ducked and sidestepped with unnatural agility and Siorus stopped to breathe. The flat of a blade delivered a stinging blow to the back of his hip. Turning into the strike, Siorus swept his shield across, spun and followed with his sword. He missed. Sidestepping, he tried again.